in silks and satins, we
exchanged gifts, we offered to each other the proper Christmas greeting.
Can I say that no heart was sad, that no remembrance of past Christmases
haunted the celebration of this day? It is but too true that sad
thoughts arose, but they were not for ourselves.

I must, however, proceed with the opening of the new house, which was
also to have a name given it. After church we all helped to get dinner
ready. Schillie cooked with Jenny, being determined to have some superb
turtle soup. I made by her orders some lime punch, Hargrave boiled
vegetables of all kinds, the girls got fruit and flowers, Madame
arranged them, and the boys were getting the fish. I went into the
kitchen to ask Schillie some question relative to the punch, and was
sent out with a word and a blow almost. Her face was blazing like a
warming pan, the soup was at its most important crisis. Gatty hearing
the explosion of wrath, came as was her usual custom to join in the
_melee_, also got a shower of invectives, but, knowing the soup-pot
could not be left, she stood her ground, and occupied herself in various
petty acts of mischief. For instance, the new cook had a perfect series
of cloths and such like articles pinned to her when she made her
appearance. Hargrave found all the gourds and pipkins into which she had
put the vegetables changed, and, not being naturally sweet tempered, she
declared, "Miss Gertrude was the most aggravatingest creature she ever
met, and she would not serve her for a pound a day." But all ended well,
and the dinner was served. We had boiled chickens at the top, and roast
chickens at the bottom, and we had roast ducks on both sides, and the
great bowl of turtle soup was in the middle, with two jugs of lime punch
each side, and we had guava jelly in two places, and a pumpkin pie, and
roasted yams, and rice and fruit mixed together of all kinds. In fact,
it was a perfect Lord Mayor's feast. Schillie had insisted on dining
like Christians, as she called it, with dinner napkins and finger
glasses. The rest of the dinner table was covered with fruits and
flowers, such as I am sure no Lord Mayor ever saw at his table. Grace
was said. Schillie, with the dinner napkin spread out with an air, her
face still glowing, but bland in the extreme knowing that she had
achieved a triumph of cookery, proceeded to serve the soup. I being the
first to taste it pronounced it delicious. Madame thought it the best
she had ever t