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Welcome to Mind Over Murder. I'm
Kristin Dilly and I'm Bill Thomas, and

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we're bringing you a special holiday bonus
episode of Mind Over Murder with our very

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first poetry reading. Wow, you
mean we're not going to talk about true

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crime. We are not. There
was no way to make Santa Claus and

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it was a serial killer, so
we decided to just do a street up

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holiday classic. I like it.
We are going to read in tandem for

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you all. A visit from Saint
Nicholas, which most people know as the

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Night before Christmas. Some people say
twas the night before Christmas. And if

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you had ask my students what twas
means, they would not be able to

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tell you, but you'd explain it
to them because you're a great teacher.

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I would certainly try twas the night
before Christmas, or the night before Christmas,

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or a visit from Saint nick whatever. Float Your boat was first published

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anonymously in eighteen twenty three, and
the authorship was later claimed in eighteen thirty

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seven by a gentleman by the name
of Clement C. Moore, and he

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claims that he wrote this for his
children on Christmas Eve in eighteen twenty two,

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and it was first published in the
Troy, New York newspaper. And

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like all good literature, there's some
controversy about who wrote it. There's actually

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another gentleman who claimed that he wrote
a Visit from Saint Nicholas, but we'll

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leave it with Clement Seymore. This
has been called the best known verses ever

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written by an American, and it
is responsible for some of these concepts that

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we have of Santa Claus today.
So for your listening pleasure, a Visit

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from Saint Nicholas by Clement Seymour.
It twas the night before Christmas. Went

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all through the house, not a
creature was stirring a mouse. The stockings

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were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would

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be there. The children were nestled
all snug in their beds, while visions

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of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mamma in her kerchief and I

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in my cap, had just settled
down for a long winter's nap, when

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out on the lawn there arose such
a clatter. I sprang from the bed

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to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I flew like

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a flash tore open the shutters and
threw up the sash. The moon on

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the breast, the new fallen snow
gave the luster of midday to objects below.

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When what to my wandering eyes should
appear but a miniature sleigh and eight

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tiny reindeer with a little old driver. So lively and quick I knew in

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a moment it must be Saint Nick, more rapid than eagles. His coursers.

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They came, and he whistled and
shouted and called them by name.

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Now Dasher, now dancer, now
prints, and vixen, on comet,

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on Cupid, on donder, and
blitzen. To the top of the porch,

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to the top of the wall.
Now dash away, dash away,

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dash away, all as dry leaves
that before the wild hurricane fly. When

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they meet with an obstacle, mount
to the sky. So up to the

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housetop the coursers they flew, with
a sleigh full of toys, and Saint

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Nicholas too. And then in a
twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing

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and pawing of each little hook.
As I drew in my hand and was

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turning around down the chimney, Saint
Nicholas came with a bound. He was

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dressed all in fur from his head
to his foot, and his clothes were

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all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of toys he had flung on

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his back, and he looked like
a peddler just opening his pack. His

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eyes, how they twinkled, His
dimples, how merry. His cheeks were

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like roses, his nose like a
cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn

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up like a bow, and the
beard on his chin was as white as

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the snow. The stump of a
pipe he held tight in his teeth,

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and the smoke it encircled his head
like a wreath. He had a broad

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face and a little round belly that
shook when he laughed, like a bowl

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full of jelly. He was chubby
and plump, all right, jelly,

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old elf. And I laughed when
I saw him in spite of myself.

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A wink of his eye and a
twist of his head soon gave me to

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know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went

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straight to his work and filled all
the stockings, then turned with a jerk,

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and laying his finger aside of his
nose, and giving a nod up

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the chimney. He rose, he
sprang to his sleigh, to his cheem,

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gave a whistle, and away they
all flew like the down of a

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thistle. But I heard him exclaim
ere he drove out of sight. Happy

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Christmas to all, and to all
a good night from both of us.

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Here at mind of a murder,
we'd like to issue a Merry Christmas,

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happy Holidays, and happy and healthy
New Year. The