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  THE

  CHRISTMAS DREAM

  OF

  LITTLE CHARLES.

  [Illustration: Line drawing of a colt]

  NEW YORK:

  PUBLISHED BY J. S. REDFIELD

  CLINTON HALL

  [Illustration: Man on a horse]





  THE CHRISTMAS DREAM

  OF LITTLE CHARLES.

  [Illustration: Decorative scroll]


ONE Christmas eve, little Charles Estabrook hung his
stocking carefully by the chimney corner, and, after saying
his prayers, got into bed, and soon fell asleep. Charles was
a good little boy; he was fond of horses, and took pleasure
in feeding them and attending to their wants. On the day
previous, a traveller came along; his horse was thirsty; so
little Charles got a pail, filled it with water, and gave the
horse to drink, for which the traveller rewarded him by
giving him a shilling.

[Illustration: Tying a shoe lace]

But, although so fond of horses, little Charles was not
unmindful of the claims of his sister Lizzy, as she was
familiarly called, and, in pleasant weather, would go out to
walk with her. In the engraving opposite, they are on their
way to school together, and have stopped that he may tie her
shoe, which has become unfastened.

Charles dreamed that he was in bed, peeping at his stocking,
over the bed-clothes, when he saw a very pleasant-looking
old gentleman come down the chimney, on a nice little pony,
precisely like the one named Lightfoot, that his Uncle Ben
had promised to give him. It was funny, indeed, to see the
pony slide down feet foremost, and Charles could not help
laughing; but he laughed still louder, when he examined Old
Nicholas the rider. His hair was made of crackers, and as he
came nearer and nearer to the lamp, that stood on the
hearth, pop went off one of the crackers, then another, and
then another. But St. Nicholas was not a bit frightened; he
only rubbed his ears with his coat-sleeve, patted the pony
to keep him quiet, and laughed till he showed the concave of
his great mouth, full of sugar-plums.

  “He was chubby and plump,
     A right jolly old elf—
   Charley laughed when he saw him,
     In spite of himself;
   While a wink of his eye,
     A twist of his head,
   Soon gave him to know
     He had nothing to dread.”

Charles was excessively delighted, and shouted so loud that
his mother thought he had the nightmare. He watched the old
gentleman closely, and then looked at his stocking. It hung
very conveniently. “He can’t put the pony in it,” said he to
himself; “that’s a pity.”

[Illustration: Church tower]

The old gentleman’s pockets stuck out prodigiously, and he
panted and puffed as if he had been cudgelling an alligator.
“Well,” said he, wiping the perspiration off his face,
although it was the 25th of December, “if this is not hard
work. Eighty-five youngsters have I called on the last hour.
Hark! St. Michael’s sounds loud down the chimney. One, two.
I shall have a tough job, from two o’clock till daylight,
popping down the chimneys from the Battery to the High bridge.
I wonder what this chap would like for a Christmas present,”
continued he, eying the stocking; then putting his arms
akimbo, he began to consider. Charles’s heart beat. “Good
Mr. Nicholas,” said he to himself, “if you could only give
me that pony.” But he kept quite still, for he saw the old
man put his hands into his tremendous pockets. “Let me see,”
said old Nicholas, “here is a jack-knife that I was to have
given Tommy Battle, if he had not quarrelled with his sisters.
Open sesame!” The stocking opened, and in went the jack-knife.
It was the very thing that Charles wanted. One after another
the old gentleman pulled out tops, twine, marbles, dissected
maps, picture-books, sugar-plums, besides divers other
notions, all the while talking to himself. “This drum,” said
he, “is for Tom Barnwell, a clever little fellow who never
tells lies. These pretty little fish-hooks and line Master
Troup must have, for his patient care of his father when he
was sick. This mask is for Orace Allen; he must not use it
to frighten little children, or I shall remember it when
Christmas comes again. Let me see, I will give this globe to
Joseph Dudley, who is a studious boy, and he will make a
good use of it. This pretty annual was for William Wiley,
but the lad kicked his brother, and called him a bad name,
so I will lay it by for George Wilde.”

[Illustration: Drum]

[Illustration: Mask]

[Illustration: Globe]

Charles thought he could stay for ever to see the old
gentleman take out his knicknacks, and tell who they were
for; but he began to be a little frightened for his own
stocking, when he recollected that he had been remiss in his
Latin the last quarter. “I hope the old gentleman does not
understand the classics,” said Charley to himself; but he
stopped short, for his queer visiter held up the stocking,
saying, “I think this lad loves gunpowder by the smell of
his stocking.” He then took hold of his hair, and pulling
out crackers by the dozen from his head, tied them up into
neat parcels, and threw them into the stocking. As fast as
he pulled them off, new crackers appeared, and hung down
over his ears and forehead. “This accounts for the noise we
hear on Christmas,” said Charles; “I never knew who made all
the crackers!” and he had to hold his sides for laughing,
the old man looked so droll.

[Illustration: Bed]

When the old gentleman stooped over the light to put a new
supply in the stocking, an unusual number exploded, and the
little pony giving a start up the chimney, disappeared.

[Illustration: Horse]

Charles awoke; it was just daylight. He sprung out of bed,
roused all the family with his “Merry Christmas,” ran to the
stable, and what should he see, but Uncle Ben’s little pony,
with a halter on his neck, on which was tied a piece of
paper, written, “A merry Christmas, with the pony Lightfoot,
for my nephew Charles!”

[Illustration: Decorative scroll]




  THE LITTLE COLT.

  SPOKEN BY A LITTLE BOY.


  PRAY how shall I, a little lad,
    In speaking make a figure;
  You are but jesting, I’m afraid.
    Do wait till I am bigger.

  But since you wish to hear my part,
    And urge me to begin it,
  I’ll strive for praise with all my art,
    Though small my chance to win it.

  I’ll tell a tale how Farmer John
    A little roan colt bred, sir,
  And every night and every morn
    He watered and he fed, sir.

  Said Neighbor Joe, to Farmer John,
    “You surely are a dolt, sir,
  To spend such daily care upon
    A little useless colt, sir.”

  The farmer answered wondering Joe,
    “I bring my little roan up,
  Not for the good he now can do,
    But may do when he’s grown up.”

  The moral you may plainly see,
    To keep the tale from spoiling;
  The little colt you think is me—
    I know it by your smiling.

  I now entreat you to excuse
    My lisping and my stammers,
  And, since you’ve learned my parent’s views,
    I’ll humbly make my manners.

[Illustration: Decorative scroll]




  J. S. REDFIELD,

  PUBLISHER AND BOOKSELLER,

  137 Nassau Street,

  CORNER OF NASSAU AND BEEKMAN STS.,

  NEW YORK,

  Keeps on hand a good supply of

  TOY BOOKS, SCHOOL BOOKS,

  MISCELLANEOUS BOOKS,

  MEDICAL BOOKS,

  AND

  STATIONERY.

  *.* _Country Merchants supplied at the
  Lowest Price._

  ——O——

  JUST PUBLISHED,

  REDFIELD’S TOY BOOKS,

  Four Series of Twelve Books each,

  BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED,

  _Price, One, Two, Four, and Six Cents_.




Transcriber's Note

Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores,
_like this_. Dialect, obsolete and alternative spellings
were left unchanged. Descriptions of illustrations added.