Melancholy, Baby?
Have Yourself a Nast-y Little Christmas

Christmas Eve, 1862+143

As was the case here on Thanksgiving, it's time for some Thomas Nast.  Here, with the assistance of a gentleman from Virginia, a Christmas Eve reminder that some things never change:


The wintry blast goes wailing by,
    The snow is falling overhead;
    I hear the lonely sentry's tread,
And distant watch-fires light the sky.

Dim forms go flitting through the gloom;
    The soldiers cluster round the blaze
    To talk of other Christmas days,
And softly speak of home and home.

            * * *

There's not a comrade here to-night
    But knows that loved ones far away
    On bended knee this night will pray:
"God bring our darling from the fight."


Illustration: "Christmas Eve, 1862" by Thomas Nast, published in Harper's Weekly, January 3, 1863, pp. 8-9.

Verse: Excerpts from "Christmas Night of '62," by William Gordon McCabe (1841-1920), via

Come back tomorrow for something a little more cheerily seasonal.


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