Drink now the strong Beere,

Cut the white loafe here,
The while the meat is a-shredding;

For the rare Mince-Pie

And the Plums stand by

To fill the Paste that's a-kneading.

Robert Herrick.

Dr. Opimian on Christmas

I

The halcyon "The bird of

I have never

MYSELF think much of Christmas and all its associations. I always dine at home on Christmas Day, and measure the steps on my children's heads on the wall, and see how much higher each of them has risen since the same time last year, in the scale of physical life. There are many poetical charms in the heraldings of Christmas. builds its nest on the tranquil sea. dawning singeth all night long." verified either of these poetical facts. I am willing to take them for granted. I like the idea of the Yulelog, the enormous block of wood carefully selected long before, and preserved where it would be thoroughly dry, which burned in the old-fashioned hearth. It would not suit the stoves of our modern saloons. We could not burn it in our kitchens, where a small fire in the midst of a mass of black iron roasts, and bakes, and boils, and steams, and broils,

and fries, by a complicated apparatus which, whatever may be its other virtues, leaves no space for a Christmas fire. I like the festoons of holly on the walls and windows; the dance under the mistletoe ; the gigantic sausage; the baron of beef; the vast globe of plum-pudding, the true image of the earth, flattened at the poles; the tapping of the old October; the inexhaustible bowl of punch; the life and joy of the old hall, when the squire and his household and his neighbourhood were as one. I like the idea of what has gone, and I can still enjoy the reality of what remains. I have no doubt Harry's father burns the Yule-log, and taps the old October. Perhaps, instead of the beef, he produces a fat pig roasted whole, like Eumæus, the divine swineherd in the Odyssey.

Thomas Love Peacock. ("Gryll Grange.")

Christmas Merrymaking

HE fire with well-dried logs supplied

THE

Went roaring up the chimney wide;

The huge hall-table's oaken face,
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace,
Bore then upon its massive board
No mark to part the squire and lord.
Then was brought in the lusty brawn
By old blue-coated serving man ;

Then the grim boar's-head frowned on high, Crested with bay and rosemary.

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell

How, when, and where the monster fell,
What dogs before his death he bore,
And all the baiting of the boar.

The wassail round, in good brown bowls,
Garnished with ribbons blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by
Plum-porridge stood and Christmas pie;
Nor failed old Scotland to produce
At such high-tide her savoury goose.
Then came the merry masquers in,
And carols roared with blithesome din ;
If unmelodious was the song,

It was a hearty note and strong.

Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;

White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made:
But oh! what masquers richly dight
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale,
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ;
A Christmas gambol oft would cheer

The poor man's heart through half the year.

Sir Walter Scott.

FRIENDS AND THE FIRE

Reading ends in melancholy!

Wine breeds vices and diseases!

Wealth's but a care, and Love but folly;

Only Friendship truly pleases!

My wealth, my books, my flask, my MOLLY,

Farewell all, if Friendship ceases!

Matthew Prior.

Conversation is but carving;
Give no more to every guest
Than he's able to digest;
Give him always of the prime,
And but a little at a time;
Give to all but just enough,

Let them neither starve nor stuff,
And that each may have his due,

Let your neighbour carve for you.

Sir Walter Scott.

My friend, what you said to me about the smoking - cell vibrated to my very heart, as worthy of the kindness which, for many years and upon many subjects, you had professed, and you had felt, and you had practically manifested towards myself. So, into the little room, of which you spoke so courteously, I will come; talk unreservedly, cheerfully, and abundantly upon anything or nothing; and fumigate the ceiling from the hot, and copious, and fragrant exhalations of my pipe.

Dr. Parr.