by Unknown Author
Little Penelope Socrates,
A Boston maid of four,
Wide opened her eyes on Christmas morn,
And looked the landscape o’er.
“What is it inflates my bas de bleu?”
She asked with dignity;
“‘Tis Ibsen in the original!
Oh, joy beyond degree!”
Miss Mary Cadwallader Rittenhouse
Of Philadelphia town,
Awoke as much as they ever do there
And watched the snow come down.
“I’m glad that it is Christmas,”
You might have heard her say,
“For my family is one year older now
Than it was last Christmas day.”
‘Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham.
And Miss Irene de Jones
Awoke at noon and yawned and yawned,
And stretched her languid bones.
“I’m sorry it is Christmas,
Papa at home will stay,
For ‘Change is closed and he won’t make
A single cent to-day.”
Windily dawned the Christmas
On the city by the lake,
And Miss Arabel Wabash Breezy
Was instantly awake.
“What’s that thing in my stocking?
Well, in two jiffs I’ll know!”
And she drew a grand piano forth
From ‘way down in the toe.