The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1884-12-21
CHRISTMAS STORIES.

Written for the journal by Emma Carleton.
Do we read Dickens as much as we used tol
Do we find well-worn copies of his matchless
stories lying about on center-tabes, or tucked
into easy chairs, or behind the sofa-pillow, in
that familiar way which once implied their
household popularity and daily usagel Has the
more modern, weak, wishy-washy, everlasting
flood of feeble-minded fiction driven back into
obscure hooks and crannies OF our affections
these delightful tales wherein we once almost
lived, and moved and had our very beingl Have
the remarkable and thrice impossible heroes and
heroines of Henry James ct aL-those very queer
men and women who accommodatingly walk
about in his pages with glass fronts in their
heads and breasts, that we may see their brains
working and their hearts ticking-have these
strange creatures supplanted in our affections
the very human and dear old Tom Pinch. and
his sweet sister Ruth-the princess of pudding
makers? Have other dimples driven Bella Will
fers out Of mind, and other 'high-fyers
at fashion" weakened our fondness for
Noddy Bofin and Heneriettyl Have Miggs
and Susan Nipper lost their SAVIOR, or
Miss Sally Brass become as fine gold grown
dlml" Have we indeed reached state of such
the face without laughing, or see ''Dombey and
Son" without regretful sigh and tear for little
Paul, the early lostl Has blessed old Capn
Cutie ceased to be our best beloved, and Jack
Bunsby been deposed as the chiefest of all the
Sir Oraclesl
"Wherefor7 Why not? If So what odds7 Can
any man say otherwise9 mol Awast then!"
Guilty or not guilty-and the evidence is
strongly against us-if we can exist without
Dickens and his wondrous train of creations
eleven months in the year, in the twelfth month
we are fain to seek him, and that gladly. Who
but Dickens has written Christmas stories that
will never grow old2 Where else do we find the
Christmas kettle singing so unsteady on the
hob, the cricket chipping so gaily on the hearth,
and cuckoo clock with a spasmodic haymaker
on top9 Where else do you get your Mrs.
Peerybinges and lilly Slowboys! Your Cratch-
its and your Tiny Tins with their Christmas
feast of baked goose and apple-sauce, topped off
with plum pudding, like speckled cannon-ba
bedight with Christmas holly2 Where else do
you find any Tug6ys and Tackletonsl The
Swidgers, Mr.. William, with his good opinion of
holly-"B Berries is so seasonable to the time Of
year," Mrs William, Subject at any time, sir,
to be taken off her balance by the elements"
Mr.. Tetterby, with his 'little woman who
would have made two editions of himself,
easily" and the many little Tetterbys, "seven
boys without a ray of gal until your dear
mother provided you with that sweet sister"
Where, indeed, in all the vast world of fiction
would we 90 to seek these entertaining and de-
lghtful people and breathe the very spirit and
aroma of Christmas time, which the magic
touch of the magician Dickens has made immor-
tai in their deeds and sayings, their chimes and
carols, their green wreaths and holly-berries7
"There's good cheer where there's berries"
Christmas dayi Golden sunlight; heavenly
sky; sweet, fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious,
gloriousl' Once year, then if no oftener-to
our shame be it recorded-we seek our book
shelves and find the Christmas stories. We be-
gin with ga Christmas Carol, reading on and
on, and ending, with a sigh of regret at the last
word of "a Christmas Tree" o, beau
tiful Dickens! Truly the genius of Christ
mas time! Thy memory is and will be ever,
in thine own words, ''encircled by the social
thoughts of Christmas time, in every cheerful
image and suggestion that the season brings"
ga moments pause, Oh vanishing tree of
which the lower boughs are dark to me as yet,
and let me look once more know there are
blank spaces thy branches whore eyes that L
have loved have shone and smiled, from which
they have departed. But far above I see the
raiser of the dead girl and the widows son, and
God is good Now the tree is decorat
ed with bright merriment, and song, and dance
and cheerfulness. And they are welcome. In
nocent and welcome be they ever held beneath
the branches of the Christmas tree which casts
no gloomy shadow But, as it sinks into the
ground, 1 hear whisper going through the
leaves:l This in commemoration of the law of
love and kindness, mercy and compassion. This,
in remembrance of Me-"