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The Night After Christmas
'Twas the night after Christmas, and all through the house
Not
a creature was stirring—excepting a mouse.
The stockings
were flung in haste over the chair,
For hopes of St. Nicholas
were no longer there.
The children were restlessly tossing in
bed,
For the pie and the candy were heavy as lead;
While mamma in her
kerchief, and I in my gown,
Had just made up our minds that we
would not lie down,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from
my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I went
with a dash,
Flung open the shutter, and threw up the sash.
The moon on the
breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of noon-day to
objects below.
 When what to my long anxious eyes should appear
But a horse and
a sleigh, both old-fashioned and queer;
With a little old driver,
so solemn and slow,
I knew at a glance it must be Dr Brough.
I drew in my head,
and was turning around,
When upstairs came the Doctor, with
scarcely a sound,
He wore a thick overcoat, made long ago,
And the beard on his
chin was white with the snow.
He spoke a few words, and went
straight to his work;
He felt all the pulses,—then turned
with a jerk,
 And laying his finger aside of his nose,
With a nod of his head
to the chimney he goes:—
"A spoonful of oil, ma'am,
if you have it handy;
No nuts and no raisins, no pies and no candy.
These tender young
stomachs cannot well digest
All the sweets that they get; toys
and books are the best.
But I know my advice will not find many
friends,
For the custom of Christmas the other way tends.
The fathers and
mothers, and Santa Claus, too,
Are exceedingly blind. Well, a
good-night to you!"
And I heard him exclaim, as he drove
out of sight:
These feastings and candies make Doctors' bills
right!"
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