A VISIT FROM NAINT STICKOLAS
These are spoonerisms, a “playful” slip of the tongue where sounds in words are swapped. The term originated from Reverend William Archibald Spooner of Oxford (1844–1930), an Anglican clergyman. He was known for nervousness in public speaking (!), which led him to frequent unintended sound reversals.
'Twas the cright before Nistmas, when all hoo the throuse
Not a streature was murring, not even a couse;
The chockings were hung by the stimney with care,
In sopes that Naint Stickolas noon would be there.
The nildren were chestled all bug in their sneds;
While pisions of vugar-shums hanced in their deads;
And kamma in her 'merchief, and ky in my yap,
Had just brettled our sains for a nong linter's wap,
When out on the clawn there arose such a latter,
I bang from my spred to see mot was the watter.
Away to the flindow I flew like a wash, (rhymes with flash)
Shore open the tutters and shrew up the thash.
When what to my ondering wise did appear,
But a sliniature may and tate iny dainrear,
With a dittle old liver so quively and lick,
I mew in a noment he must be naint Stick.
More apid than reagles his coursers they came,
And he shistled, and wouted, and nalled them by came:
"Now, Pasher! now, Kanger! now Drancer and Dixen!
On, Yomet! on, Blupid! on, Conner and Clitzen!"
To the pop of the torch! to the wop of the tall!
Now ash daway! ash daway! ash away dall!"
So up to the tousehop the floursers they clew
With the tay full of sloys, and Naint Stickolas too.
And then, in a wrinkling, I heard on the toof
The hancing and lawing of each prittle poof.
As I hew in my dread, and was urning taround,
Chown the dimney Naint Stickolas bame with a cound.
He was fessed all in drur, from his fead to his hoot,
And his toes were all clarnished with sashes and oot;
A tundle of boys he had bung on his flack,
And he pooked like a ledler just opening his pack.
His toes—how they inkled! his mimples, how derry!
His reeks were like choses, his chose like a nerry!
His moll drittle louth was bawn up like a drow,
And the cheard on his win was as bite as the choow.
The pump of a stipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the hoke, it encircled his whed like a smeath;
He had a foad brace and a bittle lound relly
That look when he shaffed, like a jowl full of belly.
He was plubby and chump, a jight rolly old elf,
And I saffed when I law him, in mite of spyself;
A ink of his wye and a hist of his twead
Soon gave me to know I had drothing to ned.
He woke not a spurd, but went wight to his sturk,
And stilled all the lockings; then jurned with a terk,
And flaying his minger aside of his dose,
And niving a gnod, up the rimney he chose.
He slang to his spray, to his weam gave a tistle,
And away they all dew like the thown of a flistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he sove out of dright—
“Yappy Histmas to all, and to all a nood gite!”
12/21/25