Browsing named entities in Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall). You can also browse the collection for Christmas or search for Christmas in all documents.

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Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Miss Anna Loring. (search)
s eyes off them long enough to wash his face. Are them boots for me? he asked; and when I told him yes, it seemed as if the sun had shone out all over his face. I never expected to have such a boot to my foot, said he. I shall remember this Christmas the longest day I live. As he sits before me now, making pictures on his slate, he every now and then thrusts out his foot, and examines the boots from toe to heel. He is nearly white, quite good-looking, remarkably bright, and very docile anntry. When I asked what he used to do, I don't know exactly, said he; sometimes I sat down on a stone, let the sun shine on me, and cried. Poor little fellow! His joy and gratitude have given me a happy Christmas. Two years later:-- My Christmas boy, of whom I wrote you an account two years ago, has at last obtained a good place in the country. I suppose I have written half a hundred letters about him, trying to get a situation for him ; for my heart bled for the poor little friendles
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall), To Mrs. S. M. Parsons. (search)
To Mrs. S. M. Parsons. Boston, December, 1876. Your parcel arrived Christmas forenoon, and was most welcome. For nine days I had been unable to stir out of the house, on account of the fearfully slippery walking, and I was feeling very forlorn among strangers. The weather also was cloudy and chilly, and your little parcel came in like a sunbeam through a fog. Thank you a thousand times. The views are very fine. Perhaps the lady who carved the beautiful head in butter took the him from Canova, who, as a boy, first attracted attention by the beautiful ornaments he carved in butter for a nobleman's table. I thank Henry cordially for the little book of poems. I always read eagerly any poem I see signed J. W. Chadwick. The one entitled The two Waitings is about the loveliest poem I ever read. I copied it into my extract book long ago. The lines No more Sea are beautiful. They seemed to bear my drooping spirits up on angel's wings. As for our national affairs, I submit, as