“Oh—­(Considering.)—­DO YOU THINK GRANDMAMMA WOULD TAKE A PRIZE AT THE CAT SHOW?”

“ETHEL, DEAR!  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” “WELL, MUMMY DEAR, I HEARD PAPPA SAY THAT, IN THE WHOLE COURSE OF HIS LIFE HE HAD NEVER COME ACROSS ’SUCH AN OLD TABBY AS HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW’!”]

* * * * *

AWAKENING FATHER CHRISTMAS

OR, THE CALL TO ALMS.

A TOPSY-TURVEY VERSION OF THE TENNYSONIAN DAY-DREAM.

  THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

  All through the year, towards his feet,
    He slumbering in his place alone,
  Waiting December days to greet
    The “Beauty’s” snowy beard has grown;
  Whilst all about his bulky form
    Fir-hedge and holly sprout and twirl. 
  Sleeping he snoreth, snug and warm,
    His breath scarce stirs his beard’s crisp curl.

  He sleeps:  the jolly, brave Old Bird,
    Ruddy of phiz as warm of heart,
  Who, when he’s annually stirred,
    Is always good, and game to “part.” 
  He sleeps:  all round his cosy cell
    His long-stored gifts are waiting use;
  And—­till awaked—­he there doth dwell,
    A cosy form in cosy snooze.

  THE ARRIVAL.

  All precious things, discovered late,
    To those who seek them turn up trumps. 
  Charity works with kindly fate,
    The heart in her soft bosom thumps. 
  She travels under winter skies—­
    She stayeth not for storm or shocks—­
  Celestial Grace with tender eyes,
    And loving lips, and golden locks.

  She comes, well-knowing what she seeks;
    She breaks the hedge, she enters there: 
  Love’s flush illumes her maiden cheeks;
    She hears Yule’s chimes upon the air: 
  She holds aloft that mystic stalk,
    With white globes decked, to lovers dear;
  “Now, Father Christmas, wake and walk!”
    She whispers in the “Beauty’s” ear.

  THE AWAKENING.

  A touch, a kiss! the charm was snapt. 
    There came a noise of striking clocks. 
  Twelve strokes!  Aroused from slumber rapt,
    The “Beauty” shook his silvery locks. 
  “What you again?  My yearly call! 
    By Jove, how soundly I have slept!”
  Then, with a laugh that shook the wall,
    Unto his feet Old Christmas leapt.

  “What!  Twelve!  ’Tis time that I awoke,
    And to the waiting world appeared.” 
  He yawned, and cracked his annual joke,
    And ran his fingers through his beard. 
  “How say you?  Is it slop or snow?”
    She answered, “Come along, old chap! 
  We’ve much to do and far to go,
    Ere you resume your annual nap.”

  THE DEPARTURE.

  And on the Old Sire’s arm she leant,
    And round her waist his arm did fold;
  And forth into the world they went,
    To glad the grieved, to warm the cold. 
  Across the town, and far away,
    Of kindness full, and frolic whim,
  To cheer all hearts went Christmas Day,
    That white-wing’d Presence following him.