up his eye for a moment, as if in an effort of memory, struck into another strain, and, with a charming air of gallantry, gave Herrick's "NightPiece to Julia:" Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee. Then let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber, Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee. The song might have been intended in compli- 25 ment to the fair Julia, for so I found his partner was called, or it might not; she, however, was certainly unconscious of any such application, for she never looked at the singer, but kept her eyes cast upon the floor. Her face was suffused, it is 30 true, with a beautiful blush, and there was a gentle heaving of the bosom, but all that was doubtless caused by the exercise of the dance; indeed, so great was her indifference, that she was amusing herself with plucking to pieces a choice bouquet of hot-house flowers, and by the time the song was concluded, the nosegay lay in ruins on the floor. 5 The party now broke up for the night with the kind-hearted old custom of shaking hands. As I passed through the hall, on the way to my chamber, the dying embers of the Yule-clog still sent forth a dusky glow, and had it not been the season when 10 "no spirit dares stir abroad," I should have been half tempted to steal from my room at midnight, and peep whether the fairies might not be at their revels about the hearth. My chamber was in the old part of the man15 sion, the ponderous furniture of which might have been fabricated in the days of the giants. The room was panelled, with cornices of heavy carved-work, in which flowers and grotesque faces were strangely intermingled; and a row of black-looking por20 traits stared mournfully at me from the walls. The bed was of rich though faded damask, with a lofty tester, and stood in a niche opposite a bow-window. I had scarcely got into bed when a strain of music seemed to break forth in the 25 air just below the window. I listened, and found it proceeded from a band, which I concluded to be the waits from some neighbouring village. They went round the house, playing under the windows. I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more dis30 tinctly. The moon-beams fell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and aërial, and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and listened they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they gradually died away, my head sunk upon the pillow and I fell asleep. 5 WHEN I awoke the next morning, it seemed as 15 if all the events of the preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of the ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door, and a whisp- 20 ering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was, Rejoice, our Saviour he was born English authors. 47. Lief. B. 6 25 25 I rose softly, slipped on my clothes, opened the door suddenly, and beheld one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that a painter could imagine. It consisted of a boy and two girls, the 5 eldest not more than six, and lovely as seraphs. They were going the rounds of the house, and singing at every chamber-door; but my sudden appearance frightened them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips 10 with their fingers, and now and then stealing a shy glance from under their eyebrows, until, as if by one impulse, they scampered away, and as they turned an angle of the gallery, I heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. 15 Every thing conspired to produce kind and happy feelings in this stronghold of old-fashioned hospitality. The window of my chamber looked out upon what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape. There was a sloping lawn, a 20 fine stream winding at the foot of it, and a tract of park beyond, with noble clumps of trees, and herds of deer. At a distance was a neat hamlet, with the smoke from the cottage chimneys hanging over it, and a church with its dark spire in strong 25 relief against the clear cold sky. The house was surrounded with evergreens according to the English custom, which would have given almost an appearance of summer, but the morning was extremely frosty; the light vapour of the preceding evening 30 had been precipitated by the cold, and covered all the trees and every blade of grass with its fine crystallizations. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling effect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched upon the top of a mountain ash that hung its clusters of red berries just before my window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a few querulous notes; and a peacock was 5 displaying all the glories of his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish grandee on the terrace-walk below. I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite me to family prayers. He 10 showed me the way to a small chapel in the old wing of the house, where I found the principal part of the family already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with cushions, hassocks and large prayerbooks; the servants were seated on benches below. 15 The old gentleman read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk, and made the responses, and I must do him the justice to say that he acquitted himself with great gravity and decorum. 20 The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge himself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author, Herrick; and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. As there were several good voices 25 among the household, the effect was extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the worthy Squire delivered one stanza; his eyes glistening and his voice ramb- 30 ling out of all the bounds of time and tune: |