Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1886-12-24
Written for THE EVENING STAR.
BRIDGET ON CHRISTMAS
A MOnOlOgue.
By ROSE TERRY COOKE.

'Is it merry Christmas, we do be wishin' me,
mem? It's kind, faith, to yez for the same. An
I'd wish 1t back to we av thought twas to the
good; but what does the ioike OF you know about
Merry Christmas? Shure It's the Lord an the
saints themselves sends it to poor folks like Patsy
an me; you're always atm the fat in the an
dhrinkin' out o. sweet springs, an havfn' your
wine, an your honey, an your meat, an your
milk, an all the vegitbeS of all the wurruld ready
for yez when We say the word; you can sleep soft,
an rise late, an lie on them satin sofyS all day,
or do be rollin' in carriages that's aisy as a
pumpkin blossom to bumbly-bee; an wearin'
soft clothes, an warrm an dimondS a sparklin'
on 'em, an fur clOakS that spiteS the bitter wind
o. the winter; an you go evenin'S to the dancin-
sure l wonoher We don't feel the cowld air wild
them bare neckS and arms that I'd give the death
to washerwomen like AN there's the music to
thin opperys where you'd hear 'em sing1n' like
Sear m GSh nave Il an wba
day mOre'n another? An what do We have Christ
mas that ye don't have ahl days in the round year?
here below, with lashins and lawns OF all that a
mortal creatur' can have, an fax don't wOndher
It's not so great matter to rich folks that the Lord
was barn at ahl! Aren't We well enough of widout
htm?"
.But look at me! TITS wondher If have the
bit ay the sup day in an day out, an Patsy out o.
work. most times and six hungry childher always
an ever at me heels, ragged an dirty an fghttn'
IKE street dogs for crust. l git up before rs
light mornin'S an work till dead dark to keep the
life in 'em; and I've the two rooms an the wan
bed, Guild ancient straw, an ragged covers, and
d1vtl blanket, savin' me shawl that goes off me
back anto the bed: An rest is it! Where'd
an signs on It, 'tisnt aisy as down to tired bones,
barrfn' that the childher sleep there their own
selves But deed I've not the time to rest till I'm
Sleep and it's small time for that but it's heavens
own bleSSin' to me, av 1t comes"
"But whin It's Christmas, and some kind heart
IKE yours mem, fetcheS me the basket full like
you, an know there's big dinner in t for Patsy
an the chfldher, such as they haven't set their
O1ss1d eyes on fer year, an there's the clothes in
u besides that wOr the young maSthers+the
heavens be his bed this night! an don't know
how the heart OF yez ached to be tak1n' 'em down
an g1vin' lem to poor Bridgy's b'ys? The Blissid
virgin keep we, mem, for that same. Why, thin,
isn't 1t ralSOn I'd be merry? An Patsy III keep em
Whilst go to Mass an see the flowers an the
greens an the burnin candles, an hear the music
a-g0in ali over, an maxim me eyes ache an me
back cold as though hearn the angels in Pardise
a-slng1n'; an there's barr'l o. coal to home it
WARNS me TO think OF, an the hot fire an the good
dinner cOnmin, an the childher laughin' to the
nre, an Patsy wild the mouth stretched open
a-1stenln' to EN-. oh! don't you think its Merry
Christmas to livery vein av Inc heart, thin?"
Deed an It's MORTAL sorry am, mem, that a
Kind lady like you'll never know the feel av it
So won't wish We the Merry Christmas, but what
next best to THAT yen make it merry to more
besides me-"