Good evening.

This is a special holiday edition of Inside the Cover and I want to welcome you to our beautifully decorated studio.

Our show is locally produced for you, the book lover.

And tonight we are going to do something different.

We are going to feature a very special poem written by a very interesting man.

It is now time to go inside the cover.

Clement Clarke Moore was an American writer, scholar, and real estate developer.

He was born on July 15th, 1779, in the province of New York, British America.

He died at the age of 83 on July 10th, 1863.

I found it interesting that Clement Clarke Moore was born during the time of the American Revolution, and he died during the War between the States.

He married Catherine Elizabeth Taylor in 1813, and they were the parents of nine children.

‘A Visit from Saint Nicholas routinely referred to as ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas was first published anonymously in the Troy New York Sentinel under the title ‘Account of a Visit from Saint Nicholas on December 23rd, 1823.

Clement Clarke Moore was publicly identified as the author in 1837.

However, it has been also suggested that Henry Livingston Junior may have written it.

While scholars have debated the matter, credible evidence exists that Moore was the author and that he originall wrote the poem for his children.

I personally vote for Mr. Moore.

The poem has been calle arguably the best known verses ever written by an American, and is largely responsible for some of the conceptions of Santa Claus from the mid 19th century to today.

For instance, the poem names all of Santa's reindeer.

It certainly has ha a massive effect on the history of Christmas and Christmas gift giving.

I am guessing that many of you developed your own traditions around this wonderful poem.

For many years, and perhaps too many years, according to my family, I read the poe as one of the final activities after the milk and cookies had been placed on the hearth before we turned i for the night on December 24th.

So, in honor of families everywhere, children of all ages, and certainly Clement Clarke Moore, let us share in some holiday magic.

‘A Visit from Saint Nicholas.

Clement Clarke 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 Saint Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.

And mama in her kerchief, And I and my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter.

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash.

Tore open the shutter.

And threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow.

Gave a luster of midday to objects below.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear.

But a miniature sleigh and 8 tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be Saint 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, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch!

To the top of the wall!

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all.

As dry leave before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, Mount to the sky.

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew.

With a sleigh full of toys.

And Saint Nicholas too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof the prancin and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew i my head, and was turning around, down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes were al tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler that was 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 on 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 bowl full 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 a side 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 they drove out of sight.

Happy Christma to all, and to all a good night.

And that's our wish for you.

Thanks for watching, and we look forward to our next conversation on Inside the Cover.

Good night and happy holidays.

Ho ho ho ho ho!