Front matter

OW, I have caught you Santa Claus, Kriss Kringle or St. Nicholas, And you must tell me, tell me true, Which of these names best pleases you?” “O-ho! my pretty little maid, I’ll answer true, O-ho!” he said.

Y wife, she often calls me hub, And, strange to you, sometimes just bub, No doubt you think me six feet, four, And that I weigh a ton or more, But when at home I’m rather small, Not near so large nor half so tall As when I visit girls and boys And load them down with pretty toys.”

OMETIMES she calls me darling, dear, ’Tis then I’ve nothing harsh to fear. Again her words come thicker, faster, They burn me like a mustard plaster. But I will not repeat the titles That rasp my ears and chill my vitals. Enough, I know she’s not to blame, And that she loves me just the same.”

HE names which you have mentioned, three, Are what most people give to me.” He then looked serious and said:—

OMETIMES it enters my wife’s head, When we have just a bit of leisure, To take a little ride for pleasure. ’Tis then when sounds the sleigh bell’s jingle, And the frost makes ears and noses tingle, She coolly calls me ‘Sir Kriss Kringle.’”

HEN Sunday comes, with pious thought We go to church, there to be taught The way to live, our duties plain. ’Tis then with sober look, and mein, As down the aisle we, solemn, pass, She whispers low, ‘St. Nicholas.’”

UT when the holidays draw near And we are busy with good cheer, And I am loading up my sleigh With presents for your Christmas Day, My wife with nimble fingers aiding, And gentleness her acts pervading, I’m jolly then, and just because She calls me ‘dear old Santa Claus.’”

Y story’s told, and you have guessed Which name it is I like the best.”