'Twas the Night Before Christmas, in Rhode Island


'Twas the Night Before Christmas, in Rhode Island

Rhode Island is rich with history, and as we celebrate the Christmas season, we take a look at the Newport home of Clement C. Moore, the author of A Visit from Saint Nicholas, or more commonly known as ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

“Clement C. Moore was born in New York City, the son of the Reverend Benjamin Moore and Charity Clarke Moore. An only child, Clement was capably tutored at home by his father until he entered Columbia College; according to his biographer. Samuel White Patterson, he graduated in 1798 "at the head of his class, as his father had, thirty years earlier." In 1801 he earned his MA from Columbia University: he was awarded an LLD in 1829. In 1813 Clement Moore married 19-year-old Catharine Elizabeth Taylor, with whom he eventually had nine children.” (Taken from the Poetry Foundation)

When he retired in 1850, he purchased a home in Newport, Rhode Island. This historical home can be found on 25 Catherine Street and is not for sale. There are a total of 3 rooms in the apartment, a primary bedroom, a bath, along with the kitchen, dining, and living room. Additionally, there is a shared coined washer and dryer in the basement.

Although it is unsure if he wrote his more well-known pieces at 25 Catherine Street, fans of his work still visit to take photos of the home (especially by the big Santa sign on the door with Moore’s name and title as the author of a “Visit From St. Nicholas”). This home is just a small part of Rhode Island history, and being the chosen retirement home, a place for rest, for the author, goes to show why Rhode Island is a great place to be, especially during the holidays. So, in the words of Clement C. Moore, Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

A Visit From St. Nicholas, a Poem By Clement C. 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 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 of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day 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!
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 house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full 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 hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. 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 of 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 bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly 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 team 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,

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