The country squire of three hundred a year, an independent gentleman in the reign of Queen Anne, is described as having "never played at cards but at Christmas, when the family pack was produced from the mantle-piece." "His chief drink the year round was generally ale, except at this season, the 5th of November, or some gala days, when he would make a bowl of strong brandy punch, garnished with a toast and nutmeg. In the corner of his hall, by the fireside, stood a large wooden two-armed chair, with a cushion, and within the chimney corner were a couple of seats. Here, at Christmas, he entertained his tenants, assembled round a glowing fire, made of the roots of trees, and other great logs, and told and heard the traditionary tales of the village, respecting ghosts and witches, till fear made them afraid to move. In the meantime the jorum of ale was in continual circulation."[76] "This is Yuletide! Bring the holly boughs, Deck the old mansion with its berries red; Bring in the mistletoe, that lover's vows Be sweetly sealed the while it hangs o'erhead. Pile on the logs, fresh gathered from the wood, And let the firelight dance upon the walls, The while we tell the stories of the good, The brave, the noble, that the past recalls."[77] Many interesting tales respecting the manners and customs of the eighteenth century are given by Steele and Addison in their well-known series of papers entitled the _Spectator_. Charity and hospitality are conspicuous traits of the typical country gentleman of the period, Sir Roger de Coverley. "Sir Roger," says the _Spectator_, "after the laudable custom of his ancestors, always keeps open house at Christmas. I learned from him, that he had killed eight fat hogs for this season; that he had dealt about his chines very liberally amongst his neighbours; and that in particular he had sent a string of hog's puddings with a pack of cards to every poor family in the parish. 'I have often thought,' says Sir Roger, 'it happens well that Christmas should fall out in the middle of winter. It is the most dead uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in my great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set it running for twelve days to every one that calls for it. I have always a piece of cold beef and a mince-pie upon the table, and am wonderfully pleased to see my tenants pass away a whole evening in playing their innocent tricks, and smutting one another. Our friend Will Wimble is as merry as any of them, and shows a thousand roguish tricks upon these occasions."