On Catherine Street in Newport, Rhode Island, a charming Victorian home known as “The Night Before Christmas House” stands as a tribute to Clement Clarke Moore. This historic residence, with its ornate woodwork, steep gables, and inviting wraparound porch, exudes the charm of 19th-century Newport and whispers stories of a bygone era. Inside its weathered walls, Moore, best known as the author of the iconic Christmas poem ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas—originally titled A Visit From St. Nicholas—spent the final 13 years of his life. Though he penned the beloved poem in New York in 1822, Moore became a cherished figure in Newport after arriving in the 1850s, leaving a lasting legacy in the community he called home.
The Origins of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
First published anonymously in the Troy Sentinel on December 23, 1823, A Visit From St. Nicholas revolutionized how Americans celebrated Christmas. It introduced the now-iconic image of Santa Claus as a jolly, plump figure with a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, complete with their memorable names. Written in 1822, supposedly as a gift for his children, the poem was transcribed by a friend and sent to the newspaper, where it appeared unsigned. Despite becoming one of the most famous Christmas poems, Moore did not publicly claim authorship until 20 years later. By then, the work had become a cornerstone of holiday traditions, inspiring depictions of Santa Claus and cementing Christmas Eve as a magical night for families.
Life on Catherine Street
After retiring from teaching, Moore purchased a plot at the southwest corner of Catherine Street in 1850 and built his summer home. By then in his 70s, Moore sought respite in Newport’s tranquil beauty and vibrant intellectual and social scene. Though often inaccurately referred to as the place where he wrote his famous poem, the house became a cornerstone of his final years. Moore immersed himself in Newport’s community, contributing to its civic life. In 1865, he joined 25 others in donating funds to establish Touro Park, a cherished public space still enjoyed by locals and visitors. His connection to the city remains part of Newport’s rich history, even though his famous poem predates his arrival by decades.
Over the years, Moore’s home has been known by various names, including Cedars, Tudor Hall, and most notably, “The Night Before Christmas House.”Once open to the public with exhibits dedicated to Moore’s legacy, the residence has since been divided into apartments. Today, only a small plaque by the front door, adorned with a picture of Santa, hints at the home’s unique history.
A Complicated Legacy
Despite the poem’s global renown, Moore himself wished to be remembered for his scholarly work in Hebrew, not for a lighthearted, secular Christmas verse. Yet, it is ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas that has immortalized him, overshadowing his academic achievements and sparking an enduring holiday tradition. Though Moore passed away in 1863 in his Catherine Street home, his legacy as both a literary figure and a dedicated Newport resident endures. His final resting place is Trinity Cemetery in New York City, but his contributions to Newport and to Christmas culture continue to inspire and delight.
The Clement C. Moore House stands today not just as a reminder of a man who shaped holiday traditions but also as a piece of Newport history, preserving the memory of a community-minded scholar who found peace and purpose in this coastal city.
As the final lines of Moore’s most famous poem remind us: ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'”
A Visit from St. Nicholas
By 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 St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in 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 shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. 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, Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As leaves that 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 the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too—
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just 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 aside 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 he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
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