XXXVIII. THAT OF JEREMIAH SCOLES, MISER.

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I sing of joys, and junketings,
Of holly, and of such-like things;
I sing of merry mistletoe,
And,—pardon me,—I sing also
Of Jeremiah Scoles.
I sing of Mister Scoles because
So singular a man he was,
And had so very strange a way
Of celebrating Christmas Day—
Unlike all other souls.
Myself, I am a cheerful man,
Enjoying life as best I can.
At Christmas-time I love to see
The flow of mirth and jollity
About the festive board;
I love to dance, I try to sing;
On enemies, like anything,
At Christmas-time I heap hot coals,
But not so Jeremiah Scoles—
He loves a miser's hoard.
I chanced one year, on Christmas Day,
To call upon him, just to say
That we'd be very pleased to see
Him, if he'd care to come to tea.
I found him quite alone.
He sat before a fireless grate;
The room looked bare and desolate,
And he, unkempt, in dressing-gown,
Received me with an angry frown,
And spoke in surly tone.
"Ha! what d'ye want?" said he to me
And eyed me most suspiciously.
I laughed and gave a hearty smack
Upon the grumpy fellow's back,
And cried: "Come home with me.
We'll treat you well. There's lots of fun—"
But ere I scarcely had begun
He cut me short. "Pooh! folly! stuff!
See here; I've fun—quite fun enough!"
He laughed, but mirthlessly.
Before him on the table lay
Gold, silver, coppers, in array;
Some empty bottles; stacks of bills;
Some boxes for containing pills—
And that was all. Said he:
"This gold is what I haven't spent
In presents; and the silver's meant
To show what could be wasted in—
Pah!—Christmas boxes. 'Tis a sin
I don't encourage—no, not me?
"The coppers—little boys, no doubt,
Would like 'em—they may go without;
While these long bills I should have had
From tradesmen, had I been so mad
As to have bought the things
They represent for Christmas cheer;
These bottles and pill-boxes here
Show what I will not have to take,
Because I'll have no stomach-ache
That over-eating brings.
"And thus I spend my Christmas Day,
Thinking what silly fools are they
Who spend so much in solid cash
On so much sentimental trash.
And now, good-day to you!"
He showed me out, he banged the door,
And I was—where I was before.
* * *
I really think, upon my word,
His line of reasoning's most absurd.
No doubt you think so, too?
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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