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Much of the neighborhood was once the property of Maj. Thomas Clarke, Clement's maternal grandfather and a retired British veteran of the French and Indian War. Clarke named his house for a hospital in London that served war veterans. 'Chelsea' was later inherited by Thomas Clarke's daughter, Charity Clarke Moore, and ultimately by grandson Clement and his family. Clement Clarke Moore's wife, Catharine Elizabeth Taylor, was of English and Dutch descent being a direct descendant of the Van Cortlandt family, once the major landholders in the lower Hudson Valley of New York. Our daughter and I had not read this together since she was very little but she could still recite some passages as I read. At age 12, near 13, she thinks that she is too old and mature for many "childish" things, but not for this classic beloved Christmas poem. One sign of her growing maturity is that she was also interested in my telling her facts about Dr. Clement Moore from the very good introduction to this free Kindle edition. Unfortunately, as usual, there were no illustrations in this edition. Once the worried homeowner has flown like a flash to his bedroom window, opened the shutters, and raised the sash, he engages in an oft-overlooked bit of elaborate 19th-century description – “The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow/Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below”. And against that brightly lit winter night-time landscape, the reader gets a first sight of “a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.”
I have said it from memory to my kids and maybe one grandkid, though now whole swatches of it have washed down the drain with other hurricane detritus. Clement C. Moore was more famous in his own day as a professor of Oriental and Greek literature at Columbia College (now Columbia University) and at General Theological Seminary, who compiled a two volume Hebrew dictionary. He was the only son of Benjamin Moore, a president of Columbia College and bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New York, and his wife Charity Clarke. Clement Clarke Moore was a graduate of Columbia College (1798), where he earned both his B.A. and his M.A.. He was made professor of Biblical learning in the General Theological Seminary in New York (1821), a post that he held until 1850. The ground on which the seminary now stands was his gift. [1] From 1840 to 1850, he was a board member of The New York Institution for the Blind at 34th Street and 9th Avenue (now The New York Institute for Special Education). He compiled a Hebrew and English Lexicon (1809), and published a collection of poems (1844). Upon his death in 1863 at his summer residence in Newport, Rhode Island, his funeral was held in Trinity Church, Newport, where he had owned a pew. Then his body was interred in the cemetery at St. Luke's Episcopal Church on Hudson St., in New York City. On November 29, 1899, his body was reinterred in Trinity Churchyard Cemetery in New York. The conclusion of the poem as illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith - from the 1912 edition of ‘Twas the night before Christmas’ So it was Moore who started this idea of children to believe in Santa Claus. Did he do us a favor? Or is it high time that we stop this crap altogether?Sounds like someone from NY who has never seen a hurricane, possibly Clement Moore himself, possibly the one from whom some say he borrowed it. Clement Clarke Moore (July 15, 1779 - July 10, 1863) was an American writer and Professor of Oriental and Greek Literature. Clement Clarke Moore, (July 15, 1779 – July 10, 1863), is best known as the credited author of A Visit From St. Nicholas (more commonly known today as Twas the Night Before Christmas). As the avatar of intrusive magic, Santa is powerful but not entirely welcome, a poorly-dressed, poorly-piped elf. Santa the smoker! Ah, times have changed. Please note that the reindeer do indeed fly, but only in response to Saint Nicholas’ command, and only for the purpose of getting the sleigh up and onto the roof; evidently, up until that point, the sleigh and its reindeer simply went dashing through the snow just the way less magically-adept people’s horse-drawn sleighs do.
The illustrations in this edition reflect the spirit and joy of Christmas and they portray the wonder, the cheer and the anticipation, in children on the night of Christmas Eve. A scan of the poem, which was printed in the December 29, 1877 issue of ‘Home Circle’ newspaper, published from Boston. I don't think there are many people out there that aren't familiar with this poem by Clement C. Moore that was originally published in 1823. Theres a reason it's a classic and that's because it captures the magic of Christmas. We've had many versions of the book over the years but the one we read from now is beautifully illustrated by Richard Johnson, this is such a gorgeous book and I can't imagine a Christmas without it! At what age did you stop believing in Santa Claus? Last Christmas, I still had to buy something for my daughter and wrote “From: Santa Claus” on the gift tag because she still believed in him. She was 16.This morning while I was about to drop her at the gate of her school, she again borrowed the rosary hanging on the rearview mirror of my car. The rosary was a gift from my friend who attended the World Youth’s Day in Brazil this year so I am proud of it and taking care of it. The beads are made of wood and each mystery has its own color. As my daughter was removing it from the mirror I told her that I will *hint, hint* … or maybe Santa Claus will… give her a rosary for Christmas so she will stop borrowing my rosary. She sweetly smiled as if in acceptance that a rosary would be a nice gift from Santa. She is now 17.
Jessie Willcox Smith (right side, facing the camera) with artist Violet Oakley (left side, facing the camera), illustrator Elizabeth Shippen Green and horticulturist Henrietta Preface Cozens, a mutual friend of the three artists. Photograph from the Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution. There it is: the reindeer have names – names that will live on as long as December 25th is celebrated as a holiday. I have read this story every Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember, it's always been part of our Christmas traditions and it will always have a special place in my part because of that. Once this command has been given, the poet offers one more descriptive flourish, and then the eight reindeer display their most famous magical ability: We can all agree that the poet’s depiction of Saint Nicholas is vivid, with immediate sensory appeal and compelling characterization:
But go ahead, you, too, read this aloud Christmas Eve or on Christmas to someone or someones. It's not fake news; my mom swore every word is true, and I never knew her to tell a lie: Read it again aloud last night. Merry Christmas, to all you who celebrate this day in one way or another, and may you have a happier New Year! Every year, in some fashion, I read this aloud to the kids. This is one of the old classic illustrated versions, more for me than the kids, in a way, though we have five versions of it around the house this time. Everyone likes it, though this year the eldest mimics some of the action that I describe, lightly making fun of it. He has this idea Santa no longer exists! Where do these kids nowadays get this fake news!?
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