aged sit by the fire. The country maid leaves half her market, and must be sent again, if she forgets a pack of cards on Christmas eve. Great is the contention of holly and ivy, whether master or dame wears the breeches. Dice and cards benefit the butler, and if the cook do not lack wit, he will sweetly lick his fingers."

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation by a shout from my little travelling companions. They had been looking out of the coach-windows for the last few miles, recognizing every tree and cottage as they approached home, and now there was a general burst of joy. "There's John! and there's old Carlo! and there's Bantam !" cried the happy little rogues, clapping their hands.

At the end of a lane there was an old soberlooking servant in livery, waiting for them; he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, little dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole body for joy. But Bantam was

the great object of interest; all wanted to mount at once, and it was with some difficulty that John arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.

Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding and barking before him, and the others holding John's hands; both talking at once, and overpowering him with questions about home, and with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I was reminded of those days when, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage-road. I leaned out of the coach-window, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight.

In the evening we reached a village where I had determined to pass the night. As we drove into the great gateway of the inn, I saw on one side the light of a rousing kitchen-fire

It

beaming through a window. I entered, and
admired, for the hundredth time, that picture
of convenience, neatness, and broad honest en-
joyment, the kitchen of an English inn.
was of spacious dimensions, hung round with
copper and tin vessels highly polished, and
decorated here and there with a Christmas
green. Hams, tongues, and flitches of bacon,
were suspended from the ceiling; a smoke-
jack made its ceaseless clanking beside the
fireplace, and a clock ticked in one corner. A
well-scoured deal table extended along one
side of the kitchen, with a cold round of beef,
and other hearty viands upon it, over which
two foaming tankards of ale seemed mounting
guard. Travellers of inferior order were pre-
paring to attack this stout repast, while others
sat smoking and gossiping over their ale on
two high-backed oaken settles beside the fire.
Trim housemaids were hurrying backwards
and forwards under the directions of a fresh,
bustling landlady; but still seizing an occa-
sional moment to exchange a flippant word,
and have a rallying laugh, with the group
round the fire. The scene completely realized
Poor Robin's humble idea of the comforts of
mid-winter.

"Now trees their leafy hats do bear
To reverence Winter's silver hair;

"A handsome hostess, merry host,

A pot of ale now and a toast,

Tobacco and a good coal-fire,

Are things this season doth require." *

I had not been long at the inn when a postchaise drove up to the door. A young gentleman stept out, and by the light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer view, when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it was Frank Bracebridge, a sprightly, good-humored young fellow, with whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meeting was extremely cordial, for the countenance of an old fellow-traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn was impossible; and finding that I was not pressed for time, and was merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I should give him a day or two at his father's country-seat, to which he was going to pass the holidays, and which lay at a few miles' distance. "It is better than eating a solitary Christmas dinner at an inn," said he; "and I can assure you of a hearty welcome in something of the oldfashioned style." His reasoning was cogent, * Poor Robin's Almanac, 1684.