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Page 73—Stealing Land

The Thieves' Ladder
The girls were helping in the house,
With bustle and with show,
And told the boys to go away,
And not disturb them so.
And the boys went whistling down the streets,
And looking in the shops
At tempting heaps of oranges,
And piles of sugar-drops.
"Here, Willie, to the grocer's run;
Be sharp, now—there's a man,
And bring me home a pound of plums
As quickly as you can!
"Don't touch a plum—be sure you don't;
To-morrow you shall eat."
"I won't." he said, and, like a top,
Went spinning down the street.
The grocer weigh'd them in his scales,
And there was one too much;
He took it out, and all was right,
The scale was to a touch.
He wrapp'd them up in whitey-brown,
And tied them with a string,
And put the money in the till,
As 'twere a common thing.
Young Willie watched, with greedy eyes,
As this affair went on.
The plums—they look'd so very nice!
He wouldn't take but one.
So going quick behind a post,
He tore the paper so
That he could take out two or three,
And nobody would know.
There was a little voice that said,
Close by, in Willie's heart,
"Don't tear the hole—don't take the plum—
Don't play a thievish part!"
The little voice—it spoke in vain!
He reach'd his mother's door;
She did not see the hole he'd made,
His trouble then was o'er.
And what a trifling thing it seem'd,
To take one single plum!
A little thing we hold between
Our finger and out thumb.
And yet upon that Christmas eve,
That period so brief,
Young Willie set his foot upon
"The ladder of the thief!"
And as he lay awake that night,
He heard his parents speak;
He heard distinctly what they said,
The blood rush'd to his cheek.
He lay and listn'd earnestly;
They might have found him out,
And he might get a flogging too,
'Twas that he thought about.
A guilty person cannot rest,
He always is in fear;
Not knowing what may happen next
To make his guilt appear.
So, when he heard his mother speak,
He rose up in his bed,
And did not lose a syllable
Of every word she said:—
"We have not any turnips, John,
I could not spare the pence;
But you can go and get us some
Through Farmer Turner's fence.
"There's nobody to see you now,
The folks are off the road;
The night looks dark and blustering,
And no one is abroad.
"It is not far—you'll soon be back—
I'll stand outside to hear;
The watchman now is off his track,
And won't be coming near."
The father he went softly out,
And down the lane he crept,
And stole some turnips from the field
Whilst honest people slept!
'Tis not the words that parents say,
It is their very deed;
Their children know the difference,
And follow where they lead.
How often, if their lives are good,
Their children's are the same;
Whilst, if they're thievish, drunken,
Their children come to shame!
Now, Willie laid him down in bed,
His conscience found relief;
"I'm not the only one," he said—
"My father is a thief!
"How foolish 'twas to be afraid
About a little plum!"
He pull'd the bed-clothes o'er his head,
And dream'd of feasts to come.
On Christmas-day they had the pies.
The turnips, and the beef;
And Willie's foot was firm upon
The ladder of the thief.
And ere the snow was on the plain,
And Christmas-day came round,
And boys were sliding, once again,
Upon the frozen ground,
He, step by step, had further gone
Upon that dreadful road
That brings a man to misery,
And takes him far from God.
He cheated with his marbles first,
And then at other play;
He pilfered any little thing
That came within his way.
His parents did not punish him;
He went from bad to worse,
Until he grew so confident,
He stole a lady's purse.
Then he was seized, and brought before
The city magistrate;
And the police and lady came
The robbery to state.
And Willie he was proved a thief,
And nothing had to say;
So to the dreadful prison-house
He soon was led away.
In vain he cried, and pleaded hard
They would not take him there;
He would not do such things again
If they would hear his prayer.
It was too late! The prison door,
With bolt, and bar, and chain,
Was opened to take Willie in,
And then was shut again.
He saw the handcuffs on the wall,
The fetters on the floor;
And heavy keys with iron rings
To lock the dungeon door.
He saw the little, lonely cells
Where prisoners were kept,
And all the dreary passages,
And bitterly he wept.
And through the strong-barred iron grate,
High up and far away,
He saw a piece of clear blue sky
Out in the blessed day.
And "Oh!" he said, "my brothers now
Are out of school again,
And playing marbles on the path,
Or cricket on the plain.
"And here am I, shut up so close
Within this iron door;
If ever I get out again
I'll give this business o'er."
And Willie went to sleep that night
In his dark cell alone;
But often in his troubled dreams
He turned with heavy moan.
What sound is that at early morn
That breaks upon his ear?
A funeral bell is tolling slow,
It tolls so very near.
And in the court he sees a crowd,
So haggard and so pale,
And they are whispering fearfully
A sad and awful tale.
And all seem looking at a man
Who stands with fetters bound,
And guards and executioner
Are gathered close around.
And he beheld that wretched man,
Who trembled like a leaf:
His foot no more would stand upon
The ladder of the thief.
For he had climbed it step by step,
Till murder closed the whole;
The hangman came to take his life,
But where would be his soul?
And still the bell went tolling on;
It tolled so heavily
As that young man went up the stairs,
Out to the gallows-tree.
It tolled—it tolled—Oh! heavy sound!
It stopped—the deed is o'er;
And that young man upon the earth
Will now be seen no more:
Oh! parents watch your little ones,
Lest you have such a grief;
Help not their tender feet to climb
The ladder of the thief.
I have not heard young Willie's end,
I hope he learned that day;
But 'tis a thing most difficult
To leave a wicked way.
Sewell

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Page 74—Santa Claus Land

I have given no Fairy Tales in this Childland. For in this matter-of-fact age belief in Fairy Tales and all kinds of wonderful fictions is fast vanishing. Santa Claus, the "bestest" "goodest" fairy of all alone remains: and even he is gradually being doubted by all but the most innocent children, but as he as a personality is still largely amongst us, I give his popular history culled from many sources.
Santa Claus Land
At the top of the earth, which they call the North Pole,
Is where Santa Claus lives, a right jolly old soul!
And the ice and the snow lie so thick on the ground
The sun cannot melt them the whole summer round.
All wrapped up in furs from his head to his toes,
No feeling of coldness dear Santa Claus knows,
But travels about with a heart full of joy,
As happy as if he were only a boy.
His cheeks are like roses; his eyes are as bright
As stars that shine out overhead in the night,
And they twinkle as merrily too all the while,
And broad as a sunbeam is Santa Claus' smile.
He never is idle except when asleep,
And even in dreams at his labours will keep,
And all thro' the day and the night, it is true,
He is working and planning, dear children, for you.
On top of his tower with spy-glass in hand,
He goes every morning to look o'er the land,
And though there are hills all around, I suppose,
He sees, oh, much further than any one knows.
He peeps into houses whose doors are tight shut;
He looks through the palace, and likewise the hut;
He gazes on cities, and villages small,
And nothing, no, nothing is hidden at all.
He knows where the good children live beyond doubt,
He knows where the bad boys and girls are about,
And writes down their names on a page by themselves;
In a book that he keeps on his library shelves.
For good little children, the gentle and kind,
The prettiest presents of toys are designed,
And when Christmas comes round, as it does once a year,
'Tis certain that Santa Claus then will appear.
His work-shop is, oh! such a wonderful place,
With heaps of gay satins, and ribbons, and lace;
With houses and furniture, dishes and pans,
And bracelets and bangles, and all sorts of fans.
There are horses that gallop, and dollies that walk,
And some of the pretty doll-babies can talk.
There are pop-guns, and marbles, and tops for the boys,
And big drums and trumpets that make a big noise.
There are games for all seasons, the base-ball and kite,
And books which the children will seize with delight,
And the skates and the sleds, far too many to count,
And the bicycles ready for wheelmen to mount.
There are farm-yards in plenty, with fences and trees,
And cows, sheep, and oxen, all taking their ease,
And turkeys and ducks, and fine chickens and hens,
And dear little piggies to put in their pens.
There are gay Noah's Arks, just as full as can be
Of animals, really a wonder to see;
There are lions and tigers, and camels and bears,
And two of each kind, for they travel in pairs.
There are elephants stretching their noses quite long;
And reindeer and elks with their antlers so strong,
And queer kangaroos all the others amid,
With their dear little babies in pockets well hid.
Is Santa Claus happy? There's no need to ask,
For he finds such enjoyment indeed in his task,
That he bubbles with laughter, and whistles and sings,
While making and planning the beautiful things.
He's a jolly good fellow, but ever so shy,
And likes to do all his good deeds on the sly,
So there's no use spoiling a good winter's nap
For you'll not catch a glimpse of the jolly old chap.
When Christmas Eve comes, into bed you must creep,
And late in the night when you are asleep,
He is certain to come; so your stockings prepare,
And hang them up close by the chimney with care.
The baby's wee stockings you must not forget,
For Santa will have something nice for the pet,
And those who are thoughtful for others will find
The good saint at Christmas time has them in mind.
There is Tommy, who tended the baby with care,
A nice train of cars he shall have for his share,
And how happy will Eliza be when she looks
For her presents, and finds such a budget of books.
For dear little Mary, a doll there will be;
And for Alice and Jenny a gay Christmas tree;
And wee little Georgie, the baby, will find
A big stick of candy, just suiting his mind.
Oh, a jolly good sight is this funny old chap
When he's dressed in his bear-skin and fur-bordered cap,
All ready to start on his way through the cold,
In a sleigh covered over with jewels and gold.
While his deer from the mountains all harnessed with care,
Like race-horses prance through the clear frosty air;
'Tis fun just to watch them, and hear the bells ring,
And the stars seem to think it a comical thing.
For old Santa is bundled so close to the chin,
That there is not a chance for the cold to get in,
His cheeks are so rosy, his eyes how they flash!
No horses nor driver e'er cut such a dash!
He cracks his long whip, and he whistles a tune,
While he winks at the stars, and he bows to the moon,
And over the tree-tops he drives like the wind,
And leaves all the night-birds a long way behind.
His steeds speed away on a journey so fleet,
That they seem to have wings to their swift-flying feet,
For there's work to be done by a cheery old man,
And his coursers will help him as well as they can.
His sleigh is with toys and trinkets well packed,
You never beheld one with pleasures so stacked;
And though of good children he has such a list,
Not one is forgotten, not one will be missed.
An army he gives to the boy who is neat,
And never is rude in the house or the street;
And a farm to the lad who goes smiling to school,
Who knows all his lessons and minds every rule.
And if you would please him—dear Bertie and Jack—;
And win a nice prize from the old fellow's pack,
Be good little children, your parents obey,
And strive to be happy at work or at play.
At Christmas old Santa Claus toils like a Turk,
For the cheery old fellow is fond of his work.
With his queer looking team through the air he will go,
And alight on the house-tops all covered in snow.
Then down through the chimneys he'll dart without noise
And fill up the stockings with candy and toys.
There'll be presents for Julia, and Nellie, and Jack,
And plenty more left in the old fellow's pack.
And if Frank behaves well, and minds what is said,
Quits teasing the cat and goes early to bed;
He'll find for his present a sled or a gun,
A ready companion in frolic and fun.
On Santa Claus hurries, and works with a will,
For many tall Christmas trees he has to fill,
And loads them with treasures from out his rich store,
Till they blossom as trees never blossomed before.
Though round as a dumpling, and ever so fat,
In running and climbing he's spry as a cat,
And if the long ladder should happen to break,
And he should fall down, what a crash it would make!
I told you his home was up North by the Pole,
In a palace of hives lives this worthy old soul,
And though out of doors it may furiously storm,
Indoors as we know, it is sunny and warm.
When Christmas is over old Santa Claus goes
To his home in the North, and his well-earned repose,
And when he is rested and feeling tip-top,
The good-natured workman goes back to his shop.
And there he will labor from morning till night,
To make others happy his aim and delight,
And if his good-will the dear children would earn,
They must strive to be happy and good in return.
He comes like an angel of light from above,
To do on the earth sweetest errands of love;
And our hearts and our homes to so fill with good cheer
That we cannot help knowing when Christmas is near.
Then let us be glad, so that Christmas may be
A real Merry Christmas to you and to me!
And now that the story is ended we'll give
Three cheers for old Santa Claus! Long may he live!

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