THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS. / 



dignity to roast beef, yet was he not immortal ; it was he who., (won- 

 derful architect !) fashioned the mince pie, and in the structure of its 

 paste, kneaded a resemblance of a sacred symbol. Christmas did this, 

 yet could he not be scared : Christmas gave us plum-porridge, (since 

 consolidated into a pudding) yet could not the gift lengthen out his 

 days. Christmas brought home the choicest logs from the forest 

 Christmas tapped the elder-cask Christmas roasted nuts for us in the 

 wood embers Christmas brought us sweet music -and yet, for all 

 these gifts, all these wondrous dispensations, Christmas is dead and 

 extinct. Grevious, albeit gradual was his dissolution. It is of that, 

 with tremulous quill, we write. 



A brighter December day never glanced about the hollies. The 

 sky was blue, with heaved up masses of white the air brought 

 freshness to the brain and the ground tinkled to the clouted shoes 

 of the peasant. The church roads were thronged with old and 

 young the bells rang out a look of gladness seemed in all things. 

 Then followed joyful greetings and salutations the travelled son 

 came home the wife- daughter was again at the fireside of her child- 

 hood, her children with her the lover nestled by his mistress, the 

 traveller was brought in from the wayside, his staff put to the wall 

 kindred and neighbours came and came, until the circle was fairly 

 wedged with happy faces. What spirits hovered about the good 

 folks ! What genial workings rose in every heart ! What frank 

 kindness was increased in every face ! 



At the fire-side sat illustrious old Christmas ! A veryjgiant he sat, 

 with whole families, like children, on his knees. What benign jovia- 

 lity in his looks what a heart is in his face ! There is a deep blush of 

 wine in either cheek nay, the wine seems smeared over his wrinkled 

 forehead his eyes gleaming and sparkle like the yule log. About 

 his head is wreathed the everlasting holly, with its red berries 

 burning among his white hairs ; whilst above, the misletoe canopies 

 him with its leafy glory. Towards it he at intervals casts a roguish 

 eye, then hugs some white-toothed damsel, proclaiming, with a kiss, 

 the presence of Christmas! His garb is motley, not the motley of the 

 court but of the buttery. On his doublet are figured chines and 

 quarters of beasts ; the fowls, from the peacock to the bustard, are 

 pictured there ; yea, there is nothing edible of which there is not, in 

 that glorious costume, some hint or remembrance ; yet, take the suit 

 in generals, the ruddiness of beef, with its streaky yellowness of fat 

 does most predominate. Only to look at the doublet of Christmas is 

 to hunger ! To hear him talk, to hear him crow and chuckle is to 

 have a passion for merriment. He jests and laughs, and the very 

 chesnuts come from the fire to take a part in the merriment. 



Thus passes the time at the fireside, but, see without, the snow- 

 clouds are tumbling down, the trees, the earth, all are white, and 

 the keen north-wind goes cutting by the panes, like envy shrieking 

 at another's good. As far as eye can reach is sheeted snow. There 

 seems not, in the whole landscape, a moving thing. Ha ! look there! 

 a speck in the white waste it stumbles on, at every motion half- 

 buried in the snow ! 



Christmas rises, with all the merry-makers the door'is flung open, 



