Have you ever read a good Christmas story that didn't have mice? There are even mice behind the panelling in A Christmas Carol, and two of my other favorite Christmas books star mice.
The first is The Night Before Christmas, a Golden book illustrated by Cyndy Szekeres.
It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim ray of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their forepaws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry streets to lamplit windows at Yule-time.
Villagers all, this frosty tide,
Let your doors swing open wide,
Though wind may follow, and snow beside,
Yet draw us in by your fire to bide;
Joy shall be yours in the morning!
Here we stand in the cold and the sleet,
Blowing fingers and stamping feet,
Come from far away you to greet--
You by the fire and we in the street--
Bidding you joy in the morning!
For ere one half of the night was gone,
Sudden a star had led us on,
Raining bliss and benison--
Bliss tomorrow and more anon,
Joy for every morning!
Goodman Joseph toiled through the snow--
Saw the star o'er a stable low;
Mary she might not further go--
Welcome thatch, and litter below!
Joy was hers in the morning!
And then they heard the angels tell
'Who were the first to cry Nowell?
Animals all, as it befell,
In the stable where they did dwell!
Joy shall be theirs in the morning!'
If you should be blessed with a stable, complete with mice, or if you should have even a shed or garage with mice, you would do well to remember the "least of these" this Christmas morning, and put out a few cubes of cheese, some sunflower seeds, and a jar-lid full of water.
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(mouse gingerbread cookie from Borders Books Christmas 2000 catalog)
Christmas is especially about the "the least of these". Thank you for the lovely and gentle reminder. Merry Christmas!!!
ReplyDeleteMiss Kitty once brought a live mouse to the screen door one dark morning, and I, unknowing, opened the door to let her in. Well, that mouse jumped onto my pajama leg and I screamed bloody murder. Scared the poor little thing half to death; he then jumped onto a shelf. My rudely awakened husband chased him back outside with the broom. He was a very cute mouse however. But I don't plan to repeat the experience anytime soon.
ReplyDeleteI love the little mousie feet sticking out from under the blankets in the fourth illustration!
Merry Christmas from our house to yours!
To A Mouse by Robert Burns
ReplyDeleteSmall, crafty, cowering, timorous little beast,
O, what a panic is in your little breast!
You need not start away so hasty
With argumentative chatter!
I would be loath to run and chase you,
With murdering plough-staff.
I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
And justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
And fellow mortal!
I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;
What then? Poor little beast, you must live!
An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves
Is a small request;
I will get a blessing with what is left,
And never miss it.
Your small house, too, in ruin!
Its feeble walls the winds are scattering!
And nothing now, to build a new one,
Of coarse grass green!
And bleak December's winds coming,
Both bitter and keen!
You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,
And weary winter coming fast,
And cozy here, beneath the blast,
You thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel plough passed
Out through your cell.
That small bit heap of leaves and stubble,
Has cost you many a weary nibble!
Now you are turned out, for all your trouble,
Without house or holding,
To endure the winter's sleety dribble,
And hoar-frost cold.
But little Mouse, you are not alone,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes of mice and men
Go often askew,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!
Still you are blest, compared with me!
The present only touches you:
But oh! I backward cast my eye,
On prospects dreary!
And forward, though I cannot see,
I guess and fear!