On the Fifth Day of Christmas, Chalmette, New Orleans, 1909

Dec3

O’Henry‘s most famous Christmas story is, of course, The Gift of the Magi, about young newlyweds who give each other sacrificial Christmas gifts. In Whistling Dick’s Christmas Stocking, a tramp named Whistling Dick rescues a family from a group of thieves on Christmas Eve. The story first appeared in the collection, Roads of Destiny, published in 1909.

A distant clatter in the rear quickly developed into the swift beat of horses’ hoofs, and Whistling Dick stepped aside into the dew-wet grass to clear the track. Turning his head, he saw approaching a fine team of stylish grays drawing a double surrey. A stout man with a white moustache occupied the front seat, giving all his attention to the rigid lines in his hands. Behind him sat a placid, middle-aged lady and a brilliant-looking girl hardly arrived at young ladyhood. The lap-robe had slipped partly from the knees of the gentleman driving, and Whistling Dick saw two stout canvas bags between his feet–bags such as, while loafing in cities, he had seen warily transferred between express waggons and bank doors. The remaining space in the vehicle was filled with parcels of various sizes and shapes.

As the surrey swept even with the sidetracked tramp, the bright-eyed girl, seized by some merry, madcap impulse, leaned out toward him with a sweet, dazzling smile, and cried, “Mer-ry Christ-mas!” in a shrill, plaintive treble.

Such a thing had not often happened to Whistling Dick, and he felt handicapped in devising the correct response. But lacking time for reflection, he let his instinct decide, and snatching off his battered derby, he rapidly extended it at arm’s length, and drew it back with a continuous motion, and shouted a loud, but ceremonious, “Ah, there!” after the flying surrey.

Today’s Gifts
A song: Moon River, music by Henry Mancini. Ok, it’s not a Christmas song, but it’s vintage Andy Williams. Enjoy.A booklist: The many short stories of William Sydney Porter, O’Henry.
A birthday: Andy Williams, b.1930. We always used to watch Andy Williams’ Christmas special on TV, back in the day.
Nicholaus von Amsdorf, German reformation theologian, b.1483. I only recognize this name because Eldest Daughter has been studying Herr Nicholaus von Amsdorf this past semester. Merry Christmas to all theologians and medieval scholars.
Joseph Conrad, b.1857.
A poem: Moon River by Johnny Mercer.

Moon River, wider than a mile,
I’m crossing you in style some day.
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,
wherever you’re going I’m going your way.

Two drifters off to see the world.
There’s such a lot of world to see.
We’re after the same rainbow’s end–
waiting ’round the bend,
my huckleberry friend,
Moon River and me.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas, Tottenham Court Road, London, 1892

Dec2

From The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a Sherlock Holmes mystery story:

The facts are these: about four o’clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the man’s hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose.”

Today’s Gifts
A song: One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite singers, Karen Carpenter singing I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.
A booklist: Gift books for what they want to be when they grow up.
A birthday: David Macaulay, b.1946.
A poem: Christmas Bells by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The entire poem has seven stanzas or verses.

On the Third Day of Christmas, Near Putney, England, c.1900

Dec1

From G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown Christmas story, The Flying Stars:

That venerable financier, however, still seemed struggling with portions of his well-lined attire, and at length produced from a very interior tail-coat pocket, a black oval case which he radiantly explained to be his Christmas present for his god-daughter. With an unaffected vain-glory that had something disarming about it he held out the case before them all; it flew open at a touch and half-blinded them. It was just as if a crystal fountain had spurted in their eyes. In a nest of orange velvet lay like three eggs, three white and vivid diamonds that seemed to set the very air on fire all round them. Fischer stood beaming benevolently and drinking deep of the astonishment and ecstasy of the girl, the grim admiration and gruff thanks of the colonel, the wonder of the whole group.

“I’ll put ’em back now, my dear,” said Fischer, returning the case to the tails of his coat. “I had to be careful of ’em coming down. They’re the three great African diamonds called `The Flying Stars,’ because they’ve been stolen so often. All the big criminals are on the track; but even the rough men about in the streets and hotels could hardly have kept their hands off them. I might have lost them on the road here. It was quite possible.”

“Quite natural, I should say,” growled the man in the red tie. “I shouldn’t blame ’em if they had taken ’em. When they ask for bread, and you don’t even give them a stone, I think they might take the stone for themselves.”

“I won’t have you talking like that,” cried the girl, who was in a curious glow. “You’ve only talked like that since you became a horrid what’s-his-name. You know what I mean. What do you call a man who wants to embrace the chimney-sweep?”

“A saint,” said Father Brown.

“I think,” said Sir Leopold, with a supercilious smile, “that Ruby means a Socialist.”

Today’s Gifts:
A song: God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen
A booklist: Crime Fiction to Give for Christmas at Mysteries in Paradise.
A birthday: Rex Stout, b.1886.
A poem: Mistletoe by Walter de la Mare and Lines for a Christmas Card by Hillaire Belloc.

On the Second Day of Christmas, Washington D.C., 1941

Nov30

Winston Churchill spent the Christmas of 1941 in Washington D.C. in conference with FDR, regarding their joint response to the bombing at Pearl Harbor. Churchill broadcast this message from the White House on Christmas Eve:

I spend this anniversary and festival far from my country, far from my family, yet I cannot truthfully say that I feel far from home. Whether it be the ties of blood on my mother’s side, or the friendships I have developed here over many years of active life, or the commanding sentiment of comradeship in the common cause of great peoples who speak the same language, who kneel at the same altars and, to a very large extent, pursue the same ideals, I cannot feel myself a stranger here in the centre and at the summit of the United States. I feel a sense of unity and fraternal association which, added to the kindliness of your welcome, convinces me that I have a right to sit at your fireside and share your Christmas joys.

This is a strange Christmas Eve. Almost the whole world is locked in deadly struggle, and, with the most terrible weapons which science can devise, the nations advance upon each other. Ill would it be for us this Christmastide if we were not sure that no greed for the land or wealth of any other people, no vulgar ambition, no morbid lust for material gain at the expense of others, had led us to the field. Here, in the midst of war, raging and roaring over all the lands and seas, creeping nearer to our hearts and homes, here, amid all the tumult, we have tonight the peace of the spirit in each cottage home and in every generous heart. Therefore we may cast aside for this night at least the cares and dangers which beset us, and make for the children an evening of happiness in a world of storm. Here, then, for one night only, each home throughout the English-speaking world should be a brightly-lighted island of happiness and peace.

Let the children have their night of fun and laughter. Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us, resolved that, by our sacrifice and daring, these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live in a free and decent world.

And so, in God’s mercy, a happy Christmas to you all.

Today’s Gifts:
A booklist: The Books of Lucy Maud Montgomery. What’s your favorite? I’ll stick with Anne of Green Gables, but the sequels are worth reading and so are the Emily books.
A birthday: Jonathan Swift, Mark Twain, Lucy Maud Montgomery, and Winston Churchill.
A poem: The Christmas Night by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Wrapped was the world in slumber deep,
By seaward valley and cedarn steep,
And bright and blest were the dreams of its sleep;
All the hours of that wonderful night-tide through
The stars outblossomed in fields of blue,
A heavenly chaplet, to diadem
The King in the manger of Bethlehem.

Read the rest of the poem.

On the First Day of Christmas, Aunt Hill, Boston, 1875

Nov29

From Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott:

The elders would have sat and talked all the evening, but the young folks were bent on having their usual Christmas frolic; so, after an hour of pleasant chat, they began to get restless, and having consulted together in dumb show, they devised a way to very effectually break up the family council.

Steve vanished, and, sooner than the boys imagined Dandy could get himself up, the skirl of the bag-pipe was heard in the hall, and the bonny piper came to lead the Clan Campbell in the revel.

“Draw it mild, Stenie, my man; ye play unco weel, but ye mak a most infernal din,” cried Uncle Jem, with his hands over his ears, for this accomplishment was new to him, and “took him all aback,” as he expressed it.

So Steve droned out a Highland reel as softly as he could, and the boys danced it to a circle of admiring relations. Captain Jem was a true sailor, however, and could not stand idle while any thing lively was going on; so, when the piper’s breath gave out, he cut a splendid pigeon-wing into the middle of the hall, saying, “Who can dance a Fore and After?” and, waiting for no reply, began to whistle the air so invitingly that Mrs. Jessie “set” to him laughing like a girl; Rose and Charlie took their places behind, and away went the four with a spirit and skill that inspired all the rest to “cut in” as fast as they could.

Today’s Gifts
A song: Nothing says “Thanksgiving” like a chorus of “Jingle Bells,” Mark Steyn on Jingle Bells
A book (or two): My Friend Amy lists Christmas mysteries for 2010.
A birthday: A Meme and a Celebration, C.S. Lewis, Louisa May Alcott, and Madeleine L’Engle.
A poem: Indwelling by T.E. Brown

Semicolon’s 12 Books I Have on Hand and Ready to Read

Dec26

Most of these I got for Christmas, and I am going to have a great time reading them in January:

Read for the Heart: Whole Books for Wholehearted Families by Sarah Clarkson. I’ve known of Sally Clarkson and her ministry to families and especially to homeschooling moms for a long time, and now her daughter is all grown-up and writing books of her own.

The Whole Five Feet: What the Great Books Taught Me About Life, Death and Pretty Much Everything Else by Christopher R. Beha. Christmas gift from my wonderful Engineer Husband. It’s another books about books, which is about as bookily nerdish as a reader can get. New York Times Book Review.

Slouching Toward Bethlehem by Joan Didion. Christmas gift from my lovely Eldest Daughter, the one who has impeccable taste and instincts for great literature. (Although I’m still not a Walker Percy fan.) I’ve been planning to read some essays by Ms. Didion for quite a while, and now is the time.

Sometimes a Light Surprises by Jamie Langston Turner. I asked for this novel, the latest by Christian fiction author Jamie Langston Turner, and my generous Drama Daughter obliged. Ms. Turner writes novels of surprising depth and interest, and I’m looking forward to reading this one. Recommended by Barbara at Stray Thoughts.

Auralia’s Colors by Jeffrey Overstreet. Another pick from my list of requests that Drama Daughter bought for me. This fantasy novel came out from Waterbrook Press in 2007, and it was a finalist in the Christy Awards for Christian Fiction, Visionary Fiction category, losing to Stephen Lawhead’s Scarlett. It already has a sequel, Cyndere’s Midnight, which I will ask for next if this one is as good as I think it will be. Originally recommended to me by Julie, The Happy Catholic.

An Expert in Murder by Nicola Upson. Another Christmas gift. I love Josephine Tey’s mysteries, and I’ve been looking forward to reading Ms. Upson’s novel featuring a fictionalized Tey as the detective in her own murder mystery.

At Large and At Small: Familiar Essays by Anne Fadiman. Eldest Daughter again. I think she wants me to read more nonfiction, particularly essays, and I’m happy to go there with Ms. Fadiman, who also wrote Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader, a book I enjoyed reading a couple of years ago.

Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art by Madeleine L’Engle. I think I’ve already read much of the materila in this book, if not the entire book. However, I’m happy to have my own copy now and to be able to read and re-read Ms. L’Engle’s insights into faith and the creative process.

Culture Making: Recovering our Creative Process by Andy Crouch. Another book about creativity, art, and the Christian life. I bought this one on Carrie’s (Reading to Know) recommendation.

Voices of the Faithful, Book 2: Inspiring Stories of Courage from Christians Serving Around the World. Compiled by
Kim P. Davis. This series was created and Book 1 was compiled by Beth Moore. It’s really an almanac/devotional book of modern-day missionary stories. I’m not planning to read straight through the book, but I do want to start reading the stories, maybe aloud to the family. And I am supposed to review the book for Thomas Nelson Publishers, so you’ll be hearing waht I think of it here on the blog.

Greenmantle by John Buchan. I bought this book at the used bookstore a couple of months ago. The blurb says, “Richard Hannay, hero of The Thirty-Nine Steps, travels across war-torn Europe in search of a German plot and an Islamic Messiah. . . . Classic espionage adventure.”

Lewis Agonistes: How C.S. Lewis Can Train Us to Wrestle with the Modern and Postmodern World. by Louis Markos. Engineer Husband got this title for Christmas, but I’m hoping he’ll let me borrow it and read it, too.

So there you have it: 12 books I already have on deck and ready to read as soon as I finish my work with the Cybils Middle Grade Fiction panel of judges. I have plans to share 12 more lists with you this week and next–sort of my 12 Days of Christmas gift posts. And I’ll be writing a lot about the Cybils as the year and the preliminary judging wind down. The Cybils shortlists will be announced on New Year’s Day.

Stay tuned.

Christmas at the Reform Club, London, England, 1872

Dec21

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently established around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going on. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to its highest pitch.
The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

*****
The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed so long to them!
“Seventeen minutes to nine,” said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards which Ralph handed to him.
Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.
“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice which betrayed his emotion.
One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the
seconds.
At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.
At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.
The players rose from their seats.
At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice, said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”
~Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne

Phileas Fogg was due to make his appearance at the Reform Club in London on December 21, 1872 at a quarter before nine in the evening. That he made his trip around the world within the stipulated eighty days and collected on his bet with the gentlemen of the Reform Club was the result of a mistake and of true love. Phileas Fogg ended up “the happiest of men.”

“Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?”

Christmas in Royal Surrey Gardens, London, 1857

Dec21

Sermon delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 20, 1857, by the Rev. C.H. Spurgeon at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens:

And oh, if thou hast anything on thy conscience, anything that prevents thy having peace of mind, keep thy Christmas in thy chamber, praying to God to give thee peace; for it is peace on earth, mind, peace in thyself, peace with thyself, peace with thy fellow men, peace with thy God. And do not think thou hast well celebrated that day till thou canst say,
â€œO God,
â€™With the world, myself, and thee
I ere I sleep at peace will be. â€
And when the Lord Jesus has become your peace, remember, there is another thing, good will towards men. Do not try to keep Christmas without keeping good will towards men. You are a gentleman, and have servants. Well, try and set their chimneys on fire with a large piece of good, substantial beef for them. If you are men of wealth, you have poor in your neighborhood. Find something wherewith to clothe the naked, and feed the hungry, and make glad the mourner. Remember, it is good will towards men. Try, if you can, to show them good will at this special season; and if you will do that, the poor will say with me, that indeed they wish there were six Christmases in the year.
Let each one of us go from this place determined, that if we are angry all the year round, this next week shall be an exception; that if we have snarled at everybody last year, this Christmas time we will strive to be kindly affectionate to others; and if we have lived all this year at enmity with God, I pray that by his Spirit he may this week give us peace with him; and then, indeed, my brother, it will be the merriest Christmas we ever had in all our lives. You are going home to your father and mother, young men; many of you are going from your shops to your homes. You remember what I preached on last Christmas time. Go home to thy friends, and tell them what the Lord hath done for thy soul, and that will make a blessed round of stories at the Christmas fire. If you will each of you tell your parents how the Lord met with you in the house of prayer; how, when you left home, you were a gay, wild blade, but have now come back to love your motherâ€™s God, and read your fatherâ€™s Bible. Oh, what a happy Christmas that will make! What more shall I say? May God give you peace with yourselves; may he give you good will towards all your friends, your enemies, and your neighbors; and may he give you grace to give glory to God in the highest. I will say no more, except at the close of this sermon to wish every one of you, when the day shall come, the happiest Christmas you ever had in your lives.

Read the entire sermon.

The words in italics are my particular prayer for a certain young man I know this Christmas. Will you pray them with me for that prodigal whose name is known already to the waiting, loving and forgiving Father?

Christmas Poem by G.K. Chesterton

Dec18

There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
Than the square stones of Rome.

For men are homesick in their homes,
And strangers under the sun,
And they lay their heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is done.

Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
And chance and honour and high surprise,
But our homes are under miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was begun.

A child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost—how long ago!
In a place no chart nor ship can show
Under the sky’s dome.

This world is wild as an old wife’s tale,
And strange the plain things are,
The earth is enough and the air is enough
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in impossible things
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
Home shall all men come,
To an older place than Eden
And a taller town than Rome.
To the end of the way of the wandering star,
To the things that cannot be and that are,
To the place where God was homeless
And all men are at home.

Semicolon

Books we must have though we lack bread.

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