ches. Those who know him well are loth to anger him, for
fear their sons and sons' sons should laugh at them for ever
caricatured in solid stone.

Hark! there sounds the bell. The curtain is drawn, and the candles
blaze brightly round the wooden stage. What is this first scene? We
have God in Heaven, dressed like a Pope with triple crown, and
attended by his court of angels. They sing and toss up censers till
he lifts his hand and speaks. In a long Latin speech he unfolds the
order of creation and his will concerning man. At the end of it up
leaps an ugly buffoon, in goatskin, with rams' horns upon his head.
Some children begin to cry; but the older people laugh, for this is
the Devil, the clown and comic character, who talks their common
tongue, and has no reverence before the very throne of Heaven. He
asks leave to plague men, and receives it; then, with many a curious
caper, he goes down to Hell, beneath the stage. The angels sing and
toss their censers as before, and the first scene closes to a sound
of organs. The next is more conventional, in spite of some grotesque
incidents. It represents the Fall; the monks hurry over it quickly,
as a tedious but necessary prelude to the birth of Christ. That is
the true Christmas part of the ceremony, and it is understood that
the best actors and most beautiful dresses are to be reserved for
it. The builders of the choir in particular are interested in the
coming scenes, since one of their number has been chosen, for his
handsome face and tenor voice, to sing the angel's part. He is a
young fellow of nineteen, but his beard is not yet grown, and long
hair hangs down upon his shoulders. A chorister of the cathedral,
his younger brother, will act the Virgin Mary. At last the curtain
is drawn.

We see a cottage-room, dimly lighted by a lamp, and Mary spinning
near her bedside. She sings a country air, and goes on working, till
a rustling noise is heard, more light is thrown upon the stage, and
a glorious creature, in white raiment, with broad golden wings,
appears. He bears a lily, and cries,--'Ave Maria, Gratia Plena!' She
does not answer, but stands confused, with down-dropped eyes and
timid mien. Gabriel rises from the ground and comforts her, and
sings aloud his message of glad tidings. Then Mary gathers courage,
and, kneeling in her turn, thanks God; and when the angel and his
radiance disappears, she sings the song of the Magnificat clearly
and simply, in the darkened ro