Welcome to Mind Over Murder. I'm Kristin Dilly and I'm Bill Thomas, and
we're bringing you a special holiday bonus episode of Mind Over Murder with our very
first poetry reading. Wow, you mean we're not going to talk about true
crime. We are not. There was no way to make Santa Claus and
it was a serial killer, so we decided to just do a street up
holiday classic. I like it. We are going to read in tandem for
you all. A visit from Saint Nicholas, which most people know as the
Night before Christmas. Some people say twas the night before Christmas. And if
you had ask my students what twas means, they would not be able to
tell you, but you'd explain it to them because you're a great teacher.
I would certainly try twas the night before Christmas, or the night before Christmas,
or a visit from Saint nick whatever. Float Your boat was first published
anonymously in eighteen twenty three, and the authorship was later claimed in eighteen thirty
seven by a gentleman by the name of Clement C. Moore, and he
claims that he wrote this for his children on Christmas Eve in eighteen twenty two,
and it was first published in the Troy, New York newspaper. And
like all good literature, there's some controversy about who wrote it. There's actually
another gentleman who claimed that he wrote a Visit from Saint Nicholas, but we'll
leave it with Clement Seymore. This has been called the best known verses ever
written by an American, and it is responsible for some of these concepts that
we have of Santa Claus today. So for your listening pleasure, a Visit
from Saint Nicholas by Clement Seymour. It twas the night before Christmas. Went
all through the house, not a creature was stirring a mouse. The stockings
were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would
be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions
of sugar plums danced in their heads. And Mamma in her kerchief and I
in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap, when
out on the lawn there arose such a clatter. I sprang from the bed
to see what was the matter. Away to the window, I flew like
a flash tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on
the breast, the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight
tiny reindeer with a little old driver. So lively and quick I knew in
a moment it must be Saint Nick, more rapid than eagles. His coursers.
They came, and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
Now Dasher, now dancer, now prints, and vixen, on comet,
on Cupid, on donder, and blitzen. To the top of the porch,
to the top of the wall. Now dash away, dash away,
dash away, all as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly. When
they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the
housetop the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of toys, and Saint
Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing
and pawing of each little hook. As I drew in my hand and was
turning around down the chimney, Saint Nicholas came with a bound. He was
dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were
all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on
his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His
eyes, how they twinkled, His dimples, how merry. His cheeks were
like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll little mouth was drawn
up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was as white as
the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad
face and a little round belly that shook when he laughed, like a bowl
full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, all right, jelly,
old elf. And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to
know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went
straight to his work and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod up
the chimney. He rose, he sprang to his sleigh, to his cheem,
gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a
thistle. But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight. Happy
Christmas to all, and to all a good night from both of us.
Here at mind of a murder, we'd like to issue a Merry Christmas,
happy Holidays, and happy and healthy New Year. The