And now, a special stocking stuffer from all of us at CGS for all the good little boys out in CGS land.

The Night Before Christmas, or a visit from St. Nicholas, by Clement Clark Moore.

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by

the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all

snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. And Mama and her kerchief,

and I and 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 my 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 of the newfallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below, when what to my wondering 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 St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he whistled and shouted, and called them by name.

Now dasher, now dancer, now prancer and vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donner 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 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 sleighful of toys and St. Nicholas, too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with abound. 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

...