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CHAPTER VI.

We must return to the wassailers now-we pick them up in a narrow lane leading from the village to the vicarage. They had taken their usual beat, and had presented their bowl and sung their wassail to those who were likely to appreciate either, or to show their appreciation in what old Kit would consider the orthodox fashion. They were not merry men all, certainly, but seemed rather a melancholy band-very silent, and very blue at the nose— not at all like men who had been devoting their energies to the inspiration of the jolly wassail. The fact is, that old Kit had most ruthlessly abided by the established tactics of the fraternity, and had enforced a most rigorous sobriety.

"How foolish 'twud be," he'd say, "to be a-filling yersels with bread and cheese, and getting boozy on small sour beer, when we've the good ating and the good drinking in view at Tregarrow. 'Sides, if we wos to go there a-roaring and screaming, and not 'tending to our chowrus, we shud gie mortal offence to the faarmer."

So abstinence had been the rule, but it had not improved the tempers or added to the cheerfulness of the party. They were now turning the corner and wending towards the vicarage. Still the same dark female figure followed, hovering round them, hanging on their skirts, and yet never coming into sight specially did she shun this as the vicarage stood before them.

"Now, comrades," said Kit, "mind you'm very meek with the song, and very piany with the chowrus, for the passon's nerves be oncommon shaky; and if we'm axed to drink, let's take a drop of some'ut short, for the passon's ale han't got draught enough to be good, and the hollands is very superior. The housekeeper's curranty-cake, too, is to be depended upun."

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The members of the bowl bright

ened up at the thought of even this small whet to their appetites.

As they entered the garden the vicar came forth through the window (which opened on the ground) to receive them. After listening quietly but with evident effort to several verses-which were certainly, according to Kit's caution, given in the mildest form of wassail melody

he stepped forward and said, "Thanks, my friends, thanks for your greeting; but you know I am not fitted now to be a good disciple of the jolly wassail, so you'll excuse me. I must, however, sip the bowl for the sake of old times, and wish you and yours all the happiness of the season." As he sipped he dropped an offering into the bowl, which met even Kit's views of orthodoxy in such matters.

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And now, my friends, goodnight, and God bless you," he said, waving his hand. "The housekeeper will be expecting to see you, and she will make you merrier than I can."

As the band trooped off towards the kitchen, that dark figure again stole forth, glided silently towards the window, and looked cautiously into the parlour, where Arthur Versturme stood by the hearth. A long anxious look she took, and then a sigh, a deep wailing sigh, escaped her. At this the vicar looked up, and she glided back as quietly and silently again into the dark shades of the shrubbery. Arthur Versturme mused for a moment, then rubbed his eyes, and then advanced to the window and looked out. "Surely," he said, " "I heard a sigh and saw a figure here But

it could not be fancy." there was nought to be seen; and 'twas vain to look for traces in the snow, as the wassailers had trampled it into a maze of footsteps.

"No, it must have been an illusion," he said, as he returned to the

1862.]

Wassail: a Christmas Story.-Part II.

hearth, "one of those which spring
from a heated brain and weak
stomach. I have kept too long a
Yet
vigil and fasted too much.
it seemed so real. Can it be that
spirits come back to visit us? Could
it be that dear one," looking up at
the picture of his wife, "coming
from the world of angels to call

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me-or that poor lost one returning
to mourn over the hearth she had
made so desolate ?-but these are
fantasies."

And so he sat, now fighting with
these fantasies, now hugging them
to his heart, until the housekeeper
entered, and forced him back to
the materialism of supper.

CHAPTER VII.

We will precede the wassailers and await them at Tregarrow. The feast was spread there, and the guests all seated. One table had been placed across the upper end of the room, and another branched from it down the middle; at the upper sat old Guy, with his relations and friends beside him. From this position he could command a view over all the tables, and see that all his guests were doing justice to his fare. To say the board groaned, would be to use a false metaphor, and to cast an unjust reflection on it. It seemed not in the least inclined to groan, but looked very jolly, covered as it was with goodly viands, and bedecked with laurel and holly berries. It was certainly heavily laden, but bore its burden cheerfully. The sight of that supper would have given Soyer dyspepsia for a month, and have driven Gunter to an asylum There were a hopeless lunatic. rounds of beef and ribs of beef, of wondrous size and fatness; plump hams, goodly to sight and savour; large pies; legs of roast pork, succulent and brown with crackling; huge plum-puddings dark with fruit; cheeses; great loaves and cakes, all set in tempting array, interspersed with cans of cider and jugs of ale. Round the dame were scattered a few trifles, such as patties, tarts, little bowls of syllabub and cream, and sweet-cakes. These were for her own delectation, and that of Lily and the curate. The yeoman called them the wife's pomps and vanities, and despised them heartily. The nieces, too, were

true to the family tastes and the solids. If they renounced the pomps and vanities of the world half so easily as they did those of the patisserie, it must have been very gratifying to their godfathers and godmothers. All were now impatient for the arrival of the wassailers to commence operations. Old Penrice sat with his chin just rising over a round of beef-the knife and fork held erect on either side of it, in readiness for work. Seen thus, he looked like some grotesque bit of heraldry; the jovial face was the crest, the round of beef the shield, the carvers the supporters.

Presently a crackling of the snow was heard without.

"Here they come," cried the yeoman; "shut the doors, quick!"

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Their

There was a little dramatic action, it seemed, which must precede the entry of the wassailers. Acting up to it, these worthies turned from the closed doors, and ranged themselves outside the window; ghostly band they looked, standing in the cold light-very chill and comfortless as the outs always look to the ins on such occasions. outside part was short, yet many a longing glance was cast at the warm hearth and the full board within. The wassail song was now struck up with all the strength of the company. The execution exhibited every degree of nasal twang and nasal energy. These, modulated and organised by a Jullien, might have produced a novel effect; as it was, the individual nose was too prominent and too independent. Thus ran the first verses of their ditty:

A jolly wassail bowl,

A wassail of good ale;
Well fare the butler's soul
That setteth this to sale.
With our wassail,

Our jolly wassail.

Good Dame here at your door,
Our wassail we begin ;
We are all fellows poor,
We pray now let us in,
With our wassail,
Our jolly wassail.

Our wassail we do fill

With apples and with spice;
Then grant us your good will
To taste here once or twice
Of our wassail,

Our jolly wassail.

If any maidens be

Here, dwelling in this house,

They kindly will agree

To take a full carouse
Of our wassail,
Our jolly wassail.

But here they let us stand,
All freezing in the cold;
Good master, give command
To enter, and be bold,
With our wassail, &c.

Here there was a pause with the minstrelsy, and the yeoman again gave the word. The doors were thrown open, and in rushed the band. Old Penrice chuckled over this bit of pantomime, as though it had been the most cunning stage effect ever invented by Scribe or Planché. The wassailers now formed

in procession-Kit, the arch-priest, at the head, the other ministrants following in Indian file and marched up and took position behind the master's chair. The song was again taken up, and certainly the refrain was given more con spirito than before :

Much joy unto this hall
With us is entered in ;

Our master first of all,

We hope will now begin,

Of our wassail, &c.

The master drank, and then there Song and cup now passed on to was a loud chink in the bowl. the dame :-

And after his good wife,
Our spiced bowl will try ;
The Lord prolong your life;
Good fortune we espy

For our wassail, &c.

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The chink-a-chinks in the bowl during the progress had been so numerous that old Kit smiled all over, and was evidently rejoicing in the thought that the dregs of his bowl would not be so bitter as those of festive cups are generally supposed to be. The departure announced in the concluding verses was merely pantomimic, like the entry, and meant only a temporary seclusion in the entrance hall, where the bowl was deposited, and the ministrants then returned in their private character to the suppertable.

The feast now began in right earnest. The yeoman's carving was a sight to see. How he flourished the carvers at each cut! how the slices fell before his knife like corn before a sickle! and how he chuckled, as empty plates succeeded full ones in apparently endless succession. As his labours grew a little lighter, he would stop to take a view of the general operations. Epicure Mammon's sensualism was not larger than his benevolence. He ate with

every man's appetite, and drank with every man's draught. A good performance at the trencher he applauded as we would a good hit in a play. At length his eye lit on young Pretty Tommy. His destiny had placed that neophyte opposite a stuffed leg of pork, and some friendly hand had helped him largely from it. How did the young savage devour the savoury meat, making inarticulate sounds the while! how did he grin with surprise and delight as he sucked crackling, and crushed the brown skin between his teeth, and the unctuous sense stole over his palate! how recklessly he dashed into the sage and onions! What a sight he was as he stopped for a minute to breathe and sigh, his face smeared with grease up to the cheek-bones, and his nose even bearing marks of contact with the onions. His ecstasy reached its climax in a slice of plum-pudding. Crackling and pudding were novelties both to sight and sense. The advantages which more civilised vagabonds

have in contemplating such delicacies à la distance, by flattening their noses against the window of a cook's shop, had not been his. His was a virgin palate and a virgin taste as far as such things were concerned. "Lor'! 'tis as good as a play, to see un," said old Guy, going off in a peal of chuckles. Let un alone now-let un enjoy hisself-don't ye stop un." This last was a monition to Kit, who was endeavouring to check the youth's ardour.

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Melody at length succeeded to feasting, and song was the order of the day. A Christmas catch was trolled by Lily and the uncle-the curate giving the bass. The yeoman struck out, in lusty tones, "Speed the plough ;" and Lily, by request, sang sweetly and simply "I know a bank whereon the wild thyme," &c., which the yeoman pronounced worth all the modern folle-rols, and "the nonsense they was always twaddling nowaday about gazelles and being a butterfly."

James, as in duty bound, gave "Bright chanticleer;" but if he had pursued the fox as feebly in the field as he did in song, there would not have been so many heads on the squire's kennel door. There was one song in which all joined most unanimously. The burden was a ruthless and vindictive determination to hunt the buffalo, which, if carried into effect, would have led to the extermination of that animal in his native wilds. How the buffalo had provoked this animosity did not appear. In one of the pauses, Jim was observed to look very anxiously out of the window. "Halloa, James!" cried the host, "what's the matter? you look skeered as if you had seen a ghost-it must be the ghost of a dowg if anything."

"I doan't knaw whether it be the ghost of a dowg or not, but 'tis something nashun queer-looking 'tis more like a fox or a wolf a-glinting in here with his great saucer eyes."

"'Tis the 'Scovy dowg," said young Pretty Tommy, eager to give

information, and then sputtering and colouring at finding himself a speaker.

"'Scovy dowg?" said the yeoman, inquiringly.

"Oh," explained old Kit, "young Tommy seed a 'Scovy duck once, and he always thinks everything furrin is 'Scovy. 'Tis a 'Stralian dowg belonging to one of our chaps."

""Tis a queer one, whatever he be," muttered Jim; and, watching his opportunity, he slid out to reconnoitre the stranger. To his surprise the dog ran down towards him, but in turning round he saw that his master had followed him out. "Is this dowg yourn, my friend?" he said, by way of commencing acquaintance.

"Yes, 'tis," surlily responded sailor Dick.

"Well, he's a queer one as ever I seed. What may he be good for, may I ax?-varmint, or fox, or rabbit?"

"Good for?-why, sheep, kangaroo."

This conversation was not encouraging to James, so he stooped down to make personal acquaintance with the strange animal. As he did so, sailor Dick laid his hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear— "Jim, you old stupid, don't you know me ?"

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"Lor'-a-massy," ejaculated Jim, starting up and trembling all over with surprise and joy "Lor'-amassy if it ben't Maister Tom! and to think I should be bothering about an old dowg when you was nist me! but I'm cruel glad to see ye again

cruel glad, sure," and with this he set to wringing him by both hands. "They'll be cruel glad to see ye in-doors too. The maister he drink your health, and say 'God bless un' to-night-so come along in, Maister Tom; and you'm looking so brave and hearty, I declare."

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Stop, Jim, I can't show myself yet until I have made one or two little inquiries; so do you go and see if you can make a signal to Lily to come out."

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