Papa looked exceedingly surprised; and remembering some of Francis's sayings to me this morning, I was rather more than surprised--indignant. But no remark was made, and just then Augustus called the whole party to go down into the great kitchen and see the Christmas mummers or guizers, as they are called in that county. We looked at them for a long half-hour, and then everybody, great and small, got into the full whirl of Christmas merriment. Colin, in particular, grew so lively, that he wanted to lead me under the mistletoe; but when I declined, first gaily, and then seriously, he desisted, saying he would not offend me for the world. Nevertheless, he and one or two more kissed Lisabel. How could she endure it? when I,--I now sometimes feel jealous over even a strange touch of this my hand. The revels ended early, and as I sit writing, the house is quite still. I have just drawn up my blind, and looked out. The wind has sunk; snow is falling. I like snow on a Christmas morning. Already it is Christmas morning. Unto whom have I silently to wish those good wishes which always lie nearest to one's heart? My own family, of course; papa and Lisa, and Penelope, far away. Poor dear Penelope! may she find herself a happy woman this time next year. Are these all? They were, last Christmas. But I am richer now. Richer, it often seems to me, than anybody in the whole world. Good night! a merry--no--for “often in mirth the heart is sad”--a happy Christmas, and a good new year! I CHAPTER V. HIS STORY. _Dec. 31st,_ 1855. |The merry-making of my neighbours in the flat above--probably Scotch or Irish, both of which greatly abound in this town--is a sad counteraction of work for to-night. But why grumble, when I am one of the few people who pretend to work at all on this holiday--a night which used to be such a treat to us boys. The sounds overhead put me in mind of that old festival of Hogmanay, which, for a good many things, would be “more honoured in the breach than the observance.”