Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

Anna Bartlett Warner

Susan Warner

Susan Warner, Anna Bartlett Warner, Amy Lothrop

Karl Krinken, His Christmas Stocking

“�A roast chicken!—Oh, Roswald!—How mother will like a piece of that! How good it smells!’”—P. 161 (#litres_trial_promo).

SUGGESTIVE

I think it necessary to come to the help of the Public—

Lest Miss Wetherell should not have her dues, they are giving her the dues of every one else; and whatever my hand may have to do on “Ellen Montgomery’s Bookshelf,” there it is—even though “a discerning Public” perceive it not. No matter for that—I had as lief be behind the books as before them; but must enter my protest against facts which are no facts.

Therefore kind Public, Messrs Editors, and friends in general, I propose this division of the volumes; by which my sister and I will each in turn have written them all. Whatever book or part of a book you particularly like, thank Miss Wetherell for it; and let all those pages which are less interesting be charged to the account of

В В В В AMY LOTHROP.

New York. Dec. 13. 1853.

THE CHRISTMAS STOCKING

Wherever Santa Claus lives, and in whatever spot of the universe he harnesses his reindeer and loads up his sleigh, one thing is certain—he never yet put anything in that sleigh for little Carl Krinken. Indeed it may be noted as a fact, that the Christmas of poor children has but little of his care. Now and then a cast-off frock or an extra mince pie slips into the load, as it were accidentally; but in general Santa Claus strikes at higher game,—gilt books, and sugar-plums, and fur tippets, and new hoods, and crying babies, and rocking-horses, and guns, and drums, and trumpets;—and what have poor children to do with these? Not but they might have something to do with them. It is a singular fact that poor children cut their teeth quite as early as the rich,—even that sweet tooth, which is destined to be an unsatisfied tooth all the days of its life, unless its owner should perchance grow up to be a sugar-refiner. It is also remarkable, that though poor children can bear a great deal of cold, they can also enjoy being warm—whether by means of a new dress or a load of firing; and the glow of a bright blaze looks just as comfortable upon little cheeks that are generally blue, as upon little cheeks that are generally red; while not even dirt will hinder the kindly heat of a bed of coals from rejoicing little shivering fingers that are held over it.

I say all this is strange—for nobody knows much about it; and how can they? When a little girl once went down Broadway with her muff and her doll, the hand outside the muff told the hand within that he had no idea what a cold day it was. And the hand inside said that for his part he never wished it to be warmer.

But with all this Santa Claus never troubled his head—he was too full of business, and wrapped up in buffalo skins besides; and though he sometimes thought of little Carl, as a good-natured little fellow who talked as much about him as if Santa Claus had given him half the world—yet it ended with a thought, for his hands were indeed well occupied. It was no trifle to fill half a million of rich little stockings; and then—how many poor children had any to fill? or if one chanced to be found, it might have holes in it; and if the sugar-plums came rolling down upon such a floor–!

To be sure the children wouldn’t mind that, but Santa Claus would.

Nevertheless, little Carl always hung up his stocking, and generally had it filled—though not from any sleigh-load of wonderful things; and he often amused himself Christmas eve with dreaming that he had made himself sick eating candy, and that they had a stack of mince-pies as high as the house. So altogether, what with dreams and realities, Carl enjoyed that time of year very much, and thought it was a great pity Christmas did not come every day. He was always contented, too, with what he found in his stocking; while some of his rich little neighbours had theirs filled only to thei