round about, the squire's house included; and he does the same by the
rest. Riddles, hot-cockles, forfeits, music, dances sudden and not to
be suppressed, prevail among great and small; and from two o'clock in
the day to midnight, M. looks like a deserted place out of doors, but
is full of life and merriment within. Playing at knights and ladies
last year, a jade of a charming creature must needs send me out for a
piece of ice to put in her wine. It was evening and a hard frost. I
shall never forget the cold, cutting, dreary, dead look of every thing
out of doors, with a wind through the wiry trees, and the snow on the
ground, contrasted with the sudden return to warmth, light, and
joviality.

"I remember we had a discussion that time as to what was the great
point and crowning glory of Christmas. Many were for mince-pie; some
for the beef and plum-pudding; more for the wassail-bowl; a maiden
lady timidly said the mistletoe; but we agreed at last, that although
all these were prodigious, and some of them exclusively belonging to
the season, the _fire_ was the great indispensable. Upon which we all
turned our faces towards it, and began warming our already scorched
hands. A great blazing fire, too big, is the visible heart and soul
of Christmas. You may do without beef and plum-pudding; even the
absence of mince-pie may be tolerated; there must be a bowl,
poetically speaking, but it need not be absolutely wassail. The bowl
may give place to the bottle. But a huge, heaped-up, _over_ heaped-up,
all-attracting fire, with a semicircle of faces about it, is not to be
denied us. It is the _lar_ and genius of the meeting; the proof
positive of the season; the representative of all our warm emotions
and bright thoughts; the glorious eye of the room; the inciter to
mirth, yet the retainer of order; the amalgamater of the age and sex;
the universal relish. Tastes may differ even on a mince-pie; but who
gainsays a fire? The absence of other luxuries still leaves you in
possession of that; but

'Who can hold a fire in his hand
With thinking on the frostiest twelfth-cake?'

"Let me have a dinner of some sort, no matter what, and then give me
my fire, and my friends, the humblest glass of wine, and a few
penn'orths of chestnuts, and I will still make out my Christmas. What!
Have we not Burgundy in our blood? Have we not joke, laughter,
repartee, bright eyes, comedies of other people, and comedies of our
own; songs, memories,