[Gutenberg 53299] • A Christmas Hamper: A Volume of Pictures and Stories for Little Folks

An anthology of original poetry, prose, and beautiful illustrations from the end of the 19th century -- all celebrating Christmas and made for children and their parents!

A Christmas Hamper is a collection of Christmas verse and stories aimed at children and their parents at Christmas time, from a simpler time, before commercialism took over Christmas.

If you are looking for a Christmas book different from the mass-produced and diluted pile of poorly drawn and poorly written verse and are longing to celebrate Christmas in an old-fashioned way, then return to a simpler time and a form of celebrating Christmas through these, stories, poems, and illustrations in both color and black-and-white print.

CONTENTS

A Very Naughty Little Person.

Poor Uncle Tom.

A Snow Man.

Not Such Fun as it Seemed.

On The Sands.

Old Clothes.

The Little Tiny Thing.

Questions.

A Lesson in Manners.

The Prize Boat.

The Little Thief in the Pantry.

Great-Grandmother’s Wish.

A Very Naughty Little Person.

Illustrated I ’M told I’m very naughty

I almost ’spect I am;

But, somehow, when I shut the door

It’s nearly sure to slam.

Can you tell why my shoe-strings break

And tie themselves in knots,

And how it is my copy-books

Are always full of blots?

It seems as if too many blots

Lived in one pot of ink;

But when they’re wet and shiny,

They’re pretty, don’t you think?

Why does my hair get tangled?

What makes me talk all day?

And why don’t toys and books just try

To put themselves away?

I think that p’r’aps I might be good

A little, by-and-by;

It’s very hard, but sometimes

I almost ’spect I’ll try.

But now they say I’m naughty,

And p’r’aps it’s nearly true;

There are so many naughty things

For little folks to do.

Poor Uncle Tom.

He seemed a funny old gentleman, the children thought, but still rather nice, especially when he brought those sweets out of his pocket and let them dip into the bag and take what they liked. They had seen him walking through the wood, and then when they left off playing, he had come to sit down beside them, and asked them their names.

“Mine’s Hugh, like father,” said the eldest; “and this is Lily, and this is Tom.”

The old gentleman looked a little quickly at Tom.

“Who is he named after?” he said.

The children’s faces grew grave.

“He is named after poor Uncle Tom,” said Lily in a low voice, “who went to sea and was drowned.”

There was silence for a minute. Then the old gentleman spoke again,—

“So poor Uncle Tom was drowned, was he?”

“Yes,” said Hugh. “His ship was lost, and everybody was drowned, ’cept two or three that got in the boat, and Uncle Tom wasn’t among them. Father waited and waited, but it wasn’t any good. So then he put up a monument in the church just where we can see it from our pew.”

“And we always sings about the saints of God on his burfday,” said Lily, “and father cries a little.”