Apparently I ran across this article a day or two late. The Philadelphia Sunday Item published this story on December 20, 1908. A century has passed, but this old tale is worth repeating.
It was a snowy, blustery Christmas Eve, and the Chess Player was glad to be indoors, sitting by the roaring log in the fireplace, with his beloved chessmen and board before him. During the evening he had been playing over some of his favorite selections from the immortals--Horwitz, Staunton, Lowe, Anderssen, Lowenthal, and Kieseritsky--he had mulled over and over the masterpieces of problem-lore, and now, half lazily but with full interest, he was examining the sub-variations of one of Morphy's brilliant endings. As he fondly pushed the pieces to and fro at the close of such an evening as many a chess player has spent, he was startled by a noise at his side, and turned in time to see Santa Claus emerge from the chimney place.
"Why, hello Kris!" greeted the Chess Player, springing to his feet and extending his hand. "I caught you this time. Hey?"
"I must admit it," replied the merry fellow as he drew himself to his full height, shook the snow from his immense coat, and warmly returned the hand-clasp. Then he turned and spied the chessmen.
"Ho! So you play the royal game, do you?" exclaimed Santa.
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