Said Long. “Them Jews was blind,” said he; “But not so blind as we will be.” They drank Him once, and twice, and thrice; The main brace they began to splice. A child’s voice wailed outside the door: “O, let me enter, I implore! “’Tis freezing cold, and dark, and dire. O, let me warm me at your fire!” “No place for children here,” said Long, And bid him “cut his lucky” strong. “We’re keeping of Christ Jesus’ feast, Clear out,” said Short, “you little beast!” They sang to “David’s royal Son,” And not till all the drink was done Abstained; then staggered to the door, And sobered at the sight they saw. Stark on the snow Christ baby lay. ’Twas Him those sots had cursed away. Now tell me, what availed them, then, To keep Christ out and Christmas in? He had set his words to the tune of “Immortal Babe who this dear day,” and you may question, if you are purists, a cockney rhyme or two; and you may question, if you are Pharisees, his methods. Well, all I can tell you is that women wiped their eyes over the homely theme, and that our Christmas was the sweeter for the lesson it taught. At the end Mr. Sant jumped up, and taking his rod, pointed to the first object on the screen. “Now, then!” sniggered Harry, kneading his hands between his knees. There followed a pause and a general stir, rippled through with a little undercurrent of laughter. “Go on!” whispered Harry, nudging me. “Oyster!” I sung out. Mr. Sant caught sight of us, and nodded and laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Bowen,” said he. “No, it’s not an oyster!” and he sat down and began trolling out a new carol. The little ex-bookseller shifted; blushed faintly, I do believe, and turned to me. “I fancy I’ve got it,” said he. “Have you?” I answered delightedly. “Cry up, then!” “Christmas pie!” he piped, in his thin, cracked voice. Every head was turned momentarily our way. Mr. Sant left his stool and bowed. “The artist is vindicated,” said he. “The gentleman has the right penetrative vision. A mince-pie it is.” And he made his illustration forthwith the text for a lovely disquisition on plum-porridge and frumenty and goose-pie, “on beef and plum-pudding and turkey and chine,” and, generally, the history and rationale of Christmas fare, till his audience shifted and sighed under the influence of an illusive surfeit. A thing guessed for “one o’ them tree worms,” and turning out to be a yule log, came next, and provoked an allusion to a Norfolk custom on certain farms of dealing out the strong cider to the household at meals for so long as the block was in consuming; for which reason the servants would select for Yule the biggest and most cross-grained stump of elm they could find--a shrewd providence which tickled the simple fancy of this fishing community, where wood for burning was economized to the last spark it would yield.