THE PEACE EGG

 AND OTHER TALES. 

 BY

 JULIANA HORATIA EWING. 

 LONDON:

 SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W. C. 

 BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET. 

 NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO. 

 [Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee. ]

 * * * * *

CONTENTS. 

THE PEACE EGG

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS, I. , II. , III. 

SNAP-DRAGONS

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS

 * * * * *

THE PEACE EGG. 

THE PEACE EGG. 

A CHRISTMAS TALE. 

Every one ought to be happy at Christmas. But there are many thingswhich ought to be, and yet are not; and people are sometimes sad evenin the Christmas holidays. 

The Captain and his wife were sad, though it was Christmas Eve. Sad, though they were in the prime of life, blessed with good health, devoted to each other and to their children, with competent means, acomfortable house on a little freehold property of their own, and, onemight say, everything that heart could desire. Sad, though they weregood people, whose peace of mind had a firmer foundation than theirearthly goods alone; contented people, too, with plenty of occupationfor mind and body. Sad--and in the nursery this was held to be pastall reason--though the children were performing that ancient and mostentertaining Play or Christmas Mystery of Good St. George of England, known as _The Peace Egg_, for their benefit and behoof alone. 

The play was none the worse that most of the actors were too young tolearn parts, so that there was very little of the rather tediousdialogue, only plenty of dress and ribbons, and of fighting with thewooden swords. But though St. George looked bonny enough to warm anyfather's heart, as he marched up and down with an air learned bywatching many a parade in barrack-square and drill-ground, and thoughthe Valiant Slasher did not cry in spite of falling hard and theDoctor treading accidentally on his little finger in picking him up, still the Captain and his wife sighed nearly as often as they smiled, and the mother dropped tears as well as pennies into the cap which theKing of Egypt brought round after the performance. 

THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE. 

Many many years back the Captain's wife had been a child herself, andhad laughed to see the village mummers act the Peace Egg, and had beenquite happy on Christmas Eve. Happy, though she had no mother. Happy, though her father was a stern man, very fond of his only child, butwith an obstinate will that not even she dared thwart. She had livedto thwart it, and he had never forgiven her. It was when she marriedthe Captain. The old man had a prejudice against soldiers, which wasquite reason enough, in his opinion, for his daughter to sacrifice thehappiness of her future life by giving up the soldier she loved. Atlast he gave her her choice between the Captain and his own favour andmoney. She chose the Captain, and was disowned and disinherited. 

The Captain bore a high character, and was a good and clever officer, but that went for nothing against the old man's whim. He made a verygood husband too; but even this did not move his father-in-law, whohad never held any intercourse with him or his wife since the day oftheir marriage, and who had never seen his own grandchildren. Thoughnot so bitterly prejudiced as the old father, the Captain's wife'sfriends had their doubts about the marriage. The place was not amilitary station, and they were quiet country folk who knew verylittle about soldiers, whilst what they imagined was not altogetherfavourable to "red-coats" as they called them. Soldiers arewell-looking generally, it is true (and the Captain was more thanwell-looking--he was handsome); brave, of course it is their business(and the Captain had V. C. After his name and several bits of ribbonon his patrol jacket). But then, thought the good people, they arehere to-day and gone to-morrow, you "never know where you have them";they are probably in debt, possibly married to several women inseveral foreign countries, and, though they are very courteous insociety, who knows how they treat their wives when they drag them offfrom their natural friends and protectors to distant lands where noone can call them to account?

"Ah, poor thing!" said Mrs. John Bull, junior, as she took off herhusband's coat on his return from business, a week after the Captain'swedding, "I wonder how she feels? There's no doubt the old man behaveddisgracefully; but it's a great risk marrying a soldier. It stands toreason, military men aren't domestic; and I wish--Lucy Jane, fetchyour papa's slippers, quick!--she'd had the sense to settle downcomfortably amongst her friends with a man who would have taken careof her. "

"Officers are a wild set, I expect, " said Mr. Bull, complacently, ashe stretched his limbs in his own particular arm-chair, into which nomember of his family ever intruded. "But the red-coats carry the daywith plenty of girls who ought to know better. You women are alwayscaught by a bit of finery. However, there's no use our bothering _our_heads about it. As she has brewed she must bake. "

The Captain's wife's baking was lighter and more palatable than herfriends believed. The Captain (who took off his own coat when he camehome, and never wore slippers but in his dressing-room) was domesticenough. A selfish companion must, doubtless, be a great trial amid thehardships of military life, but when a soldier is kind-hearted, he isoften a much more helpful and thoughtful and handy husband than anyequally well-meaning civilian. Amid the ups and downs of theirwanderings, the discomforts of shipboard and of stations in thecolonies, bad servants, and unwonted sicknesses, the Captain'stenderness never failed. If the life was rough the Captain was ready. He had been, by turns, in one strait or another, sick-nurse, doctor, carpenter, nursemaid, and cook to his family, and had, moreover, anidea that nobody filled these offices quite so well as himself. Withal, his very profession kept him neat, well-dressed, and active. In the roughest of their ever-changing quarters he was a smarter man, more like the lover of his wife's young days, than Mr. Bull amid hisstationary comforts. Then if the Captain's wife was--as her friendssaid--"never settled, " she was also for ever entertained by newscenes; and domestic mischances do not weigh very heavily on peoplewhose possessions are few and their intellectual interests many. It istrue that there were ladies in the Captain's regiment who passed bysea and land from one quarter of the globe to another, amid strangeclimates and customs, strange trees and flowers, beasts and birds, from the glittering snows of North America to the orchids of the Cape, from beautiful Pera to the lily-covered hills of Japan, and who in noplace rose above the fret of domestic worries, and had little to tellon their return but of the universal misconduct of servants, fromIrish "helps" in the colonies, to _compradors_ and China-boys atShanghai. But it was not so with the Captain's wife. Moreover, onebecomes accustomed to one's fate, and she moved her wholeestablishment from the Curragh to Corfu with less anxiety than thatfelt by Mrs. Bull over a port-wine stain on the best table-cloth. 

And yet, as years went and children came, the Captain and his wifegrew tired of travelling. New scenes were small comfort when theyheard of the death of old friends. One foot of murky English sky wasdearer, after all, than miles of the unclouded heavens of the South. The grey hills and overgrown lanes of her old home haunted theCaptain's wife by night and day, and home-sickness (that weariest ofall sicknesses) began to take the light out of her eyes before theirtime. It preyed upon the Captain too. Now and then he would say, fretfully, "I _should_ like an English resting-place, however small, before _every-_body is dead! But the children's prospects have to beconsidered. " The continued estrangement from the old man was anabiding sorrow also, and they had hopes that, if only they could getto England, he might be persuaded to peace and charity this time. 

At last they were sent home. But the hard old father still would notrelent. He returned their letters unopened. This bitter disappointmentmade the Captain's wife so ill that she almost died, and in one monththe Captain's hair became iron-grey. He reproached himself for havingever taken the daughter from her father, "to kill her at last, " as hesaid. And (thinking of his own children) he even reproached himselffor having robbed the old widower of his only child. After two yearsat home his regiment was ordered to India. He failed to effect anexchange, and they prepared to move once more--from Chatham toCalcutta. Never before had the packing, to which she was so wellaccustomed, been so bitter a task to the Captain's wife. 

It was at the darkest hour of this gloomy time that the Captain camein, waving above his head a letter which changed all their plans. 

Now close by the old home of the Captain's wife there had lived a man, much older than herself, who yet had loved her with a devotion asgreat as that of the young Captain. She never knew it, for when hesaw that she had given her heart to his younger rival, he keptsilence, and he never asked for what he knew he might have had--theold man's authority in his favour. So generous was the affection whichhe could never conquer, that he constantly tried to reconcile thefather to his children whilst he lived, and, when he died, hebequeathed his house and small estate to the woman he had loved. 

"It will be a legacy of peace, " he thought, on his death-bed. "The oldman cannot hold out when she and her children are constantly in sight. And it may please GOD that I shall know of the reunion I have not beenpermitted to see with my eyes. "

And thus it came about that the Captain's regiment went to Indiawithout him, and that the Captain's wife and her father lived onopposite sides of the same road. 

MASTER ROBERT. 

The eldest of the Captain's children was a boy. He was named Robert, after his grandfather, and seemed to have inherited a good deal of theold gentleman's character, mixed with gentler traits. He was a fair, fine boy, tall and stout for his age, with the Captain's regularfeatures, and (he flattered himself) the Captain's firm step andmartial bearing. He was apt--like his grandfather--to hold his ownwill to be other people's law, and (happily for the peace of thenursery) this opinion was devoutly shared by his brother Nicholas. Though the Captain had sold his commission, Robin continued to commandan irregular force of volunteers in the nursery, and never was colonelmore despotic. His brothers and sister were by turn infantry, cavalry, engineers, and artillery, according to his whim, and when hisaffections finally settled upon the Highlanders of "The Black Watch, "no female power could compel him to keep his stockings above hisknees, or his knickerbockers below them. 

The Captain alone was a match for his strong-willed son. 

"If you please, sir, " said Sarah, one morning, flouncing in upon theCaptain, just as he was about to start for the neighbouring town, --"ifyou please, sir, I wish you'd speak to Master Robert. He's past mypowers. "

"I've no doubt of it, " thought the Captain, but he only said, "Well, what's the matter?"

"Night after night do I put him to bed, " said Sarah, "and night afternight does he get up as soon as I'm out of the room, and says he'sorderly officer for the evening, and goes about in his night-shirt, and his feet as bare as boards. "

The Captain fingered his heavy moustache to hide a smile, but helistened patiently to Sarah's complaints. 

"It ain't so much _him_ I should mind, sir, " she continued, "but hegoes round the beds and wakes up the other young gentlemen and MissDora, one after another, and when I speak to him, he gives me all thesauce he can lay his tongue to, and says he's going round the guards. The other night I tried to put him back in his bed, but he got awayand ran all over the house, me hunting him everywhere, and not a signof him, till he jumps out on me from the garret-stairs and nearlyknocks me down. 'I've visited the outposts, Sarah, ' says he; 'all'swell, ' And off he goes to bed as bold as brass. "

"Have you spoken to your mistress?" asked the Captain. 

"Yes, sir, " said Sarah. "And missis spoke to him, and he promised notto go round the guards again. "

"Has he broken his promise?" asked the Captain, with a look of anger, and also of surprise. 

"When I opened the door last night, sir, " continued Sarah, in hershrill treble, "what should I see in the dark but Master Roberta-walking up and down with the carpet-brush stuck in his arm. 'Whogoes there?' says he. 'You owdacious boy!' says I. 'Didn't youpromise your ma you'd leave off them tricks?' 'I'm not going round theguards, ' says he; 'I promised not. But I'm for sentry-duty to-night. 'And say what I would to him, all he had for me was, 'You mustn't speakto a sentry on duty. ' So I says, 'As sure as I live till morning, I'llgo to your pa, ' for he pays no more attention to his ma than to me, nor to any one else. "

"Please to see that the chair-bed in my dressing-room is moved intoyour mistress's bedroom, " said the Captain. "I will attend to MasterRobert. "

With this Sarah had to content herself, and she went back to thenursery. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and made no reply to hersummons. On this the unwary nursemaid flounced into the bedroom tolook for him, when Robert, who was hidden beneath a table, dartedforth, and promptly locked her in. 

"You're under arrest, " he shouted, through the keyhole. 

"Let me out!" shrieked Sarah. 

"I'll send a file of the guard to fetch you to the orderly room, byand by, " said Robert, "for 'preferring frivolous complaints. '" And hedeparted to the farmyard to look at the ducks. 

That night, when Robert went up to bed, the Captain quietly locked himinto his dressing-room, from which the bed had been removed. 

"You're for sentry-duty to-night, " said the Captain. "The carpet-brushis in the corner. Good-evening. "

As his father anticipated, Robert was soon tired of the sentry game inthese new circumstances, and long before the night had half worn awayhe wished himself safely undressed and in his own comfortable bed. Athalf-past twelve o'clock he felt as if he could bear it no longer, andknocked at the Captain's door. 

"Who goes there?" said the Captain. 

"Mayn't I go to bed, please?" whined poor Robert. 

"Certainly not, " said the Captain. "You're on duty. "

And on duty poor Robert had to remain, for the Captain had a will aswell as his son. So he rolled himself up in his father's railway-rug, and slept on the floor. 

The next night he was very glad to go quietly to bed, and remainthere. 

IN THE NURSERY. 

The Captain's children sat at breakfast in a large, bright nursery. Itwas the room where the old bachelor had died, and now _her_ childrenmade it merry. This was just what he would have wished. 

They all sat round the table, for it was breakfast-time. There werefive of them, and five bowls of boiled bread-and-milk smoked beforethem. Sarah (a foolish, gossiping girl, who acted as nurse till bettercould be found) was waiting on them, and by the table sat Darkie, theblack retriever, his long, curly back swaying slightly from thedifficulty of holding himself up, and his solemn hazel eyes fixed veryintently on each and all of the breakfast bowls. He was as silent andsagacious as Sarah was talkative and empty-headed. The expression ofhis face was that of King Charles I. As painted by Vandyke. Thoughlarge, he was unassuming. Pax, the pug, on the contrary, who came upto the first joint of Darkie's leg, stood defiantly on his dignity(and his short stumps). He always placed himself in front of thebigger dog, and made a point of hustling him in doorways and of goingfirst down-stairs. He strutted like a beadle, and carried his tailmore tightly curled than a bishop's crook. He looked as one mayimagine the frog in the fable would have looked, had he been able toswell himself rather nearer to the size of the ox. This was partly dueto his very prominent eyes, and partly to an obesity favoured byhabits of lying inside the fender, and of eating meals proportionedmore to his consequence than to his hunger. They were both favouritesof two years' standing, and had very nearly been given away, when thegood news came of an English home for the family, dogs and all. 

Robert's tongue was seldom idle, even at meals. "Are you aYorkshirewoman, Sarah?" he asked, pausing, with his spoon full in hishand. 

"No, Master Robert, " said Sarah. 

"But you understand Yorkshire, don't you? I can't, very often; butMamma can, and can speak it, too. Papa says Mamma always talksYorkshire to servants and poor people. She used to talk Yorkshire toThemistocles, Papa said, and he said it was no good; for thoughThemistocles knew a lot of languages, he didn't know that. And Mammalaughed, and said she didn't know she did. "--"Themistocles was ourman-servant in Corfu, " Robin added, in explanation. "He stole lots ofthings, Themistocles did; but Papa found him out. "

Robin now made a rapid attack on his bread-and-milk, after which hebroke out again. 

"Sarah, who is that tall old gentleman at church, in the seat near thepulpit? He wears a cloak like what the Blues wear, only all blue, andis tall enough for a Lifeguardsman. He stood when we were kneelingdown, and said _Almighty and most merciful Father_ louder thananybody. "

Sarah knew who the old gentleman was, and knew also that the childrendid not know, and that their parents did not see fit to tell them asyet. But she had a passion for telling and hearing news, and wouldrather gossip with a child than not gossip at all. "Never you mind, Master Robin, " she said, nodding sagaciously. "Little boys aren't toknow everything. "

"Ah, then, I know you don't know, " replied Robert; "if you did, you'dtell. Nicholas, give some of your bread to Darkie and Pax. I've donemine. _For what we have received, the Lord make us truly thankful. _Say your grace and put your chair away, and come along. I want to holda court-martial!" And seizing his own chair by the seat, Robin carriedit swiftly to its corner. As he passed Sarah, he observed tauntingly, "You pretend to know, but you don't. "

"I do, " said Sarah. 

"You don't, " said Robin. 

"Your ma's forbid you to contradict, Master Robin, " said Sarah; "andif you do I shall tell her. I know well enough who the old gentlemanis, and perhaps I might tell you, only you'd go straight off and tellagain. "

"No, no, I wouldn't!" shouted Robin. "I can keep a secret, indeed Ican! Pinch my little finger, and try. Do, do tell me, Sarah, there's adear Sarah, and then I shall know you know. " And he danced round her, catching at her skirts. 

To keep a secret was beyond Sarah's powers. 

"Do let my dress be, Master Robin, " she said, "you're ripping out allthe gathers, and listen while I whisper. As sure as you're a livingboy, that gentleman's your own grandpapa. "

Robin lost his hold on Sarah's dress; his arms fell by his side, andhe stood with his brows knit for some minutes, thinking. Then he said, emphatically, "What lies you do tell, Sarah!"

"Oh, Robin!" cried Nicholas, who had drawn near, his thick curlsstanding stark with curiosity, "Mamma said 'lies' wasn't a properword, and you promised not to say it again. "

"I forgot, " said Robin. "I didn't mean to break my promise. But shedoes tell--ahem! _you know what_. "

"You wicked boy!" cried the enraged Sarah; "how dare you to say such athing! and everybody in the place knows he's your ma's own pa. "

"I'll go and ask her, " said Robin, and he was at the door in a moment;but Sarah, alarmed by the thought of getting into a scrape herself, caught him by the arm. 

"Don't you go, love; it'll only make your ma angry. There; it was allmy nonsense. "

"Then it's not true?" said Robin, indignantly. "What did you tell meso for?"

"It was all my jokes and nonsense, " said the unscrupulous Sarah. "Butyour ma wouldn't like to know I've said such a thing. And MasterRobert wouldn't be so mean as to tell tales, would he, love?"

"I'm not mean, " said Robin, stoutly; "and I don't tell tales; but youdo, and you tell _you know what_, besides. However, I won't go thistime; but I'll tell you what--if you tell tales of me to Papa anymore, I'll tell him what you said about the old gentleman in the bluecloak. " With which parting threat Robin strode, off to join hisbrothers and sister. 

Sarah's tale had put the court-martial out of his head, and he leanedagainst the tall fender, gazing at his little sister, who was tenderlynursing a well-worn doll. Robin sighed. 

"What a long time that doll takes to wear out, Dora!" said he. "Whenwill it be done?"

"Oh, not yet, not yet!" cried Dora, clasping the doll to her, andturning away. "She's quite good, yet. "

"How miserly you are, " said her brother; "and selfish, too; for youknow I can't have a military funeral till you'll let me bury that oldthing. "

Dora began to cry. 

"There you go, crying!" said Robin, impatiently. "Look here: I won'ttake it till you get the new one on your birthday. You can't be somean as not to let me have it then!"

But Dora's tears still fell. "I love this one so much, " she sobbed. "Ilove her better than the new one. "

"You want both; that's it, " said Robin, angrily. "Dora, you're themeanest girl I ever knew!"

At which unjust and painful accusation Dora threw herself and the dollupon their faces, and wept bitterly. The eyes of the soft-heartedNicholas began to fill with tears, and he squatted down before her, looking most dismal. He had a fellow-feeling for her attachment to anold toy, and yet Robin's will was law to him. 

"Couldn't we make a coffin, and pretend the body was inside?" hesuggested. 

"No, we couldn't, " said Robin. "I wouldn't play the Dead March afteran empty candle-box. It's a great shame--and I promised she should bechaplain in one of my night-gowns, too. "

"Perhaps you'll get just as fond of the new one, " said Nicholas, turning to Dora. 

But Dora only cried, "No, no! He shall have the new one to bury, andI'll keep my poor, dear, darling Betsy. " And she clasped Betsy tighterthan before. 

"That's the meanest thing you've said yet, " retorted Robin; "for youknow Mamma wouldn't let me bury the new one. " And, with an air ofgreat disgust, he quitted the nursery. 

"A MUMMING WE WILL GO. "

Nicholas had sore work to console his little sister, and Betsy'sprospects were in a very unfavourable state, when a diversion wascaused in her favour by a new whim which put the military funeral outof Robin's head. 

After he left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peepingthrough the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys goingthrough what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a gooddeal of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they allspoke by turns, as in a play. In spite of their strong Yorkshireaccent, Robin overheard a good deal, and it sounded very fine. Notbeing at all shy, he joined them, and asked so many questions that hesoon got to know all about it. They were practising a Christmasmumming-play, called "The Peace Egg. " Why it was called thus theycould not tell, as there was nothing whatever about eggs in it, and sofar from being a play of peace, it was made up of a series of battlesbetween certain valiant knights and princes, of whom St. George ofEngland was the chief and conqueror. The rehearsal being over, Robinwent with the boys to the sexton's house (he was father to the "Kingof Egypt"), where they showed him the dresses they were to wear. Thesewere made of gay-coloured materials, and covered with ribbons, exceptthat of the "Black Prince of Paradine, " which was black, as became histitle. The boys also showed him the book from which they learned theirparts, and which was to be bought for one penny at the post-officeshop. 

"Then are you the mummers who come round at Christmas, and act inpeople's kitchens, and people give them money, that Mamma used to tellus about?" said Robin. 

St. George of England looked at his companions as if for counsel as tohow far they might commit themselves, and then replied, with Yorkshirecaution, "Well, I suppose we are. "

"And do you go out in the snow from one house to another at night? andoh, don't you enjoy it?" cried Robin. 

"We like it well enough, " St. George admitted. 

Robin bought a copy of "The Peace Egg. " He was resolved to have anursery performance, and to act the part of St. George himself. Theothers were willing for what he wished, but there were difficulties. In the first place, there are eight characters in the play, and therewere only five children. They decided among themselves to leave outthe "Fool, " and Mamma said that another character was not to be actedby any of them, or indeed mentioned; "the little one who comes in atthe end, " Robin explained. Mamma had her reasons, and these werealways good. She had not been altogether pleased that Robin had boughtthe play. It was a very old thing, she said, and very queer; notadapted for a child's play. If Mamma thought the parts not quite fitfor the children to learn, they found them much too long; so in theend she picked out some bits for each, which they learned easily, andwhich, with a good deal of fighting, made quite as good a story of itas if they had done the whole. What may have been wanting otherwisewas made up for by the dresses, which were charming. 

Robin was St. George, Nicholas the Valiant Slasher, Dora the Doctor, and the other two Hector and the King of Egypt. "And now we've noBlack Prince!" cried Robin in dismay. 

"Let Darkie be the Black Prince, " said Nicholas. "When you wave yourstick he'll jump for it, and then you can pretend to fight with him. "

"It's not a stick, it's a sword, " said Robin. "However, Darkie may bethe Black Prince. "

"And what's Pax to be?" asked Dora; "for you know he will come ifDarkie does, and he'll run in before everybody else too. "

"Then he must be the Fool, " said Robin, "and it will do very well, forthe Fool comes in before the rest, and Pax can have his red coat on, and the collar with the little bells. "

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Robin thought that Christmas would never come. To the Captain and hiswife it seemed to come too fast. They had hoped it might bringreconciliation with the old man, but it seemed they had hoped in vain. 

There were times now when the Captain almost regretted the oldbachelor's bequest. The familiar scenes of her old home sharpened hiswife's grief. To see her father every Sunday in church, with marks ofage and infirmity upon him, but with not a look of tenderness for hisonly child, this tried her sorely. 

"She felt it less abroad, " thought the Captain. "An English home inwhich she frets herself to death is, after all, no great boon. "

Christmas Eve came. 

"I'm sure it's quite Christmas enough now, " said Robin. "We'll have'The Peace Egg' to-night. "

So as the Captain and his wife sat sadly over their fire, the dooropened, and Pax ran in shaking his bells, and followed by the nurserymummers. The performance was most successful. It was by no meanspathetic, and yet, as has been said, the Captain's wife shed tears. 

"What is the matter, Mamma?" said St. George, abruptly dropping hissword and running up to her. 

"Don't tease Mamma with questions, " said the Captain; "she is not verywell, and rather sad. We must all be very kind and good to poor dearMamma;" and the Captain raised his wife's hand to his lips as hespoke. Robin seized the other hand and kissed it tenderly. He was veryfond of his mother. At this moment Pax took a little run, and jumpedon to Mamma's lap, where, sitting facing the company, he opened hisblack mouth and yawned, with a ludicrous inappropriateness worthy ofany clown. It made everybody laugh. 

"And now we'll go and act in the kitchen, " said Nicholas. 

"Supper at nine o'clock, remember, " shouted the Captain. "And we aregoing to have real frumenty and Yule cakes, such as Mamma used to tellus of when we were abroad. "

"Hurray!" shouted the mummers, and they ran off, Pax leaping from hisseat just in time to hustle the Black Prince in the doorway. When thedining-room door was shut, St. George raised his hand, and said"Hush!"

The mummers pricked their ears, but there was only a distant harsh andscraping sound, as of stones rubbed together. 

"They're cleaning the passages, " St. George went on, "and Sarah toldme they meant to finish the mistletoe, and have everything cleaned upby supper-time. They don't want us, I know. Look here, we'll go _realmumming_ instead. That _will_ be fun!"

The Valiant Slasher grinned with delight. 

"But will mamma let us?" he inquired. 

"Oh, it will be all right if we're back by supper-time, " said St. George, hastily. "Only of course we must take care not to catch cold. Come and help me to get some wraps. "

The old oak chest in which spare shawls, rugs, and coats were kept wassoon ransacked, and the mummers' gay dresses hidden by motleywrappers. But no sooner did Darkie and Pax behold the coats, &c. , thanthey at once began to leap and bark, as it was their custom to do whenthey saw any one dressing to go out. Robin was sorely afraid that thiswould betray them; but though the Captain and his wife heard thebarking they did not guess the cause. 

So the front door being very gently opened and closed, the nurserymummers stole away. 

THE NURSERY MUMMERS AND THE OLD MAN. 

It was a very fine night. The snow was well trodden on the drive, sothat it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hungsoft and white. 

"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime, " saidRobin. 

"Much, " responded Nicholas, with intense feeling. 

"We'll go a wassailing next week, " said Robin. "I know all about it, and perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tinswords with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh, dear, I wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another. "

"Where shall we go first?" asked Nicholas, as they turned into thehigh-road. But before Robin could reply, Dora clung to Nicholas, crying, "Oh, look at those men!"

The boys looked up the road, down which three men were coming in avery unsteady fashion, and shouting as they rolled from side to side. 

"They're drunk, " said Nicholas; "and they're shouting at us. "

"Oh, run, run!" cried Dora; and down the road they ran, the menshouting and following them. They had not run far, when Hector caughthis foot in the Captain's great-coat, which he was wearing, and camedown headlong in the road. They were close by a gate, and whenNicholas had set Hector upon his legs, St. George hastily opened it. 

"This is the first house, " he said. "We'll act here;" and all, eventhe Valiant Slasher, pressed in as quickly as possible. Once safewithin the grounds, they shouldered their sticks, and resumed theircomposure. 

"You're going to the front door, " said Nicholas, "Mummers ought to goto the back. "

"We don't know where it is, " said Robin, and he rang the front-doorbell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and atlast a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It mighthave been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly, timid-looking woman, who held a tallow candle above her head. 

"Who's there, " she said, "at this time of night?"

"We're Christmas mummers, " said Robin, stoutly; "we don't know the wayto the back door, but--"

"And don't you know better than to come here?" said the woman. "Be offwith you, as fast as you can. "

"You're only the servant, " said Robin. "Go and ask your master andmistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well. "

"You impudent boy, be off with you!" repeated the woman. "Master'd nomore let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house--"

"Woman!" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as ifshe had been shot, "who authorizes you to say what your master will orwill not do, before you've asked him? The boy is right. You _are_ theservant, and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall orshall not see. "

"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure, " said the housekeeper; "but I thoughtyou'd never--"

"My good woman, " said her master, "if I had wanted somebody to thinkfor me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you toobey orders, not to think. "

"I'm sure, sir, " said the housekeeper, whose only form of argument wasreiteration, "I never thought you would have seen them--"

"Then you were wrong, " shouted her master. "I will see them. Bringthem in. "

He was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for someminutes, wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. Atlast he remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak. 

The children threw off their wraps, the housekeeper helping them, andchattering ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness. 

"Well, to be sure, " said she, "their dresses are pretty too. And theyseem quite a better sort of children, they talk quite genteel. I mightha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flusteratedhearing the bell go so late, and--"

"Are they ready?" said the old man, who had stood like a ghost in thedim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching theproceedings. 

"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen, sir?"

"--for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bringthem to the library, " he snapped, and then stalked off, leading theway. 

The housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and thenwithdrew, nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumblingover Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow. 

The old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire. 

"I never said the dogs were to come in, " he said. 

"But we can't do without them, please, " said Robin, boldly. "You seethere are eight people in 'The Peace Egg, ' and there are only five ofus; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be theFool, and so we have to have them. "

"Five and two make seven, " said the old man, with a grim smile; "whatdo you do for the eighth?"

"Oh, that's the little one at the end, " said Robin, confidentially. "Mamma said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's becausewe're children. --You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book, and you can see for yourself, " he went on, drawing "The Peace Egg"from his pocket: "there, that's the picture of him, on the last page;black, with horns and a tail. "

The old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined thegrotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smilevanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals withanger. He had seen Robin's name. 

"Who sent you here?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "Speak, and speakthe truth! Did your mother send you here?"

Robin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. Hesaid, slowly, "N--no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't thinkshe'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mammanever _forbid_ our going mumming, you know. "

"I don't suppose she ever thought of it, " Nicholas said, candidly, wagging his curly head from side to side. 

"She knows we're mummers, " said Robin, "for she helped us. When wewere abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers actingat Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd bemummers, and so we acted to Papa and Mamma, and so we thought we'd actto the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thoughtwe'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go tobefore supper-time; we'd better begin, I think, " said Robin; andwithout more ado he began to march round and round, raising his swordand shouting--

 "I am St. George, who from Old England sprung, My famous name throughout the world hath rung. "

And the performance went off quite as creditably as before. 

As the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched themwith an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hardthwacks from St. George without flinching, the old man clapped hishands; and, after the encounter between St. George and the BlackPrince, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded on anyconsideration. It was just at the end, when they were all marchinground and round, holding on by each other's swords "over theshoulder, " and singing "A mumming we will go, " &c. , that Nicholassuddenly brought the circle to a standstill by stopping dead short, and staring up at the wall before him. 

"What _are_ you stopping for?" said St. George, turning indignantlyround. 

"Look there!" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hungabove the old man's head. 

Robin looked, and said, abruptly, "It's Dora. "

"Which is Dora?" asked the old man, in a strange, sharp tone. 

"Here she is, " said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they draggedher forward. 

"She's the Doctor, " said Robin; "and you can't see her face for herthings. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it_is_ like her!"

It was a portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nurserymummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hoodfell away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharpcry, and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, butDora ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, inchildish pitying tones, "Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache?May Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovelsfor her headaches. " And, though the old man did not speak or move, shewent on coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair waswhite. At this moment Pax took one of his unexpected runs, and jumpedon to the old man's knee, in his own particular fashion, and thenyawned at the company. The old man was startled, and lifted his facesuddenly. It was wet with tears. 

"Why, you're crying!" exclaimed the children, with one breath. 

"It's very odd, " said Robin, fretfully. "I can't think what's thematter to-night. Mamma was crying too when we were acting, and Papasaid we weren't to tease her with questions, and he kissed her hand, and I kissed her hand too. And Papa said we must all be very good andkind to poor dear Mamma, and so I mean to be, she's so good. And Ithink we'd better go home, or perhaps she'll be frightened, " Robinadded. 

"She's so good, is she?" asked the old man. He had put Pax off hisknee, and taken Dora on to it. 

"Oh, isn't she!" said Nicholas, swaying his curly head from side toside as usual. 

"She's always good, " said Robin, emphatically; "and so's Papa. But I'malways doing something I oughtn't to, " he added, slowly. "But then, you know, I don't pretend to obey Sarah. I don't care a fig for Sarah;and I won't obey any woman but Mamma. "

"Who's Sarah?" asked the grandfather. 

"She's our nurse, " said Robin, "and she tells--I mustn't say what shetells--but it's not the truth. She told one about _you_ the otherday, " he added. 

"About me?" said the old man. 

"She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling _youknow what_. "

"How did you know it wasn't true?" the old man asked. 

"Why, of course, " said Robin, "if you were our Mamma's father, you'dknow her, and be very fond of her, and come and see her. And thenyou'd be our grandfather, too, and you'd have us to see you, andperhaps give us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were, " Robin added with asigh. "It would be very nice. "

"Would _you_ like it?" asked the old man of Dora. 

And Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her littlearms about his neck as she was wont to put them round the Captain's, and said, "Very much. "

He put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and leftthe children alone. By and by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak, and took Dora up again. 

"I will see you home, " he said. 

The children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck ninewhen there came a knock on the door of the dining-room, where theCaptain and his wife still sat by the Yule log. She said "Come in, "wearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes. 

But it was her father, with her child in his arms!

PEACE AND GOODWILL. 

Lucy Jane Bull and her sisters were quite old enough to understand agood deal of grown-up conversation when they overheard it. Thus, whena friend of Mrs. Bull's observed during an afternoon call that shebelieved that "officers' wives were very dressy, " the young ladieswere at once resolved to keep a sharp look-out for the Captain'swife's bonnet in church on Christmas Day. 

The Bulls had just taken their seats when the Captain's wife came in. They really would have hid their faces, and looked at the bonnetafterwards, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of thecongregation. The old grandfather walked into church abreast of theCaptain. 

"They've met in the porch, " whispered Mr. Bull, under the shelter ofhis hat. 

"They can't quarrel publicly in a place of worship, " said Mrs. Bull, turning pale. 

"She's gone into his seat, " cried Lucy Jane in a shrill whisper. 

"And the children after her, " added the other sister, incautiouslyaloud. 

There was now no doubt about the matter. The old man in his blue cloakstood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedencewith his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in, and the old man followed him. 

By the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happypeacemaking, and was glad. One old friend after another came up withblessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, theysaid. There was a general rejoicing. 

But only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatchedfrom "The Peace Egg. "

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY. 

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Since a little story of mine called "The Peace Egg" appeared in _AuntJudy's Magazine_, I have again and again been asked where the MummingPlay could be found which gave its name to my tale, and if realchildren could act it, as did the fancy children of my story. 

As it stands, this old Christmas Mumming Play (which seems to haveborrowed the name of an Easter Entertainment or Pasque Egg) is not fitfor domestic performance; and though probably there are few nurseriesin those parts of England where "mumming" and the sword-dance stilllinger, in which the children do not play some version of St. George'sexploits, a little of the dialogue goes a long way, and the mummery(which must almost be seen to be imitated) is the chief matter. 

In fact, the mummery _is_ the chief matter--which is what makes theplay so attractive to children, and, it may be added, so suitable fortheir performance. In its rudeness, its simplicity, its fancydressing, the rapid action of the plot, and last, but not least, its_bludginess_--that quality which made the history of Goliath so dearto the youngest of Helen's Babies!--it is adapted for nurseryamusement, as the Drama of Punch and Judy is, and for similar reasons. 

For some little time past I have purposed to try and blend the variousversions of "Peace Egg" into one Mummery for the nursery, with aslittle change of the old rhymes as might be. I have been again urgedto do so this Christmas, and though I have not been able to give somuch time or research to it as I should have liked, I have thought itbetter to do it without further delay, even if somewhat imperfectly. 

To shuffle the characters and vary the text is nothing new in thehistory of these "Mock Plays, " as they were sometimes called. 

They are probably of very ancient origin--"Pagan, I regret to say, " asMr. Pecksniff observed in reference to the sirens--and go back to "theheathen custom of going about on the Kalends of January in disguises, as wild beasts and cattle, the sexes changing apparel, " (There is arelic of this last unseemly custom still in "The Old Tup" and "The OldHorse"; when these are performed by both girls and boys, the latterwear skirts and bonnets, the former hats and great-coats; this is alsothe case in Scotland where the boys and girls go round at Hogmanay. )

In the 12th century the clergy introduced miracle plays and Scripturehistories to rival the performances of the strolling players, whichhad become very gross. They became as popular as beneficial, andLondon was famous for them. Different places, and even trade-guildsand schools, had their differing "mysteries. "

Secular plays continued, and the two seem occasionally to have gotmixed. Into one of the oldest of old plays, "St. George and theDragon, " the Crusaders and Pilgrims introduced the Eastern characterswho still remain there. This is the foundation of "The Peace Egg. "About the middle of the 15th century, plays, which, not quitereligious, still witnessed to the effect of the religious plays inraising the standard of public taste, appeared under the name of"Morals, " or "Moralities. "

Christmas plays, masques, pageants, and the like were largelypatronized by the Tudor sovereigns, and the fashion set by the Courtwas followed in the country. Queen Elizabeth was not only devoted tothe drama, and herself performed, but she was very critical andexacting; and the high demand which she did so much to stimulate, wasfollowed by such supply as was given by the surpassing dramaticgenius of the Elizabethan age of literature. Later, Ben Jonson andInigo Jones combined to produce the Court masks, one of which, --thewell-known "Mask of Christmas, " had for chief characters, Christmasand his children, Misrule, Carol, Mince Pie, Gambol, Post and Pair, New Year's Gift, Mumming, Wassel, Offering, and Baby's Cake. In the17th century the Christmas Mummeries of the Inns of Court wereconducted with great magnificence and at large cost. 

All such entertainments were severely suppressed during theCommonwealth, at which time the words "Welcome, or not welcome, I amcome, " were introduced into Father Christmas's part. 

At one time the Jester of the piece (he is sometimes called theJester, and sometimes the Fool, or the Old Fool) used to wear a calf'shide. Robin Goodfellow says, "I'll go put on my devilish robes--I meanmy Christmas calf's-skin suit--and then walk to the woods. " "I'll putme on my great carnation nose, and wrap me in a rousing calf-skinsuit, and come like some hobgoblin. " And a character of the 18thcentury "clears the way" with--

 "My name is Captain Calftail, Calftail-- And on my back it is plain to be seen, Although I am simple and wear a fool's cap, I am dearly beloved of a queen--"

which looks as if Titania had found her way into that mummery!

"The Hobby Horse's" costume was a horse's hide, real or imitated. Ihave no copy of a Christmas Play in which the Hobby Horse appears. Inthe north of England, "The Old Horse" and "The Old Tup" are therespective heroes of their own peculiar mummeries, generally performedby a younger, or perhaps a rougher, set of lads than those who playthe more elegant mysteries of St. George. The boy who acts "Old Tup"has a ram's head impaled upon a short pole, which he grasps and usesas a sort of wooden leg in front of him. He needs some extra support, his back being bent as If for leap-frog, and covered with an old rug(in days when "meat" was cheaper it was probably a hide). The hollowsound of his peg-leg upon the "flags" of the stone passages andkitchen floor, and the yearly test of courage supplied by the rudefamiliarities of his gruesome head as he charged and dispersed maidsand children, amid shrieks and laughter, are probably familiarmemories of all Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire childhoods. I donot know if the Old Horse and the Old Tup belong to other parts of theBritish Isles. It is a rude and somewhat vulgar performance, especially if undertaken by older revellers, when the men wear skirtsand bonnets, and the women don great-coats and hats--the Fool, theDoctor, and a darker character with a besom, are often of the party, but the Knights of Christendom and the Eastern Potentates take noshare in these proceedings, which are oftenest and most inoffensivelyperformed by little boys not yet promoted to be "mummers. " It is, however, essential that one of them should have a good voice, true andtuneful enough to sing a long ballad, and lead the chorus. 

In the scale of contributions to the numerous itinerant ChristmasBoxes of Christmas week--such as the Ringers, the Waits, the BrassBand, the Hand-bells, the Mummers (Peace Egg), the Superior Mummers, who do more intricate sword-play (and in the North Riding are calledMorris Dancers), &c. &c. , the Old Tup stands low down on the list. Inever heard the Rhymes of the Old Horse; they cannot be the same. These diversions are very strictly localized and handed on by word ofmouth. 

Of the best version of "Peace Egg" which I have seen performed, I haveas yet quite vainly endeavoured to get any part transcribed. It isoral tradition. It is practised for some weeks beforehand, and thecostumes, including wonderful head-dresses about the size of theplumed bonnet of a Highlander in full-dress, are carefully preservedfrom year to year. These paste-board erections are covered withflowers, feathers, bugles, and coloured streamers. The dresses are ofcoloured calico, with ribbons everywhere; "points" to the breeches andhose, shoulder-knots and sashes. 

But, as a rough rule, it is one of the conveniences of mumming play, that the finery may be according to the taste and the resources of thecompany. 

The swords are of steel, and those I have seen are short. In someplaces I believe rapiers are used. I am very sorry to be unable togive proper directions for the sword-play, which is so pretty. I haveonly one version in which such directions are given. I have copied the"Grand Sword Dance" in its proper place for the benefit of those whocan interpret it. It is not easy to explain in writing even so much ofit as I know. Each combat consists of the same number of cuts, to thebest of my remembrance, and the "shoulder cuts" (which look very liketwo persons sharpening two knives as close as possible to each other'snose!) are in double time, twice as quick as the others. The stagedirections are as follows:--

 A. And B. Fight

Cut I . . . . . . Crossing each other. (They change places, striking as they pass. )

Cut 2 . . . . . . " " back. 

Cut 3 . . . . . . " " other. 

Cut 4 . . . . . . " " back. 

Four shoulder cuts. 

 A. Loses his sword and falls. 

But I do not think the version from which this is an extract is at allan elaborate one. There ought to be a "Triumph, " with an archway ofswords, in the style of Sir Roger de Coverley. After the passing andrepassing strokes, there is usually much more hand-to-hand fighting, then four shoulder cuts, and some are aimed high and some down amongtheir ankles, in a way which would probably be quite clear to any onetrained in broadsword exercise. 

The following Christmas Mumming Play is compiled from fiveversions--the "Peace Egg, " the "Wassail Cup, " "Alexander the Great, ""A Mock Play, " and the "Silverton Mummer's Play" (Devon), which hasbeen lent to me in manuscript. 

The Mumming Chorus, "And a mumming we will go, " &c. , is not in any oneof these versions, but I never saw mumming without it. 

The Silverton version is an extreme example of the continuousdevelopment of these unwritten dramas. Generation after generation, the most incongruous characters have been added. In some cases this isa very striking testimony to the strength of rural sympathy with thegreat deeds and heroes of the time, as well as to native talent fordramatic composition. 

Wellington and Wolfe almost eclipsed St. George in some parts ofEngland, and the sea Heroes are naturally popular in Devonshire. Thedeath of Nelson in the Silverton play has fine dramatic touches. Though he "has but one arm and a good one too, " he essays tofight--whether Tippo Saib or St. George is not made clear. He falls, and St. George calls for the Doctor in the usual words. The Doctorends his peculiar harangue with: "Britons! our Nelson is dead. " Towhich a voice, which seems to play the part of Greek chorus, responds--"But he is not with the dead, but in the arms of the LivingGod!" Then, enter Collingwood--

 "_Collingwood_--Here comes I, bold Collingwood, Who fought the French and boldly stood; And now the life of that bold Briton's gone, I'll put the crown of victory on"--

with which--"he takes the crown off Nelson's head and puts it on hisown. "

I have, however, confined myself in "The Peace Egg" to thosecharacters which have the warrant of considerable antiquity, and theirnumber is not small. They can easily be reduced by cutting out one ortwo; or some of the minor characters could play more than one part, bymaking real exits and changing the dress, instead of the conventionalexit into the background of the group. 

Some of these minor characters are not the least charming. The fairSabra (who is often a mute) should be the youngest and prettiestlittle maid that can toddle through her part, and no old familybrocade can be too gorgeous for her. The Pretty Page is another partfor a "very little one, " and his velvets and laces should become him. They contrast delightfully with Dame Dolly and Little Man Jack, andmight, if needful, be played by the same performers. 

I have cut out everything that could possibly offend, except theline--"Take him and give him to the flies. " It betrays an experienceof Asiatic battlefields so terribly real, that I was unwilling toabolish this unconscious witness to the influence of Pilgrims andCrusaders on the Peace Egg. It is easily omitted. 

I have dismissed the Lord of Flies, Beelzebub, and (with somereluctance) "Little Devil Doubt" and his besom. I had a mind to haveretained him as "The Demon of Doubt, " for he plays in far higherdramas. His besom also seems to come from the East, where a figure"sweeping everything out" with a broom is the first vision produced inthe crystal or liquid in the palm of a medium by the magicians ofEgypt. 

Those who wish to do so can admit him at the very end, after the sworddance, very black, and with a besom, a money-box, and the followingdoggrel:

 In come I, the Demon of Doubt, If you don't give me money I'll sweep you all out; Money I want and money I crave, Money I want and money I'll have. 

He is not a taking character--unless to the antiquary! I havesubstituted the last line for the less decorous original, "If youdon't give me money, I'll sweep you all to the grave. "

It is perhaps only the antiquary who will detect the connectionbetween the Milk Pail and the Wassail Cup in the Fool's Song. But itseems at one time to have been made of milk. In a play of the 16thcentury it is described as--

 "Wassayle, wassayle, out of the mylke payle; Wassayle, wassayle, as white as my nayle, "

and Selden calls it "a slabby stuff, " which sounds as if it had gotmixed up with frumenty. 

Since the above went to press, I have received some extracts from theunwritten version of "Peace Egg" in the West Riding of Yorkshire towhich I have alluded. They recall to me that the piece properly openswith a "mumming round, " different to the one I have given, _that_ onebelonging to the end. The first Mumming Song rehearses each characterand his exploits. The hero of the verse which describes him singing(autobiographically!) his own doughty deeds in the third person. ThusSt. George begins; I give it in the vernacular. 

 "The first to coom in is the Champion bould, The Champion bould is he, He never fought battle i' all his loife toim, But he made his bould enemy flee, flee, flee, He made his bould enemy flee. "

The beauty of this song is the precision with which each characterenters and joins the slowly increasing circle. But that is its onlymerit. It is wretched doggrel, and would make the play far tootedious. I was, however, interested by this verse:--

 The next to come in is the Cat and Calftail, The Cat and Calftail is he; He'll beg and he'll borrow, and he'll steal all he can, But he'll never pay back one penny, penny, He'll never pay back one penny. 

Whether "Cat and Calftail" is a corruption of Captain Calftail or(more likely) Captain Calftail was evolved from a Fool in Calf's hideand Cat's skins, it is hard to say. They are evidently one and thesame shabby personage!

The song which I have placed at the head of the Peace Egg Play hasother verses which also recite "the argument" of the piece, but notone is worth recording. A third song does not, I feel sure, belong tothe classic versions, but to another "rude and vulgar" one, which Ihave not seen for some years, and which was played in a dialect dark, even to those who flattered themselves that they were to the mannerborn. In it St. George and the Old Fool wrangle, the O. F. Accusing thePatron Saint of England of stealing clothes hung out to dry on thehedges. St. George, who has previously boasted--

 I've travelled this world all round, And hope to do it again, I was once put out of my way By a hundred and forty men--

--indignantly denies the theft, and adds that, on the contrary, he hasalways sent home money to his old mother. To which the Old Foolcontemptuously responds--

 All the relations thou had were few, Thou had an Old Granny I knew, She went a red-cabbage selling, As a many old people do. 

In either this, or another, rough version, the hero (presumably St. George) takes counsel with Man Jack on his love affairs. Man Jack isplayed by a small boy in a very tall beaver hat, and with his faceblacked. 

"My Man Jack, what can the matter be?That I should luv this lady, and she will not luv me. "

ST. GEORGE and MAN JACK. 

 No, nor nayther will she walk {with me {with thee. 

 No, nor nayther will she talk {with me {with thee. 

But the true "Peace Egg, " if _bludgy_, is essentially a heroic play, and I think the readers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ will be content thatI have omitted accretions which are not the less vulgar because theyare old. 

In refining and welding the piece together, I have introduced thirtylines of my own, in various places. The rest is genuine. 

J. H. E. 

THE PEACE EGG. 

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY. 

_Written expressly for all Mummers, to commemorate the Holy Wars, andthe happy Festival of Christmas. _

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. 

ST. GEORGE OF ENGLAND (_he must wear a rose_). 

ST. ANDREW OF SCOTLAND(_he must wear a thistle_). 

ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND(_he must wear the shamrock_). 

ST. DAVID OF WALES(_he must wear a leek_). 

SALADIN, A PAGAN GIANT OF PALESTINE(_a very tall grown-upactor would be effective_). 

THE KING OF EGYPT(_in a turban and crown_). 

THE PRINCE OF PARADINE, HIS SON(_face blacked, and it is_"tradition" _to play this part in weeds, as if he were Hamlet_). 

THE TURKISH KNIGHT(_Eastern costume_). 

HECTOR. 

THE VALIANT SLASHER (_old yeomanry coat, &c. , is effective_). 

THE DRAGON(_a paste-board head, with horrid jaws, if possible. A tail, and paws with claws_). 

THE FOOL(_Motley: with a bauble long enough to put over his shoulderand be held by the one behind in the mumming circle_). 

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS(_white beard, &c. , and a staff_). 

THE DOCTOR(_wig, spectacles, hat and cane_). 

THE LITTLE PAGE(_pretty little boy in velvet, &c_. ). 

LITTLE MAN JACK(_big mask head, if convenient, short cloakand club_). 

PRINCESS SABRA(_pretty little girl, gorgeously dressed, a crown_). 

DAME DOLLY(_a large mask head, if possible, and a very amazingcap. Dame Dolly should bob curtseys and dance about_). 

No scenery is required. The actors, as a rule, all come in together. To "enter" means to stand forth, and "exit" that the actor retiresinto the background. But the following method will be found mosteffective. Let Fool enter alone, and the rest come in one by one whenthe Fool begins to sing. They must march in to the music, and join thecircle with regularity. Each actor as he "brags, " and gives hischallenge, does so marching up and down, his drawn sword over hisshoulder. All the characters take part in the "Mumming Round. " Thenext to Fair Sabra might hold up her train, and if Dame Dolly had aGamp umbrella to put over _her_ shoulder, it would not detract fromher comic charms. The Trumpet Calls for the four Patron Knights shouldbe appropriate to each. If a Trumpet is quite impossible, some oneshould play a national air as each champion enters. 

_Enter_ FOOL. 

 FOOL. Good morrow, friends and neighbours dear, We are right glad to meet you here, Christmas comes but once a year, But when it comes it brings good cheer, And when it's gone it's no longer near. May luck attend the milking-pail, Yule logs and cakes in plenty be, May each blow of the thrashing-flail Produce good frumenty. And let the Wassail Cup abound, Whene'er the mummers' time comes round. 

_Air, "Le Petit Tambour. _"

 _Sings. _ Now all ye jolly mummers Who mum in Christmas time, Come join with me in chorus, Come join with me in rhyme. 

[_He has laid his bauble, over his shoulder, and it is taken by_ ST. GEORGE, _who is followed by all the other actors, each laying hissword over his right shoulder and his left hand on the sword-point infront of him, and all marking time with their feet till the circle iscomplete, when they march round singing the chorus over and overagain. _]

 _Chorus. _ And a mumming we will go, will go, And a mumming we will go, With a bright cockade in all our hats, we'll go with a gallant show. 

[_Disperse, and stand aside. _]

[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS. ]

FATHER CHRISTMAS Here comes I, old Father Christmas;Welcome, or welcome not, I hope poor old Father ChristmasWill never be forgot!My head is white, my back is bent, My knees are weak, my strength is spent. Eighteen hundred and eighty-threeIs a very great age for me. And if I'd been growing all these yearsWhat a monster I should be!Now I have but a short time to stay, And if you don't believe what I say--Come in, Dame Dolly, and clear the way. 

[_Enter_ DAME DOLLY. ]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dolly, Wearing smart caps in all my folly. If any gentleman takes my whim, I'll set my holiday cap at him. To laugh at my cap would be very rude;I wish you well, and I won't intrude. Gentlemen now at the door do stand, They will walk in with drawn swords in hand, And if you don't believe what I say--Let one Fool and four knights from the British Isles come in and clear the way!

[_Enter_ FOOL_ and four Christian knights. _]

FOOL[_shaking his bells at intervals_]. Room, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport, For to this room we wish now to resort:Resort, and to repeat to you our merry rhyme, For remember, good sirs, that this is Christmas time. The time to make mince-pies doth now appear, So we are come to act our merriment in here. At the sounding of the trumpet, and beating of the drum, Make room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come. We are the merry actors that traverse the street, We are the merry actors that fight for our meat, We are the merry actors that show pleasant play. Stand forth, St. George, thou champion, and clear the way. 

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. GEORGE. ]

[ST. GEORGE _stands forth and walks up and down with sword onshoulder. _]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, from good Old England sprung, My famous name throughout the world hath rung, Many bloody deeds and wonders have I shown, And made false tyrants tremble on their throne. I followed a fair lady to a giant's gate, Confined in dungeon deep to meet her fate. Then I resolved with true knight-errantryTo burst the door, and set the captive free. Far have I roamed, oft have I fought, and little do I rest;All my delight is to defend the right, and succour the opprest. And now I'll slay the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin;A fell and fiery Dragon he, but I will clip his wing. I'll clip his wings, he shall not fly, I'll rid the land of him, or else I'll die. 

[_Enter_ THE DRAGON, _with a sword over his shoulder. _]

DRAGON. Who is it seeks the Dragon's blood, And calls so angry and so loud?That English dog who looks so proud--If I could catch him in my claw--With my long teeth and horrid jaw, Of such I'd break up half a score, To stay my appetite for more. Marrow from his bones I'd squeeze, And suck his blood up by degrees. 

[ST. GEORGE _and_ THE DRAGON _fight_. THE DRAGON_ is killed_. _Exit_DRAGON. ]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, that worthy champion bold, And with my sword and spear I won three crowns of gold. I fought the fiery Dragon and brought him to the slaughter, By which behaviour I won the favour of the King of Egypt's daughter. Thus I have gained fair Sabra's hand, who long had won her heart. Stand forth, Egyptian Princess, and boldly act thy part!

[_Enter_ THE PRINCESS SABRA. ]

SABRA. I am the Princess Sabra, and it is my delight, My chiefest pride, to be the bride of this gallant Christian knight. 

[ST. GEORGE _kneels and kisses her hand_. FOOL _advances and holds uphis hands over them. _]

FOOL. Why here's a sight will do any honest man's heart good, To see the Dragon-slayer thus subdued!

[ST. GEORGE _rises_. _Exit_ SABRA. ]

ST. GEORGE. Keep thy jests in thy pocket if thouwould'st keep thy head on thy shoulders. I love a woman, and a woman loves me, And when I want a fool I'll send for thee. If there is any man but meWho noxious beasts can tame, Let him stand forth in this gracious company, And boldly tell his name. 

[ST. GEORGE _stands aside_. _Trumpet sounds for_ ST. PATRICK. ]

[ST. PATRICK _stands forth. _]

ST. PATRICK. I am St. Patrick from the bogs, This truth I fain would learn ye, I banished serpents, toads, and frogs, From beautiful Hibernia. I flourished my shillelahAnd the reptiles all ran races, And they took their way into the sea, And they've never since shown their faces. 

[_Enter_ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE. ]

PRINCE. I am black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown, Soon will I fetch thy lofty courage down. Cry grace, thou Irish conqueror of toads and frogs, Give me thy sword, or else I'll give thy carcase to the dogs. 

ST. PATRICK. Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been?And what fine sights pray have you seen?Dost think that no man of thy ageDares such a black as thee engage?Stand off, thou black Morocco dog, or by my sword thou'lt die, I'll pierce thy body full of holes, and make thy buttons fly. 

[_They fight. _ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE _is slain. _]

ST. PATRICK. Now Prince of Paradine is dead, And all his joys entirely fled, Take him and give him to the flies. That he may never more come near my eyes. 

[_Enter_ KING OF EGYPT. ]

KING. I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear;I am come to seek my son, my only son and heir. 

ST. PATRICK. He's slain! That's the worst of it. 

KING. Who did him slay, who did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill?

ST. PATRICK. I did him slay, I did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill. Please you, my liege, my honour to maintain, As I have done, so would I do again. 

KING. Cursed Christian! What is this thou hast done?Thou hast ruined me, slaying my only son. 

ST. PATRICK. He gave me the challenge. Why should I him deny?How low he lies who held himself so high!

KING. Oh! Hector! Hector! help me with speed, For in my life I ne'er stood more in need. 

[_Enter_ HECTOR. ]

KING. Stand not there, Hector, with sword in hand, But fight and kill at my command. 

HECTOR. Yes, yes, my liege, I will obey, And by my sword I hope to win the day. If that be he who doth stand thereThat slew my master's son and heir, Though he be sprung from royal bloodI'll make it run like ocean flood. 

[_They fight. _ HECTOR _is wounded. _]

I am a valiant hero, and Hector is my name, Many bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same, But from St. Patrick I received this deadly wound. 

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. ANDREW. ]

Hark, hark, I hear the silver trumpet sound, It summons me from off this bloody ground. Down yonder is the way (_pointing_);Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay. 

[_Exit_ HECTOR. ]

[_Enter_ ST. ANDREW. ]

KING. Is there never a doctor to be foundCan cure my son of his deep and deadly wound?

[_Enter_ DOCTOR. ]

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, there is a doctor to be foundCan cure your son of his deep and deadly wound. 

KING. What's your fee?

DOCTOR. Five pounds and a yule cake to thee. I have a little bottle of Elacampane, It goes by the name of virtue and fame, That will make this worthy champion to rise and fight again. 

[_To_ PRINCE. ] Here, sir, take a little of my flip-flop, Pour it on thy tip-top. 

[_To audience, bowing. _]

Ladies and Gentlemen can have my advice gratis. 

[_Exeunt_ KING OF EGYPT, PRINCE OF PARADINE, _and_ DOCTOR. ]

[ST. ANDREW _stands forth. _]

ST. ANDREW. I am St. Andrew from the North, Men from that part are men of worth;To travel south we're nothing loth, And treat you fairly, by my troth. Here comes a man looks ready for a fray. Come in, come in, bold soldier, and bravely clear the way. 

[_Enter_ SLASHER. ]

SLASHER. I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name, With sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win more fame;And for to fight with me I see thou art not able, So with my trusty broadsword I soon will thee disable. 

ST. ANDREW. Disable, disable? It lies not in thy power, For with a broader sword than thine I soon will thee devour. Stand off, Slasher, let no more be said, For if I draw my broadsword, I'm sure to break thy head. 

SLASHER. How canst thou break my head?Since my head is made of iron;My body made of steel;My hands and feet of knuckle-bone. I challenge thee to feel. 

[_They fight, and_ SLASHER _is wounded. _]

[FOOL _advances to_ SLASHER. ]

FOOL. Alas, alas, my chiefest son is slain!What must I do to raise him up again?Here he lies before you all, I'll presently for a doctor call. A doctor! A doctor! I'll go and fetch a doctor. 

DOCTOR. Here am I. 

FOOL. Are you the doctor?

DOCTOR. That thou may plainly see, by my art and activity. 

FOOL. What's your fee to cure this poor man?

DOCTOR. Five pounds is my fee; but, Jack, as thou art a fool, I'll only take ten from thee. 

FOOL. You'll be a clever doctor if you get any. 

[_Aside. _]

Well, how far have you travelled in doctorship?

DOCTOR. From the front door to the cupboard, Cupboard to fireplace, fireplace up-stairs and into bed. 

FOOL. So far, and no farther?

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, much farther. 

FOOL. How far?

DOCTOR. Through England, Ireland, Scotland, Flanders, France, and Spain, And now am returned to cure the diseases of Old England again. 

FOOL. What can you cure?

DOCTOR. All complaints within and without, From a cold in your head to a touch of the gout. If any lady's figure is awryI'll make her very fitting to pass by. I'll give a coward a heart if he be willing, Will make him stand without fear of killing. Ribs, legs, or arms, whate'er you break, be sureOf one or all I'll make a perfect cure. Nay, more than this by far, I will maintain, If you should lose your head or heart, I'll give it you again. Then here's a doctor rare, who travels much at home, So take my pills, I'll cure all ills, past, present, or to come. I in my time many thousands have directed, And likewise have as many more dissected, And I never met a gravedigger who to me objected. If a man gets nineteen bees in his bonnet, I'll cast twenty of 'em out. I've got in my pocket crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind bumble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for grasshoppers, and many other needful things. Surely I can cure this poor man. Here, Slasher, take a little out of my bottle, and let it run down thy throttle; and if thou beest not quite slain, rise, man, and fight again. 

[SLASHER _rises. _]

SLASHER. Oh, my back!

FOOL. What's amiss with thy back?

SLASHER. My back is wounded, And my heart is confounded;To be struck out of seven senses into fourscore, The like was never seen in Old England before. 

[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. DAVID. ]

Oh, hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound!It summons me from off this bloody ground. Down yonder is the way (_points_);Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay. 

[_Exit_ SLASHER. ]

FOOL. Yes, Slasher, thou hadst better go, Else the next time he'll pierce thee through. 

[ST. DAVID _stands forth. _]

ST. DAVID. Of Taffy's Land I'm Patron Saint. Oh yes, indeed, I'll you acquaint, Of Ancient Britons I've a raceDare meet a foeman face to face. For Welshmen (hear it once again;)Were born before all other men. I'll fear no man in fight or freaks, Whilst Wales produces cheese and leeks. 

[_Enter_ TURKISH KNIGHT. ]

TURKISH KNIGHT. Here comes I, the Turkish Knight, Come from the Turkish land to fight. I'll take St. David for my foe, And make him yield before I go;He brags to such a high degree, He thinks there was never a Knight but he. So draw thy sword, St. David, thou man of courage bold, If thy Welsh blood is hot, soon will I fetch it cold. 

ST. DAVID. Where is the Turk that will before me stand?I'll cut him down with my courageous hand. 

TURKISH KNIGHT. Draw out thy sword and slay, Pull out thy purse and pay, For satisfaction I will have, before I go away. 

[_They fight_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is wounded, and falls on oneknee. _]

Quarter! quarter! good Christian, grace of thee I crave, Oh, pardon me this night, and I will be thy slave. 

ST. DAVID. I keep no slaves, thou Turkish Knight. So rise thee up again, and try thy might. 

[_They fight again_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is slain. _]

[_Exit_ TURKISH KNIGHT. ]

[_Enter_ ST. GEORGE. ]

ST. GEORGE. I am the chief of all these valiant knights, We'll spill our heart's blood for Old England's rights. Old England's honour we will still maintain, We'll fight for Old England once and again. 

[_Flourishes his sword above his head and then lays it over his rightshoulder. _]

I challenge all my country's foes. 

ST. PATRICK [_dealing with his sword in like manner, and then taking the point of_ ST. GEORGE'S _swordwith his left hand_]. 

And I'll assist with mighty blows. 

ST. ANDREW [_acting like the other_]. 

And you shall find me ready too. 

ST. DAVID [_the same_]. 

And who but I so well as you. 

FOOL [_imitates the Knights, and they close the circleand go round_]. 

While we are joined in heart and hand, A gallant and courageous band, If e'er a foe dares look awry, We'll one and all poke out his eye. 

[_Enter_ SALADIN. ]

SALADIN. Don't vaunt thus, my courageous knights, For I, as you, have seen some sightsIn Palestine, in days of yore. 'Gainst prowess strong I bravely boreThe sway, when all the world in armsShook Holy Land with war's alarms. I for the crescent, you the cross, Each mighty host oft won and lost. I many a thousand men did slay, And ate two hundred twice a day, And now I come, a giant great, Just waiting for another meat. 

ST. GEORGE. Oh! Saladin! Art thou come with sword in hand, Against St. George and Christendom so rashly to withstand?

SALADIN. Yes, yes, St. George, with thee I mean to fight, And with one blow, I'll let thee knowI am not the Turkish Knight. 

ST. GEORGE. Ah, Saladin, St. George is in this very room, Thou'rt come this unlucky hour to seek thy fatal doom. 

[_Enter_ LITTLE PAGE. ]

LITTLE PAGE. Hold, hold, St. George, I pray thee stand by, I'll conquer him, or else I'll die;Long with that Pagan champion will I engage, Although I am but the Little Page. 

ST. GEORGE. Fight on, my little page, and conquer! And don't thee be perplext, For if thou discourage in the field, Fight him will I next. 

[_They fight. _ THE LITTLE PAGE _falls. _]

SALADIN. Though but a little man, they were great words he said. 

ST. GEORGE. Ah! cruel monster. What havoc hast thou made?See where the lovely stripling all on the floor is laid. A doctor! A doctor! Ten pounds for a doctor!

[DAME DOLLY _dances forward, bobbing as before. _]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dorothy, Flap front, and good-morrow to ye;My head is big, my body is small, I'm the prettiest little jade of you all. Call not the Doctor for to make him worse, But give the boy into my hand to nurse. 

[_To_ LITTLE PAGE. ] Rise up, my pretty page, and come with me, And by kindness and kitchen physic, I'll cure thee without fee. 

[PAGE _rises. Exeunt_ PAGE _and_ DAME DOLLY. ]

[ST. GEORGE _and_ SALADIN _fight_. Saladin _is slain. _]

[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS. ]

ST. GEORGE. Carry away the dead, Father. 

FATHER CHRISTMAS. Let's see whether he's dead or no, first, Georgy. Yes; I think he's dead enough, Georgy. 

ST. GEORGE. Carry him away then, Father. 

FATHER CHRISTMAS [_vainly tries to move the_ GIANT'S _body_]. 

Thou killed him; thou carry him away. 

ST. GEORGE. If you can't carry him, call for help. 

FATHER CHRISTMAS [_to audience_]. Three or four of you great logger-headed fellows, Come and carry him away. 

[DOCTOR _and_ FOOL _raise the_ GIANT _by his arms. Exit_ GIANT. ]

[_Enter_ LITTLE MAN JACK. ]

LITTLE MAN JACK. Here comes I, Little Man Jack, The Master of Giants;If I could but conquer thee, St. George, I'd bid the world defiance. 

ST. GEORGE. And if thou beest Little Man Jack, the Master of all Giants, I'll take thee up on my back, and carry thee without violence. 

[_Lifts him over his shoulder. _]

FOOL. Now brave St. George, he rules the roast;Britons triumphant be the toast;Let cheerful song and dance abound, Whene'er the Mummers' time comes round. 

[_All sing. _]

Rule, Britannia; Britannia rules the waves, Britons never, never, never will be slaves. 

GRAND SWORD DANCE. 

Cut 1 and cross. 

Cut 2 and cross partner (which is R. And L. ). 

Same back again. 

The two Knights at opposite corners R. H. Cut 1 and cross, and Cut 2with opposite Knights. 

Same back (which is Ladies' Chain). 

Four sword-points up in the centre. 

All go round--all Cut 6--and come to bridle-arm protect, and round toplaces. 

Repeat the first figure. 

[_All go round, and then out, singing. _]

[Illustration: Musical Score]

_Allegro_, And a mumming we will go, will go, and a mumming we will go, With a

bright cock-ade in all our hats, We'll go with a gal-lant show. 

[_Exeunt omnes. _]

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. 

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. --I. 

IN A LETTER FROM BURNT CORK TO ROUGE POT. 

MY DEAR ROUGE POT, --You say that you all want to have "theatricals"these holidays, and beg me to give you some useful rules and hints tostudy before the Christmas Play comes out in the December Number of_Aunt Judy_. 

I will do my best. But--to begin with--_do_ you "all" want them? Atleast, do you all want them enough to keep in the same mind for tendays or a fortnight, to take a good deal of trouble, whether it ispleasant or not, and to give up some time and some of your own way, inorder that the theatricals may be successful?

If you say Yes, we will proceed at once to the first--and perhaps themost important--point, on which you will have to display two of anactor's greatest virtues--self-denial and good temper:--

THE STAGE-MANAGER. 

If your numbers are limited, you may have to choose the one who knowsmost about theatricals, and he or she may have to act a leading partas well. But by rights _the stage-manager ought not to act_;especially as in juvenile theatricals he will probably be prompter, property-man, and scene-shifter into the bargain. 

If your "company" consists of very young performers, an elder sisteris probably the best stage-manager you could have. But _when once yourstage-manager is chosen, all the actors must make up their minds toobey him implicitly_. They must take the parts he gives them, andabout any point in dispute the stage-manager's decision must be final. It is quite likely that now and then he may be wrong. The leadinggentleman may be more in the right, the leading lady may have anotherplan quite as good, or better; but as there would be "no end to it" ifeverybody's ideas had to be listened to and discussed, it isabsolutely necessary that there should be one head, and one planloyally supported by the rest. 

Truism as it is, my dear Rouge Pot, I am bound to beg you never toforget that _everybody can't have everything_ in this world, and that_everybody can't be everything_ on the stage. What you (and I, andevery other actor!) would really like, would be to choose the play, toact the best part, to wear the nicest dress, to pick the people youwant to act with, to have the rehearsal on those days, and that partof the day, when you do not happen to want to go out, or do somethingelse, to have the power of making all the others do as you tell them, without the bother of hearing any grumbles, and to be well clapped andcomplimented at the conclusion of the performance. But as this veryleading part could only be played by one person at the expense of allthe rest, private theatricals--like so many other affairs of thislife--must for everybody concerned be a compromise of pains andpleasures, of making strict rules and large allowances, of giving andtaking, bearing and forbearing, learning to find one's own happinessin seeing other people happy, aiming at perfection with all one'smight, and making the best of imperfection in the end. 

At this point, I foresee that you will very naturally exclaim that youasked me for stage-directions, and that I am sending you a sermon. Iam very sorry; but the truth really is, that as the best of plays andthe cleverest of actors will not ensure success, if the actors quarrelabout the parts, and are unwilling to suppress themselves for thecommon good, one is obliged to set out with a good stock of philosophyas well as of "properties. "

Now, in case it should strike you as "unfair" that any one of yourparty should have so much of his own way as I have given to thestage-manager, you must let me say that no one has more need ofphilosophy than that all-powerful person. 

_The stage-manager will have his own way, but he will have nothingelse. _

He will certainly have "no peace" from the first cry of "Let us havesome private theatricals" till the day when the performance ceases tobe discussed. If there are ten actors, it is quite possible that tendifferent plays will be warmly recommended to him, and that, whicheverhe selects, he will choose it against the gloomy forebodings of ninemembers of his company. Nine actors will feel a natural disappointmentat not having the best part, and as it is obviously impossible to fixrehearsals so as to be equally convenient for everybody, thestage-manager, whose duty it is to fix them, will be very fortunate ifhe suits the convenience of the majority. You will easily believe thatit is his painful duty to insist upon regular attendance, and even toenforce it by fines or by expulsion from the part, if such stringentlaws have been agreed to by the company beforehand. But at the end hewill have to bear in mind that private theatricals are an amusement, not a business; that it is said to be a pity to "make a toil of apleasure"; that "boys will be boys"; that "Christmas comes but once ayear, " and holidays not much oftener--and in a general way to consolehimself for the absence of defaulters, with the proverbial philosophyof everyday life, and the more reliable panacea of resolute goodtemper. 

He must (without a thought of self) do his best to give the rightparts to the right people, and he must try to combine a proper "cast"with pleasing everybody--so far as that impossible task is possible!

He must not only be ready to meet his own difficulties with eachseparate actor, but he must be prepared to be confidant, if notumpire, in all the squabbles which the actors and actresses may haveamong themselves. 

If the performance is a great success, the actors will have the creditof it, and will probably be receiving compliments amongst the audiencewhilst the stage-manager is blowing out the guttering footlights, orshowing the youngest performer how to get the paint off his cheeks, without taking the skin off into the bargain. And if the performanceis a failure, nine of the performers will have nine separate sets ofproofs that it was due to the stage-manager's unfortunate selection ofthe piece, or mistaken judgment as to the characters. 

He will, however, have the satisfaction (and when one has a head toplan and a heart in one's work, it _is_ a satisfaction) of carryingthrough the thing in his own way, and sooner or later, and here andthere, he will find some people who know the difficulties of hisposition, and will give him ample credit and _kudos_ if he keeps hiscompany in good humour, and carries out his plans without a breakdown. 

By this time, my dear Rouge Pot, you will see that the stage-manager, like all rulers, pays dearly for his power; but it is to be hoped thatthe difficulties inseparable from his office will not be wilfullyincreased by

THE ACTORS. 

They are a touchy race at any time. Amateur actors are said tohave--one and all--a belief that each and every one can play any partof any kind. Shakespeare found that some of them thought they couldplay _every_ part also! But besides this general error, each actor hashis own peculiarities, which the stage-manager ought to acquainthimself with as soon as possible. 

It is a painful fact that there are some people who "come forward"readily, do not seem at all nervous, are willing to play anything, andare either well provided with anecdotes of previous successes, orquite amazingly ready for leading parts, though they "never triedacting, " and are only "quite sure they shall like it"--but who, whenthe time comes, fail completely. I fear that there is absolutelynothing to be done with such actors, but to avoid them for thefuture. On the other hand, there are many people who are nervous andawkward at first, and even more or less so through every rehearsal, but who _do not fail at the pinch_. Once fairly in their clothes, andpledged to their parts, they forget themselves in the sense of whatthey have undertaken, and their courage is stimulated by the crisis. Their knees may shake, but their minds see no alternative but to dotheir best, and the best, with characters of this conscientious type, is seldom bad. 

It is quite true, also, that some actors are never at their best tillthey are dressed, and that some others can put off learning theirparts till the last moment, and then "study" them at a push, andacquit themselves creditably in the play. _But these peculiarities areno excuse for neglecting rehearsals, or for not learning parts, or forrehearsing in a slovenly manner. _

_Actors should never forget that rehearsals are not only for thebenefit of each actor individually, but also of all the characters ofthe piece as a whole. _

A. And B. May be able to learn their parts in a day, and to act fairlyunder the inspiration of the moment, but if they neglect rehearsals onthis account, they deal very selfishly by C. And D. , who have not thesame facility, and who rehearse at great disadvantage if the otherparts are not properly represented too. 

And now a word or two to the actors of the small parts. It _is_ adisappointment to find yourself "cast" for a footman, with no more todo than to announce and usher in the principal personages of thepiece, when you feel a strong (and perhaps well-grounded) convictionthat you would have "made a hit" as the Prince in blank verse and bluevelvet. Well! one must fall back on one's principles. Be loyal to thestage-manager. Help the piece through, whether it is or is not apleasure and a triumph for you yourself. Set an example of willingnessand good-humour. If to these first principles you add the amiablequality of finding pleasure in the happiness of others, you will bepartly consoled for not playing the Prince yourself by sympathizingwith Jack's unfeigned pride in his part and his finery, and if Jackhas a heart under his velvet doublet, he will not forget yourgenerosity. It may also be laid down as an axiom that _a good actorwill take a pride in making the most of a small part_. There are manyplays in which small parts have been raised to the rank of principalones by the spirit put into them by a good actor, who "made" his partinstead of grumbling at it. And the credit gained by a triumph of thiskind is very often even beyond the actor's deserts. _From those whoplay the principal parts much is expected, and it is difficult tosatisfy ones audience, but if any secondary character is made patheticor amusing, the audience (having expected nothing) are willing tobelieve that if the actor can surprise them with a small part, hewould take the house by storm with a big one. _

I will conclude my letter with a few general rules for young actors. 

_Say nothing whatever on the stage but your part. _ This is a rule forrehearsals, and if it could be attended to, every rehearsal would havemore than double its usual effect. People chatter from nervousness, explain or apologize for their mistakes, and waste quite three-fourthsof the time in words which are not in the piece. 

_Speak very slowly and very clearly. _ All young actors speak too fast, and do not allow the audience time to digest each sentence. _Speaklouder than usual, but clearness of enunciation is even moreimportant. Do not be slovenly with the muscles of the lips, or talkfrom behind shut teeth. _

_Keep your face to the audience as a rule. _

If two people talking together have to cross each other so as tochange their places on the stage, _the one who has just spoken shouldcross before the one who is going to speak_. 

_Learn to stand still. _

As a rule, _do not speak when you are crossing the stage_, but crossfirst and then speak. 

_Let the last speaker get his sentence well out before you beginyours. _

If you are a comic actor, _don't run away with the piece by over-doingyour fun. Never spoil another actor's points by trying to make theaudience laugh whilst he is speaking. _ It is inexcusably badstage-manners. 

If the audience applauds, _wait till the noise of the clapping is overto finish your speech_. 

_Rehearse without your book in the last rehearsals_, so as to get intothe way of hearing the prompter, and catching the word from him whenyour memory fails you. 

_Practise your part before a looking-glass, and say it out aloud. _ Apart may be pat in your head, and very stiff on your tongue. 

The Green-room is generally a scene of great confusion in privatetheatricals. Besides getting everything belonging to your dresstogether _yourself_ and in _good time_, I advise you to have _a littlehand-basket_, such as you may have used at the seaside or in thegarden, and into this to put _pins_, _hair-pins_, _a burnt cork_, _needles and thread_, _a pair of scissors_, _a pencil_, _your part_, _and any small things you may require_. It is easy to drop them intothe basket again. Small things get mislaid under bigger ones when oneis dressing in a hurry; and a hero who is flustered by his moustachehaving fallen under the washstand well out of sight is apt to forgethis part when he has found the moustache. 

Remember that _Right and Left in stage directions mean the right andleft hand of the actor as he faces the audience_. 

I will not burden you with any further advice for yourself, and I willreserve a few hints as to rough and ready scenery, properties, &c. , for another letter. 

Meanwhile--whatever else you omit--get your parts well by rote; and ifyou cannot find or spare a stage-manager, you must find good-humourand common agreement in proportion; prompt by turns, and each lookstrictly after his own "properties. "

Yours, &c. , BURNT CORK. 

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. --II. 

MY DEAR ROUGE POT, --I promised to say a few words about _rough andready properties_. 

The most indispensable of all is _the curtain_, which can be made (atsmall expense) to roll up and come down in orthodox fashion. Evenbetter are two curtains, with the rings and strings so arranged thatthe curtains can be pulled apart or together by some one in the wings. Any upholsterer will do this. A double drawing-room with folding doorsis of course "made for theatricals. " The difficulty of having only oneexit from the stage--the door of the room--may be met by having ascreen on the other side. But then _the actors who go out behind thescreen, must be those who will not have to come in again till thecurtain has been drawn_. 

If, however, the room, or part of a room, devoted to the stage islarge enough for an amateur proscenium, with "wings" at the sides, andspace behind the "scenes" to conceal the actors, and enable them togo round, of course there can be as many exits as are needed. 

A proscenium is quite a possibility. _The framework in which thecurtain falls need not be an expensive or complicated concern. _ Twowooden uprights, firmly fastened to the floor by bolt and socket, eachupright being four or five feet from the wall on either side; across-bar resting on the top, but the whole width of the room, towhich (if it draws up) the curtain is to be nailed; a curtain, with awooden pole in the hem at the bottom to steady it (like awindow-blind); long, narrow, fixed curtains to fall from the cross-barat each end where it projects beyond the uprights, so as to fill thespace between each upright and the wall of the room, and hide thewings; some bright wall-paper border to fasten on to the uprights andcross-bar, as decoration;--these are not expensive matters, and thelittle carpentry needed could be done in a very short time by avillage carpenter. 

And here, my dear Rouge Pot, I feel inclined to say a word to "Parentsand Guardians. " _I wish that a small annual outlay on little pleasureswere oftener reckoned among legitimate expenses in middle-classBritish families. _ But little pleasures and alms are apt to be lefttill they are asked for, and then grudged. Though, if the annualexpenses under these two heads were summed up at the end of the year, we should perhaps be more inclined to blush than to bewail ourextravagances. As to little pleasures, I am not speaking of toys andbooks and presents, of which children have commonly six times as manynow-a-days as they can learn to love; nor do I mean such pleasures asthe month at the seaside, which I should be sorry to describe as alight matter for papa's purse. But I mean little pleasures of thechildren's own devising, for which some trifling help from the elderswill make all the difference between failure and success. In short, mydear Rouge Pot, at the present moment I mean the children'stheatricals; and papa himself will confess that, whereas two or threepounds, "up or down, " in the seaside move, would hardly be considered, and fifteen shillings "more or less" in the price of a new dining-roomfender would upset nobody's nerves in the household--if "the children"asked for a day's work of the village carpenter, and seven andsixpence worth of wood, to carry out a project of their own, it wouldbe considered a great waste of money. However, it is only fair to addthat the young people themselves will do wisely to establish a"theatrical fund" box, which will not open, and to put in a fixedpercentage of everybody's pocket-money to accumulate for some genuineproperties when the theatrical season begins. 

The question of _scenery_ of course must depend on the resources ofthe company. But _acting may be very successful without any at all_. It must never be forgotten that _those who look and listen can alsoimagine_, and unless tolerably good scenes can be had, it is almostbetter to content oneself with what served in the days ofShakespeare--a written placard of what the scene is supposed to be. _Shakespeare scenery_, as we may call it, will amuse people of itself, and a good piece and good actors will not suffer from its use. Thus, if _The Barmecide_ is being played, Alnaschan and Ina will be"discovered" standing in an empty room, at the back of which a placardwill bear this inscription in large letters--A STREET IN BAGDAD. 

It is possible, however, that your company may include somewater-colour artist, who will try his or her hand at scene-painting inthe barn. Well: he will want canvas or unbleached calico, which mustbe covered completely with a "first wash" of whitening and size, mixedto a freely working consistency, and laid on with a white-wash brush. When dry, he must outline his scene on this in charcoal. The paintingis then to be done in distemper--all the effects are put in by thefirst wash; lights and shadows in their full tone, &c. He will usepowder paints, mix them with size (which must be kept warm on a fire), and add white for body-colour when he wants to lay one colour overanother. I will add four hints. _For a small stage avoid scenes withextreme perspective. Keep the general colouring rather sober, so as toharmonize with the actors' dresses. Only broad effects will show. Keepstepping back to judge your work from a distance. _ In a wood, forinstance, the distance may be largely blue and grey, and theforeground trees a good deal in warm browns and dull olive. _Paint bycandle-light when convenient. _

_All the lights in your theatre must be protected by glasses. Thefootlights should have reflectors behind them_, or a board abouteighteen inches high with block-tin nailed on it. Failing this, aplain polished fender, in which candles or lamps can be placed, willserve. _There must also be sidelights_, or the footlights will castshadows. _Long strips of coloured glass, in frames, can lie flat infront of the stage when not in use, and be raised up when wanted, between the footlights and the stage--blue for moonlight, yellow forsunshine, rose-colour for sunset scenes and fairy effects. _ A shademay be quickly thrown up between the footlights and the stage, _on thesame principle, if darkness is required. For thunder, shake a thinsheet of iron behind the scenes. Powdered resin or lycopodium thrownon to the flame of a candle from a quill_ is said to be effective as_lightning_. But any tricks with naked lights, in the confusion ofprivate theatricals, are objectionable, and should never be usedexcept by some grown-up person not among the actors. _For rain, shakeparched peas in a box with irregular partitions. For a full moon, cuta round hole in your scene, cover it with some translucent material, and hold a lamp behind it_; the blue-glass shade must be up before thefootlights. A similar hole, or, if low on the horizon, ahalf-moon-shaped one, with a crimson transparency, will do for asetting sun--then the rose-coloured glass will be required before thefootlights. 

I have no further space just now, my dear Rouge Pot; but you mayexpect another letter from me on Scenery Screens, Properties andCostumes. 

Yours, &c. , BURNT CORK. 

HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS. --III. 

MY DEAR ROUGE POT, --I promised to say something about _sceneryscreens_. 

If the house happens to boast a modern pseudo-Japanese screen of alarge size (say six feet high), it will make a very pretty backgroundfor a drawing-room scene, and admit of entrances as I suggested. But_screens with light grounds are also very valuable as reflectors_, carrying the light into the back of the stage. There is generally awant of light on the amateur stage, and all means to remedy thisdefect and brighten up matters are worth considering. 

_Folding screens_ may be covered on both sides _with strips of liningwall-paper of delicate tints, pinned on with drawing-pins_. The papercan be left plain, or it may serve as the background on which to affix"Shakespeare Scenery. " Or again, your amateur painter will find aneasier and more effective reward for such labour as he will notgrudge to bestow in the holidays, if, instead of attempting theambitious task of scene-painting on canvas, he adorns these sceneryscreens with Japanese designs in water-colours. Bold and not toocrowded combinations of butterflies and flamingoes, tortoises, dragons, water-reeds, flowers and ferns. He need not hesitate toemploy Bessemer's gold and silver paints, with discretion, and the twosides of the screen can be done in different ways. The Japanesque sidewould make a good drawing-room background, and some other scene (suchas a wood) might be indicated on the other with a nearer approach toreal scene-painting. _These screens light up beautifully, and are welladapted for drawing-room theatricals. _

In the common event of your requiring a bit of a cottage with apracticable door to be visible, it will be seen that two folds of ascreen, painted with bricks and windows, may be made to do duty in noill fashion as the two sides of a house, and with a movable porch (avaluable stage property) the entrance can be contrived just out ofsight. _The stage will be brightened up by laying down a "crumbcloth, " or covering it with holland. _ A drawing-room scene is madevery pretty _by hanging up pairs of the summer white muslin curtains, looped with gay ribbons, as if there were windows in the sides of thestage_. 

If a fireplace is wanted and will do at the side, a mantelpiece iseasily represented, and a banner screen will help to conceal theabsence of a grate. A showy specimen of that dreadful thing, a papergrate-ornament, flowing well down into the fender, may sometimes hidedeficiencies. The appearance of _hot coals in a practicable grate_ isgiven by _irregularly-shaped pieces of red glass, through which lightis thrown from a candle behind_. 

A very important part of your preparations will be _the dresses_. 

Now of dresses it may be said--as we have said of scenery--that if theactors are clever, very slight (if suggestive) accessories in the wayof costume will suffice. At the same time, whilst the scenery cannever be good enough in amateur theatricals to cover deficiencies inthe performance, good costumes may be a most material help to thesuccess of a piece. Very little wit is demanded from the younggentleman who plays the part of a monkey, if his felt coat is wellmade, and his monkey-mask comical, and if he has acquired somedexterity in the management of his tail. 

I think, my dear Rouge Pot, that you were taken to see that splendidexhibition of stage properties, _Babil and Bijou_? Do you remember thedelightful effect of the tribe of oysters? The little boys who playedthe oysters had nothing to do but to hop and run, and keep theirshells nicely in front of them, and yet how we laughed at them! Now, in a large family, such parts as these afford an opportunity forallowing "the little ones" to "act, " and so to become accustomed tothe stage, before they can be trusted to learn written parts. Nor are_comical costumes_ beyond the powers of home manufacturers. 

You know those men--sandwich-men as they are often called!--who goabout the London streets with one board in front and one behind. Theseboards are of simple shape and only reach from the shoulder, to alittle below the knee; they are only wanted to paste advertisementson. But if you think about it, you will see that to have the boardshigh enough to hide the head, and low enough to hide the legs, roundedat the top like a scallop shell, with the ribs of the shell nicelypainted, eyeholes to peep through, and the hinge of the shell arrangedto conceal the feet, would be no very great effort of skill. _Sandwichcostumes for the little ones_ might be of many effective shapes. Thickpaste-board would probably be strong enough for very little people, and in many cases a covered framework would be better still, and ifyou have a kite-maker in your troupe, you had better commit thesecostumes to his skill and ingenuity. A very simple device would bethat of flower-pots painted red. They need come no higher than thechin, if a good thick bush is firmly held by the little hands behind, so as to conceal the face. But no doubt, my dear Rouge Pot, you willsay, "if we have no plays with such characters in, we cannot havethem, however desirable it may be to bring in the little ones. " But Ithink you will find some of the elders ingenious enough to "tack themon" to your pieces if required, especially to those founded on fairytales. 

_Glazed calico_ is the amateur costume-maker's best friend. It ischeap, it is shiny, and it can be had in all the most effectivecolours. I have never seen a very good green; but the turquoise blue, the pink, and the yellow, are of those pretty Dresden china shadeswhich Mr. Marcus Ward and other Christmas-card makers use to such goodpurpose against gold backgrounds. Many of these Christmas cards, bythe bye, with children dressed in ancient costumes painted by goodartists, will give you and your sisters help in a tasteful combinationof colours; and besides the gold and silver powder paints, whichanswer admirably, gold and silver paper can be had to cut stars andtrimmings of various sorts from, to stitch or gum on to fairies'dresses, &c. 

Tarlatan can now be had in hues that almost rival the colours offlowers, but I fear that only the white can be had "fire-proof. "Gauze wings, flowing hair, and tarlatan skirts, combined with the"flurry" of the performances, the confined space behind the scenes, and lights everywhere, form a dangerous combination which it makes oneshudder to think of. The truth is, my dear Rouge Pot, it cannot be toooften or too emphatically repeated that _naked lights on the stage orbehind the scenes in amateur theatricals are as wrong as in acoal-mine_. Glass shades for the bedroom candles--with whichboy-brothers, seeing imperfectly through masks, will rush past littlesisters whose newly-crimped hair and tarlatan skirts are sticking out, they can't feel how far behind them--cost a few shillings, _and themental effort of resolving to have and use them_. Depend upon it, Rouge Pot, the latter is the greater difficulty! And yet our pettyeconomies in matters which affect our health, our daily comfort, orour lives, are wonderful, when the dangers or discomforts we have toavert may, _by chance_, be averted by good luck at no cost at all. Soperhaps the few shillings have something to do with it. I hope theywill always be expended on safety glasses for all lights in use on orabout your stage. 

Well, glazed calico and tarlatan are very effective, and so is cottonvelvet or velveteen; but in every family there will probably be founda few articles of finery originally made of expensive materials, butwhich are now yielded to the juvenile property-box, and fromexperience I can assure you that these are valuable treasures. I havea tender remembrance of a few which were our _pièces de résistance_when we "dressed up" either for charades or one of Miss Corner'splays--"in my young days. " A black satin dress--ancient, but of suchlustre and softness as satins are not made now; a real camel's-hairburnous, dyed crimson; a green satin driving cloak, lined withfur--these things did not crush and tumble during their long periodsof repose in the property-box, as tarlatan skirts and calico doubletswere apt to do. Most valuable of all, a grey wig, worn right sideforemost by our elderly gentlemen, and wrong side foremost (so as tobring the pig-tail curls over the forehead) by our elderly ladies. Furgloves, which, with a black rabbit-skin mask over her rosy cheeks, gave ferocity in the part of "the Beast" to our jolliest littleactress. A pair of claret-coloured stockings, silk throughout, and apair of yellow leather slippers, embroidered with gold, doubtlessbought long years back in some Eastern bazaar, &c. , &c. There came adate in our theatrical history when only one pair of feet could getright into these much-desired shoes, heels and all; and as theindividual who owned them was also supposed to display theclaret-coloured stockings to the best advantage, both these importantproperties, with the part of Prince to which our custom assignedthem, fell to an actor who could lay no other claim to pre-eminence. 

Surely your home will provide one or two of these "stand-bys" of thegreen-room, and you will not fail to value them, I assure you. I hopeyou will not fight for them!

_Wigs are very important. Unbleached calico is a very fair imitationof the skin of one's head. _ A skull-cap made of it will do for a baldpate, or, with a black pig-tail and judicious face-painting, will turnany smooth-faced actor into a very passable Chinaman. Flowing locks oftow, stitched on round the lower part, will convert it into apatriarchal wig. _Nigger wigs are made of curly black horsehairfastened on to a black skull-cap. _ Moustaches and whiskers can bebought at small expense, but if well painted the effect is nearly asgood. 

As to _face-painting_. Rouge is indispensable, but care must be takennot to overdo it. The eyebrows must be darkened with sepia or Indianink, and a camel's-hair brush--especially for fair people. With thesame materials you must deepen all the lines of the face, if you wantto make a young person look like an old one. The cheek lines on eachside of the nose, furrows across the forehead, and crow's-foot marksby the eyes, are required for an old face; but if the audience are tobe very close to the stage, you must be careful not to overdo yourpainting. Violet powder is the simplest and least irritating white forthe skin. Rouge should be laid on with a hare's foot. If your "oldman" is wearing a bald wig, be careful to colour his forehead to matchas well as possible with his bald pate. All these applications aremore or less irritating to one's skin. It is said to be a mistake to_wash_ them off. Cold cream should be rubbed over the face, and thenwiped off with a soft towel. 

As a parting hint, my dear Rouge Pot, when you have passed the stageof child-plays in rhyme--but do not be in a _hurry_ to discard suchuniversal favourites as _Dick Whittington_, _Beauty and the Beast_, and _Cinderella_--don't be too ambitious in your selection from"grown-up" plays. As a matter of experience, when _we_ got beyond MissCorner we took to farces, and found them very successful. There aremany which play well in young hands, and only require the omission ofa few coarse expressions, which, being intended to raise a laugh among"roughs" in the gallery of a public theatre, need hardly be hurled atthe ears of one's private friends. 

I am bound to say that competent critics have told me that farces wereabout the most difficult things we could have attempted. I can onlysay that we found them answer. Partly, perhaps, because it requires aless high skill to raise a laugh than to move by passion or pathos. Partly, too, because farces are short, and amateurs can make nogreater mistake than to weary their audience. 

If you prefer "dress pieces" and dramas to farces or burlesque, letsome competent person curtail the one you choose to a suitable length. 

The manager of juvenile theatricals should never forget the wisdomembodied in Sam Weller's definition of the art of letter-writing, thatthe writer should stop short at such a point as that the reader should"wish there wos more of it. "

Yours, &c. , BURNT CORK. 

SNAP-DRAGONS. 

SNAP-DRAGONS. 

A TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE. 

MR. AND MRS. SKRATDJ. 

Once upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj. (It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived inEngland. ) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity. Theyseldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. Itis hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hearthem constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discoverthat it "meant nothing, " and was "only their way. "

It began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, andreally attached to each other. But they had a habit of contradictingeach other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which, though mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most tryingto the bystanders in public. If one related an anecdote, the otherwould break in with half-a-dozen corrections of trivial details of nointerest or importance to any one, the speakers included. Forinstance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdjseated by the host, and contributing to the small-talk of thedinner-table. Thus:--

"Oh yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promisingyesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon. "

"A quarter-past eleven, my dear, " Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heardto say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husbandand a father; "and really, my dear, so far from being a promisingmorning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could. Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love. "

But Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years, to be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdjleaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defendedherself across the intervening couples. 

"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not beenso promising for a week. "

"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higherthan it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if thesedetails were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise wasextraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettledweather. --But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportanttrifles, " he added, with a comprehensive smile round the dinner-table;"her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more importantdomestic questions of the nursery. "

"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part, " Mrs. Skratdjwould chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as herhusband's. "I'm sure he's _quite_ as forgetful and inaccurate as _I_am. And I don't think _my_ memory is at _all_ a bad one. "

"You forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week, nevertheless, " said Mr. Skratdj. 

"And you couldn't help me when I asked you, " was the sprightly retort. "And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about _dinner_, mydear. "

"The letter was addressed to you, " said Mr. Skratdj. 

"I sent it to you by Jemima, " said Mrs. Skratdj. 

"I didn't read it, " said Mr. Skratdj. 

"Well, you burnt it, " said Mrs. Skratdj; "and, as I always say, there's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitationbefore the day, for one is certain to forget. "

"I've no doubt you always do say it, " Mr. Skratdj remarked, with asmile, "but I certainly never remember to have heard the observationfrom your lips, my love. "

"Whose memory's in fault there?" asked Mrs. Skratdj triumphantly; andas at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word. 

Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj wasquite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young andtimid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted herstatements and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardlyever opened her lips without disappearing under the domesticextinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned thatMr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed, he had a bite at all. ) Thus snubs that made other people's earstingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they wereaddressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by thistime become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when shesuccumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husbandunderstood each other, and having agreed to differ, they unfortunatelyagreed also to differ in public. 

Indeed, it was the bystanders who had the worst of it on theseoccasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become secondnature, and in no way affected the friendly tenour of their domesticrelations. They would interfere with each other's conversation, contradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a wholeevening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that theseceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel assoon as they were alone, they would bowl amicably home in a cab, criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as littleagreed about the events of the evening as about the details of anyother events whatever. 

Yes, the bystanders certainly had the worst of it. Those who were nearwished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to. Thosewho were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble at acertain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from apoint beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day beplaced oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dullevening to be able to say _sotto voce_ to one's neighbour, "Do listen!The Skratdjs are at it again!" Their unmarried friends thought aterrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, andblessed their stars that they were still single, and able to tell atale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it reallywas, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste thatSkratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves. 

So it went on, however; and so, I suppose, it goes on still, for notmany bad habits are cured in middle age. 

On certain questions of comparative speaking their views were neveridentical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things beinglight or dark, the apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr. Skratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself atthe fire with "Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure. "

"Why, my dear William, " said Mrs. Skratdj, "I'm sure you must have gota cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself. "

"You were wishing you'd a seal-skin jacket yesterday, when it wasn'thalf as cold as it is to-day, " said Mr. Skratdj. 

"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, andthe wind was in the north. "

"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj. "

"I know by the smoke, " said Mrs. Skratdj, softly but decidedly. 

"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it, " said Mr. Skratdj, jocosely, to the company. 

"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock, " murmured Mrs. Skratdj. 

"I don't care a fig for Jemima, " said her husband. 

On another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing. 

. . . "We met him at the Smiths'--a gentleman-like agreeable man, aboutforty, " said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting toboth ladies. 

"Not a day over thirty-five, " said Mr. Skratdj, from behind hisnewspaper. 

"Why, my dear William, his hair's grey, " said Mrs. Skratdj. 

"Plenty of men are grey at thirty, " said Mr. Skratdj. "I knew a manwho was grey at twenty-five. "

"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter, " said Mrs. Skratdj, about to resume her narration. 

"Five years matter a good deal to most people at thirty-five, " saidMr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. "They would make aremarkable difference to me, I know;" and with a jocular air Mr. Skratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote herown way. 

THE LITTLE SKRATDJS. 

The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though toa varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in somesuch spirited dialogues as the following:--

{"I will. " {"You daren't. "{"You can't. " {"I dare. "

{"You shall. " {"I'll tell Mamma. "{"I won't. " {"I don't care if you do. "

It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers ofjuvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, thatin this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things inother people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is akindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do thingsin their own way occasionally. 

But even if Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all thisto their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not havecome with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped andsnarled between themselves as much or more than their children in thenursery. 

The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Betweenthese, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged frommorning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and bothwere in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by themto the highest pitch. 

It began at breakfast, if not sooner. 

"You've taken my chair. "

"It's not your chair. "

"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place. "

"How do you know it was in your place?"

"Never mind. I do know. "

"No, you don't. "

"Yes, I do. "

"Suppose I say it was in my place. "

"You can't, for it wasn't. "

"I can, if I like. "

"Well, was it?"

"I sha'n't tell you. "

"Ah! that shows it wasn't. "

"No, it doesn't. "

"Yes, it does. "

Etc. , etc. , etc. 

The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject ofdifference of opinion. 

"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse. "

"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common. "

"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long. "

"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down GipseyLane. We never go down Gipsey Lane. "

"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to seethere. "

"I don't care, I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papato say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you. "

"That's very sneaking; but I don't care. "

"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak. "

"No, I didn't, Papa. "

"You did. "

"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd runfaster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane. "

"Then you did call him sneaking, " said Mr. Skratdj. "And you're a verynaughty ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome, Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept inorder. Go where your brother wishes at once. "

For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient, if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly. In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm, there comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall, because they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domesticauthority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on theweaker class. 

But Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry. 

"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eatingthe two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday, " said MasterHarry on one occasion. 

 "Tell-tale tit! Your tongue shall be slit, And every dog in the town shall have a little bit, "

quoted his sister. 

"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You gotinto a fine scrape for calling me names the other day. "

"Go, then! I don't care. "

"You wouldn't like me to go, I know. "

"You daren't. That's what it is. "

"I dare. "

"Then why don't you?"

"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it. "

Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harrystarted. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj hadespecially announced that morning that he did not wish to bedisturbed, and though he was a favourite, Harry had no desire toinvade the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and said with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into ascrape, Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go. "

"I'm sure I sha'n't, " said Polly, who was equally well informed as tothe position of affairs at head-quarters. "Go, if you dare. "

"I won't if you want me not, " said Harry, discreetly waiving thequestion of apologies. 

"But I'd rather you went, " said the obdurate Polly. "You're alwaystelling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid. "

So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, andwas meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, whenPolly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tonguegoaded him on. 

"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go. "

"I dare, " said Harry; and at last he went. 

As he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round. 

"Please, Papa--" Harry began. 

"Get away with you!" cried Mr. Skratdj, "Didn't I tell you I was notto be disturbed this morning? What an extraor----"

But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately. 

Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and anair of apparent satisfaction, saying, "You're to give me the bricks, please. "

"Who says so?"

"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. "

"I've been to Papa. There!"

"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"

"I've told you. "

"No, you've not. "

"I sha'n't tell you any more. "

"Then I'll go to Papa and ask. "

"Go by all means. "

"I won't if you'll tell me truly. "

"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare, " said Harry, only too glad to have the tables turned. 

Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to coverher retreat in a similar manner. 

"Ah! you didn't tell. "

"I don't believe you asked Papa. "

"Don't you? Very well!"

"Well, did you?"

"Never mind. "

Etc. , etc. , etc. 

Meanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping thechildren in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quiteimpossible to do so, when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, andweakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference. 

Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as itso often does to domestic broils. 

"Boys never will do what they're asked, " Polly would complain. 

"Girls ask such unreasonable things, " was Harry's retort. 

"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask. "

"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tellthem, whether it's reasonable or not. "

"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands andwives. "

"All women are inferior animals, " said Harry. 

"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly. 

"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey, " said Harry, falling back on the general principle. "And when I get a wife, I'lltake care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey yourhusband when you get one. "

"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like. "

"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to bemarried. "

"I'm sure I don't know why, " said Polly; "they must have had enough ofmen if they have brothers. "

And so they went on, _ad infinitum_, with ceaseless arguments thatproved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream ofcontradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling. 

Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute thanin the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some otherchildren, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever tohear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, andold and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:

"I'll give you a Christmas-box. Which ear will you have it on?"

"I won't stand it. "

"Pray take a chair. "

"You shall have it to-morrow. "

"To-morrow never comes. "

And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children, another was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child'sanswers, with smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly asthey were tiresome and impertinent. 

And ill-mannered as this was, Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj never put a stopto it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are alwayssquabbling!"

THE SKRATDJS' DOG AND THE HOT-TEMPERED GENTLEMAN. 

It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household isinfluenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, andMrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived ina perpetual fever of irritability that just fell short of discontent. They jostled each other on the back stairs, said sharp things in thepantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty ofthe sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on theslightest provocation. 

The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a bravedog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned hispretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a badhabit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, andindeed of all visitors whatsoever. 

The moment any one approached the house, on certain occasions when hewas spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause atall, Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharpvoice--"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would boundaway sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor wenton his way again, Snap was at his heels--"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked atthe milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw themevery day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never gotused to him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog inthe _Pilgrim's Progress_. " He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped atevery vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on thehigh-road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars;and then, though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for theysaid, "It's only Snap's way. " The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, aStilton cheese, and two electro christening mugs, on this occasion;and Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged relianceon Snap's warning to the present day. 

One Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit theSkratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bagfrom the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, afterthe wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a bootdistended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay. 

As he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual--"Yap! yap! yap!"Now the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greetingsome dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quiteas well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy. The gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, andwas greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spokefriendly to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate, could not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no soonerdid the gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels inthe usual fashion--

 "Yap! Yap! Yap!"

On which the gentleman--being hot-tempered, and one of those peoplewith whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blowfirst--made a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, thegentleman flung his carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-creamhit upon a stone and was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap onthe back, and sent him squealing to the kitchen. And he never barkedat that gentleman again. 

If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less likedthe continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an oldfriend of Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they werereally happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which madethem constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to theirreal affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that hecalled them the "Snapping Turtles. "

When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between hishost and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandyhair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, "Don'tflirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward. "

And neither Mr. Nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing. 

With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was veryfond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time ortrouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would nottolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He wasmuch more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smileat the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads childrenso often to "show off" before strangers. These civil acquaintancesonly abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the verybad habits which they help to encourage. 

The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was verydifferent. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kindinquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet andsensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display hiswit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at andcontradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and theusual snap-dialogue went on as before. 

"Then you like music, " said the hot-tempered gentleman. 

"Yes, I like it very much, " said Polly. 

"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over itfor?"

"I'm not always crying over it. "

"Yes, you are. "

"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast. "

"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast. "

"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman. 

With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out histongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate thathe had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentlemangave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rathersharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten inconsequence. 

"It's no use _speaking_, " said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving hishands through his hair. 

 * * * * *

Children are like dogs, they are very good judges of their realfriends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the lessbecause he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the childrenwelcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we havespoken of in connection with his attack on Snap. 

It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch-bowl wasbroken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whetherit had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a briskencounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; andshe, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flewat the gardener as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef;who stepping backwards trode upon the cat; who spit and swore, andwent up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush. 

To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew tothe breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By and by, Harry and Pollycame in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their ownaffairs in a corner. 

The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the topof his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, myboy!"

And Harry came up to him. 

"Show me your tongue, Harry, " said he. 

"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor. "

"Do as I tell you, " said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry sawhis hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. Thehot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said, in depressed tones; "Ithought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours. "

Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But thehot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head. 

"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And theyseized the tips of their tongues with their fingers, to feel forthemselves. 

But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room withoutanswering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"and nodding with an air of grave foreboding. 

Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his headinto the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growingpointed?" he asked. 

"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"

"If ever you find them becoming forked, " said the gentleman in solemntones, "let me know. "

With which he departed, gravely shaking his head. 

In the afternoon the children attacked him again. 

"_Do_ tell us what's the matter with our tongues. "

"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning, " saidthe hot-tempered gentleman. 

"Well, we forgot, " said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. Butnever mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is goingto happen to them?"

"I'm very much afraid, " said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemnmeasured tones, "that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the--"

"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions. 

"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through hishair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unlessall dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not. ) No, my sadfear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to theSnap-Dragons_!"

And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on thesubject. 

CHRISTMAS EVE. 

In the course of a few hours Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj recovered theirequanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good asusual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yulecakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. Whenthe company was tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by thehard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out "dangerous"tapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-thread in all directions, suppercame, with its welcome cakes and furmety and punch. And when furmetysomewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast moresentiment than flavour as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles wereblown out, and both the spirits and the palates of the party werestimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon. 

Then, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat-tails at the Yulelog, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the soundsin the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced, theraisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scatteringfragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as thefiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr. Skratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdjcomplained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdjretorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage inthe family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr. Skratdj's on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefitof one's family, and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdjremembered that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dresswhen she did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the nextyear. The children disputed as to the credit for courage and theamount of raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames;and the maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, andwould not have allowed the man-servant to see at all, but he lookedover their heads. 

"St! St! At it! At it!" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman inundertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and thechildren's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he weremad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flamesleaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam. 

At last the raisins were finished, the flames were all but out, andthe company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered. 

"Come along, Harry, " said the hot-tempered gentleman. 

"Wait a minute, " said Harry. 

"You had better come, " said the gentleman. 

"Why?" said Harry. 

"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy isburnt out--"

"No, it's not, " said Harry. 

"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It'sdangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragonsto-night. "

"Fiddle-sticks!" said Harry. 

"Go your own way, then!" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and hebounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone. 

DANCING WITH THE DRAGONS. 

He crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickeredin the snap-dragon dish. 

"What a pity it should go out!" said Harry. At this moment thebrandy-bottle on the sideboard caught his eye. 

"Just a little more, " muttered Harry to himself; and he uncorked thebottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame. 

Now of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandyin the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; andit was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. Alittle of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart, so that he had to shut them for a few seconds. 

But when he opened them again, what a sight he saw! All over the roomthe blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in thesoup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flamewas the fold in the long body of a bright blue Dragon, which movedlike the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. Inthe face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue andwhite china; and they had forked tongues, like the tongues ofserpents. They were most beautiful in colour, being sky-blue. Lobsterswho have just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violetand indigo of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue ofa Snap-Dragon. 

How they leaped about! They were for ever leaping over each other likeseals at play. But if it was "play" at all with them, it was of a veryrough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked at eachother, and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in theZoological Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out ofeach other's heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor. And as it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake fromtheir fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins. 

Harry stood aghast. 

"What fun!" cried a voice close behind him; and he saw that one of theDragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost oneof the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for awhile. 

"I'm glad you think it funny, " said Harry; "I don't. "

"That's right. Snap away!" sneered the Dragon. "You're a perfecttreasure. They'll take you in with them the third round. "

"Not those creatures?" cried Harry. 

"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the firstto lead you off, " said the Dragon. "Oh, the game will exactly suityou. "

"What is it, please?" Harry asked. 

"You'd better not say 'please' to the others, " said the Dragon, "ifyou don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. Youhave always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must eithertalk or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. Ineed not explain what _snapping_ is. _You know. _ If any one byaccident gives a civil answer, a claw-full of hair is torn out of hishead to stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier. "

"I dare say it suits you capitally, " said Harry; "but I'm sure weshouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't dofor us at all. "

"Wouldn't it?" said the Dragon. "You don't know how many human beingsdance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a housetill after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and takethem to dance in Vesuvius. "

"Vesuvius!" cried Harry. 

"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins arethe colour of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardentspirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! whatsnapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times whenthe squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it, and spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only attimes. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, andhow they _can_ snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We alwayshave plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too, and quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. Butbesides these, we had two vestry-men; a country postman, who devotedhis talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the postalregulations; three cabmen and two "fares"; two young shop-girls from aBerlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition; fourcommercial travellers; six landladies; six Old Bailey lawyers; severalwidows from almshouses; seven single gentlemen and nine cats, whoswore at everything; a dozen sulphur-coloured screaming cockatoos; alot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from thecolonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels; and five elderlyladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had beenfighting for good seats in church. "

"Dear me!" said Harry. 

"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me, '" said theDragon, "you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd asharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however. Off with you! And if you value your curls--Snap!"

And before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came in on their thirdround, and as they passed they swept Harry along with them. 

He shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparentas shrimps, but of a lovely cerulæan blue. And as they leaped theybarked--"Howf! Howf!"--like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harryhad to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled witheach other; and in this Harry must join also. 

"Pleasant, isn't it?" said one of the blue Dragons. 

"Not at all, " snapped Harry. 

"That's your bad taste, " snapped the blue Dragon. 

"No, it's not!" snapped Harry. 

"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing. "

"Oh, please don't!" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which theDragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed, and the blue Dragons barked and danced. 

"That made your hair curl, didn't it?" asked another Dragon, leapingover Harry. 

"That's no business of yours, " Harry snapped, as well as he could forcrying. 

"It's more my pleasure than business, " retorted the Dragon. 

"Keep it to yourself, then, " snapped Harry. 

"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair, " snappedthe Dragon. 

"Wait till you get the chance, " Harry snapped, with desperate presenceof mind. 

"Do you know whom you're talking to?" roared the Dragon; and he openedhis mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry'sface; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and criedpiteously, "Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!"

On which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of hishead, and all the Dragons barked as before. 

How long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Wellpractised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed tothink of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of hishair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping nowseemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near itwas to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay tillmidnight and take him with them to Vesuvius. 

At last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming toan end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and atlast one after another they began to go out. 

"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!" thought poorHarry. 

At last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped andbarked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when theclock in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do beforethey strike, as if it were clearing its throat. 

"Oh, _please_ go!" screamed Harry in despair. 

The blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a claw-full of hair out ofthe boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went too. Butthat leap was his last. He went out at once, vanishing before thefirst stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face on the floor inthe darkness. 

CONCLUSION. 

When his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harrythought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was acut from a fragment of the broken brandy-bottle. The Dragons haddisappeared as completely as the brandy. 

Harry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for alifetime, and the catch-contradictions of the household now made himshudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet sheimproved also. 

In the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling, requires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party tosnapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly'ssmart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them. 

In the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told allabout it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman. 

"Now do you think it's true?" Polly asked the hot-tempered man. 

"Hum! Ha!" said he, driving his hands through his hair. "You know Iwarned you, you were going to the Snap-Dragons. "

 * * * * *

Harry and Polly snubbed "the little ones" when they snapped, andutterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example andadmonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nurserydiscipline, and before long there was not a "sharp tongue" amongst allthe little Skratdjs. 

But I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heardthe story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old. 

I fear Mr. And Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons. 

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS. 

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS. 

AN OLD-FASHIONED TALE OF THE YOUNG DAYS OF A GRUMPY OLD GODFATHER. 

CHAPTER I. 

"Can you fancy, young people, " said Godfather Garbel, winking with hisprominent eyes, and moving his feet backwards and forwards in hissquare shoes, so that you could hear the squeak-leather half a roomoff--"can you fancy my having been a very little boy, and having agodmother? But I had, and she sent me presents on my birthdays too. And young people did not get presents when I was a child as they getthem now. _Grumph_! We had not half so many toys as you have, but wekept them twice as long. I think we were fonder of them too, thoughthey were neither so handsome nor so expensive as these new-fangledaffairs you are always breaking about the house. _Grumph_!

"You see, middle-class folk were more saving then. My mother turnedand dyed her dresses, and when she had done with them, the servant wasvery glad to have them; but, bless me! your mother's maids dress somuch finer than their mistress, I do not think they would say 'thankyou' for her best Sunday silk. The bustle's the wrong shape. _Grumph_!

"What's that you are laughing at, little miss? It's _pannier_, is it?Well, well, bustle or pannier, call it what you like; but only donkeyswore panniers in my young days, and many's the ride I've had in them. 

"Now, as I say, my relations and friends thought twice before theypulled out five shillings in a toy-shop, but they didn't forget me, all the same. 

"On my eighth birthday my mother gave me a bright blue comforter ofher own knitting. 

"My little sister gave me a ball. My mother had cut out the divisionsfrom various bits in the rag-bag, and my sister had done some of theseaming. It was stuffed with bran, and had a cork inside which hadbroken from old age, and would no longer fit the pickle-jar itbelonged to. This made the ball bound when we played 'prisoner'sbase. '

"My father gave me the broken driving-whip that had lost the lash, andan old pair of his gloves, to play coachman with; these I had longwished for, since next to sailing in a ship, in my ideas, came thehonour and glory of driving a coach. 

"My whole soul, I must tell you, was set upon being a sailor. In thosedays I had rather put to sea once on Farmer Fodder's duck-pond thanride twice atop of his hay-waggon; and between the smell of hay andthe softness of it, and the height you are up above other folk, andthe danger of tumbling off if you don't look out--for hay is elasticas well as soft--you don't easily beat a ride on a hay-waggon forpleasure. But as I say, I'd rather put to sea on the duck-pond, thoughthe best craft I could borrow was the pigstye-door, and a pole to puntwith, and the village boys jeering when I got aground, which was mostof the time--besides the duck-pond never having a wave on it worth thename, punt as you would, and so shallow you could not have got drownedin it to save your life. 

"You're laughing now, little master, are you? But let me tell you thatdrowning's the death for a sailor, whatever you may think. So I'vealways maintained, and have given every navigable sea in the knownworld a chance, though here I am after all, laid up in arm-chairs andfeather-beds, to wait for bronchitis or some other slow poison. _Grumph_!

"Well, we must all go as we're called, sailors or landsmen, and as Iwas saying, if I was never to sail a ship, I would have liked to drivea coach. A mail coach, serving His Majesty (Her Majesty now, GODbless her!), carrying the Royal Arms, and bound to go, rough weatherand fair. Many's the time I've done it (in play you understand) withthat whip and those gloves. Dear! dear! The pains I took to teach mysister Patty to be a highwayman, and jump out on me from thedrying-ground hedge in the dusk with a 'Stand and deliver!' which shecouldn't get out of her throat for fright, and wouldn't jump hardenough for fear of hurting me. 

"The whip and the gloves gave me joy, I can tell you; but there wasmore to come. 

"Kitty the servant gave me a shell that she had had by her for years. How I had coveted that shell! It had this remarkable property: whenyou put it to your ear, you could hear the roaring of the sea. I hadnever seen the sea, but Kitty was born in a fisherman's cottage, andmany an hour have I sat by the kitchen fire whilst she told me strangestories of the mighty ocean, and ever and anon she would snatch theshell from the mantelpiece and clap it to my ear, crying, 'There, child, you couldn't hear it plainer than that. It's the very moral!'

"When Kitty gave me that shell for my very own, I felt that life hadlittle more to offer. I held it to every ear in the house, includingthe cat's; and, seeing Dick the sexton's son go by with an armful ofstraw to stuff Guy Fawkes, I ran out, and in my anxiety to make himshare the treat, and learn what the sea is like, I clapped the shellto his ear so smartly and unexpectedly, that he, thinking me to havestruck him, knocked me down then and there with his bundle of straw. When he understood the rights of the case, he begged my pardonhandsomely, and gave me two whole treacle-sticks and part of a thirdout of his breeches-pocket, in return for which I forgave him freely, and promised to let him hear the sea roar on every Saturdayhalf-holiday till farther notice. 

"And speaking of Dick and the straw reminds me that my birthday fallson the fifth of November. From this it came about that I always had tobear a good many jokes about being burnt as a Guy Fawkes; but, on theother hand, I was allowed to make a small bonfire of my own, and tohave eight potatoes to roast therein, and eight-pennyworth of crackersto let off in the evening. A potato and a pennyworth of crackers forevery year of my life. 

"On this eighth birthday, having got all the above-named gifts, Icried, in the fulness of my heart, 'There never was such a day!' Andyet there was more to come, for the evening coach brought me a parcel, and the parcel was my godmother's picture-book. 

"My godmother was a gentlewoman of small means; but she wasaccomplished. She could make very spirited sketches, and knew how tocolour them after they were outlined and shaded in Indian ink. Shehad a pleasant talent for versifying. She was very industrious. I haveit from her own lips that she copied the figures in my picture-bookfrom prints in several different houses at which she visited. Theywere fancy portraits of characters, most of which were familiar to mymind. There were Guy Fawkes, Punch, his then Majesty the King, Bogy, the Man in the Moon, the Clerk of the Weather Office, a Dunce, and OldFather Christmas. Beneath each sketch was a stanza of my godmother'sown composing. 

"My godmother was very ingenious. She had been mainly guided in herchoice of these characters by the prints she happened to meet with, asshe did not trust herself to design a figure. But if she could not getexactly what she wanted, she had a clever knack of tracing the outlineof an attitude from some engraving, and altering the figure to suither purpose in the finished sketch. She was the soul of truthfulness, and the notes she added to the index of contents in my picture-bookspoke at once for her honesty in avowing obligations, and heringenuity in availing herself of opportunities. 

"They ran thus:--

 No. 1. --GUY FAWKES. Outlined from a figure of a warehouseman rolling a sherry flask into Mr. Rudd's wine-vaults. I added the hat, cloak, and boots in the finished drawing. 

 No. 2. --PUNCH. I sketched him from the life. 

 No. 3. --HIS MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY THE KING. On a quart jug bought in Cheapside. 

 No. 4. --BOGY, _with bad boys in the bag on his back_. Outlined from Christian bending under his burden, in my mother's old copy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. The face from Giant Despair. 

 No. 5 and No. 6. --THE MAN IN THE MOON, and THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER OFFICE. From a book of caricatures belonging to Dr. James. 

 No. 7. --A DUNCE. From a steel engraving framed in rosewood that hangs in my Uncle Wilkinson's parlour. 

 No. 8. --OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS. From a German book at Lady Littleham's. 

CHAPTER II. 

"My sister Patty was six years old. We loved each other dearly. Thepicture-book was almost as much hers as mine. We sat so long togetheron one big footstool by the fire, with our arms round each other, andthe book resting on our knees, that Kitty called down blessings on mygodmother's head for having sent a volume that kept us both so longout of mischief. 

"'If books was allus as useful as that, they'd do for me, ' said she;and though this speech did not mean much, it was a great deal forKitty to say; since, not being herself an educated person, shenaturally thought that 'little enough good comes of larning. '

"Patty and I had our favourites amongst the pictures. Bogy, now, was acharacter one did not care to think about too near bed-time. I wastired of Guy Fawkes, and thought he looked more natural made of straw, as Dick did him. The Dunce was a little too personal; but Old FatherChristmas took our hearts by storm; we had never seen anything likehim, though now-a-days you may get a plaster figure of him in anytoy-shop at Christmas-time, with hair and beard like cotton-wool, anda Christmas-tree in his hand. 

"The custom of Christmas-trees came from Germany. I can remember whenthey were first introduced into England, and what wonderful things wethought them. Now, every village school has its tree, and the scholarsopenly discuss whether the presents have been 'good' or 'mean, ' ascompared with other trees of former years. 

"The first one that I ever saw I believed to have come from goodFather Christmas himself; but little boys have grown too wise now tobe taken in for their own amusement. They are not excited by secretand mysterious preparations in the back drawing-room; they hardlyconfess to the thrill--which I feel to this day--when thefolding-doors are thrown open, and amid the blaze of tapers, Mamma, like a Fate, advances with her scissors to give every one what fallsto his lot. 

"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen aChristmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was thepicture of that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother'spicture-book. 

"'What are those things on the tree?' I asked. 

"'Candles, ' said my father. 

"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?'

"'Those are toys, my son. '

"'Are they ever taken off?'

"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand roundthe tree. '

"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voicemurmured, 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'

"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?'

"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirtyyears, child, ' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus onethousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first greatChristmas Day. 

"'He _looks_ very old, ' whispered Patty. 

"And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called 'Bible-learned, ' saidthoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, 'Then he's older thanMethuselah. '

"But my father had left the room, and did not hear my difficulty. 

"November and December went by, and still the picture-book kept allits charm for Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old FatherChristmas as children can love and realize a fancy friend. To thosewho remember the fancies of their childhood I need say no more. 

"Christmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother weremysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only oneparlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into thekitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'allover the place, ' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince-pies, andpuddings were with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no placethere for children and book; to sit with their toes in the fire, whena body wanted to be at the oven all along. The cat was enough for_her_ temper, ' she added. 

"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove herout into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with softsteps, and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warmhearth, only to fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty'shasty slipper. 

"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, andwent to the back door. 

"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in allweathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl overour two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something ofDick, for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busyhelping his father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church, which were to hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the ideaof church decoration in my young days. You have improved on yourelders there, young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still, the sprigs of red and green were better than nothing, and, like yourlovely wreaths and pious devices, they made one feel as if the oldblack wood were bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmasjoy!

"And, if one only knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose, "added Godfather Garbel, chuckling and rubbing his own, which was largeand rather red. 

"Well, " he continued, "Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ranacross the little yard and looked over the wall at the end to see ifwe could see anything or anybody. From this point there was a pleasantmeadow field sloping prettily away to a little hill aboutthree-quarters of a mile distant; which, catching some fine breezesfrom the moors beyond, was held to be a place of cure forwhooping-cough, or 'kinkcough, ' as it was vulgarly called. Up to thetop of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty, when we wererecovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was the only'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well as ifwe had gone into badly-drained lodgings at the seaside. 

"This hill was now covered with snow, and stood off against the greysky. The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gaythings to be seen were the red berries on the holly hedge, in thelittle lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to theHall--and a fat robin redbreast who was staring at me. I was watchingthe robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner ofKitty's shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from ourheads, and cried, "'LOOK!'

CHAPTER III. 

"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beardwere as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of applethat keeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snowabout him in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree. 

"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath weexclaimed, '_It's Old Father Christmas!_'

"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we didnot happen to be acquainted, and that he was taking a little fir-treeup to the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a verygood-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up bysmiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'Aye, aye, _to_be sure!' at likely intervals. 

"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded soaffably, that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, FatherChristmas!'

"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice. 

"'Then you _are_ Father Christmas?' said Patty. 

"'And a Happy New Year, ' was Father Christmas's reply, which ratherput me out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner, that Pattywent on, 'You're very old, aren't you?'

"'So I be, miss, so I be, ' said Father Christmas, nodding. 

"'Father says you're eighteen hundred and thirty years old, ' Imuttered. 

"'Aye, aye, to be sure, ' said Father Christmas, 'I'm a long age. '

"A _very_ long age, thought I, and I added, 'You're nearly twice asold as Methuselah, you know, ' thinking that this might not have struckhim. 

"'Aye, aye, ' said Father Christmas; but he did not seem to thinkanything of it. After a pause he held up the tree, and cried, 'D'yeknow what this is, little miss?'

"'A Christmas-tree, ' said Patty. 

"And the old man smiled and nodded. 

"I leant over the wall, and shouted, 'But there are no candles. '

"'By and by, ' said Father Christmas, nodding as before. 'When it'sdark they'll all be lighted up. That'll be a fine sight!'

"'Toys too, there'll be, won't there?' screamed Patty. 

"Father Christmas nodded his head. 'And sweeties, ' he added, expressively. 

"I could feel Patty trembling, and my own heart beat fast. The thoughtwhich agitated us both, was this--'Was Father Christmas bringing thetree to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty also, kept us fromasking outright. 

"Only when the old man shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, Icried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?'

"'I'm coming back by and by, ' said he. 

"'How soon?' cried Patty. 

"'About four o'clock, ' said the old man, smiling. 'I'm only going upyonder. '

"And, nodding, and smiling as he went, he passed away down the lane. 

"'Up yonder. ' This puzzled us. Father Christmas had pointed, but soindefinitely, that he might have been pointing to the sky, or thefields, or the little wood at the end of the Squire's grounds. Ithought the latter, and suggested to Patty that perhaps he had someplace underground, like Aladdin's cave, where he got the candles, andall the pretty things for the tree. This idea pleased us both, and weamused ourselves by wondering what Old Father Christmas would choosefor us from his stores in that wonderful hole where he dressed hisChristmas-trees. 

"'I wonder, Patty, ' said I, 'why there's no picture of FatherChristmas's dog in the book. ' For at the old man's heels in the lanethere crept a little brown and white spaniel, looking very dirty inthe snow. 

"'Perhaps it's a new dog that he's got to take care of his cave, ' saidPatty. 

"When we went indoors we examined the picture afresh by the dim lightfrom the passage window, but found no dog there. 

"My father passed us at this moment, and patted my head. 'Father, 'said I, 'I don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is going tobring us a Christmas-tree to-night. '

"'Who's been telling you that?' said my father. But he passed onbefore I could explain that we had seen Father Christmas himself, andhad had his word for it that he would return at four o'clock, and thatthe candles on his tree would be lighted as soon as it was dark. 

"We hovered on the outskirts of the rooms till four o'clock came. Wesat on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I was just learningto read; and Patty made herself giddy with constantly looking up andcounting the four strokes, towards which the hour hand slowly moved. We put our noses into the kitchen now and then, to smell the cakesand get warm, and anon we hung about the parlour door, and were mostunjustly accused of trying to peep. What did we care what our motherwas doing in the parlour?--we who had seen Old Father Christmashimself, and were expecting him back again every moment!

"At last the church clock struck. The sounds boomed heavily throughthe frost, and Patty thought there were four of them. Then, after duechoking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we counted the strokesquite clearly--one! two! three! four! Then we got Kitty's shawl oncemore, and stole out into the back-yard. We ran to our old place, andpeeped, but could see nothing. 

"'We'd better get up on to the wall, ' I said; and with some difficultyand distress from rubbing her bare knees against the cold stones, andgetting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on the coping of the littlewall. I was just struggling after her, when something warm andsomething cold coming suddenly against the bare calves of my legs, made me shriek with fright. I came down 'with a run, ' and bruised myknees, my elbows, and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone upPatty's sleeves, went down my neck. Then I found that the cold thingwas a dog's nose, and the warm thing was his tongue; and Patty criedfrom her post of observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog, and he'slicking your legs. '

"It really was the dirty little brown and white spaniel; and hepersisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and making curious littlenoises, that must have meant something if one had known his language. I was rather harassed at the moment. My legs were sore, I was a littleafraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of sitting on thewall without me. 

"'You won't fall, ' I said to her. 'Get down, will you!' I said to thedog. 

"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall, ' said Patty. 

"'Bow! wow!' said the dog. 

"I pulled Patty down, and the dog tried to pull me down; but when mylittle sister was on her feet, to my relief, he transferred hisattentions to her. When he had jumped at her, and licked her severaltimes, he turned round and ran away. 

"'He's gone, ' said I; 'I'm so glad. '

"But even as I spoke he was back again, crouching at Patty's feet, andglaring at her with eyes the colour of his ears. 

"Now Patty was very fond of animals, and when the dog looked at hershe looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He wants us to gowith him. '

"On which (as if he understood our language, though we were ignorantof his) the spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he could;and Patty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my mind--'PerhapsFather Christmas has sent him for us. '

"This idea was rather favoured by the fact that the dog led us up thelane. Only a little way; then he stopped by something lying in theditch--and once more we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old FatherChristmas!'"

CHAPTER IV. 

"Returning from the Hall, the old man had slipped upon a bit of ice, and lay stunned in the snow. 

"Patty began to cry. 'I think he's dead, ' she sobbed. 

"'He is so very old, I don't wonder, ' I murmured; 'but perhaps he'snot. I'll fetch Father. '

"My father and Kitty were soon on the spot. Kitty was as strong as aman; and they carried Father Christmas between them into the kitchen. There he quickly revived. 

"I must do Kitty the justice to say that she did not utter a word ofcomplaint at this disturbance of her labours; and that she drew theold man's chair close up to the oven with her own hand. She was somuch affected by the behaviour of his dog, that she admitted him evento the hearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how mattersstood, lay down with her back so close to the spaniel's that Kittycould not expel one without kicking both. 

"For our parts, we felt sadly anxious about the tree; otherwise wecould have wished for no better treat than to sit at Kitty's roundtable taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual fare of thick breadand treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious variety of cakes, which were none the worse to us for being 'tasters and wasters'--thatis, little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to try the state ofthe oven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt in thebaking. 

"Well, there we sat, helping Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, andwondering in our hearts what could have become of the tree. But yousee, young people, when I was a child, parents were stricter than theyare now. Even before Kitty died (and she has been dead many a longyear) there was a change, and she said that 'children got to thinkanything became them. ' I think we were taught more honest shame aboutcertain things than I often see in little boys and girls now. We wereashamed of boasting, or being greedy, or selfish; we were ashamed ofasking for anything that was not offered to us, and of interruptinggrown-up people, or talking about ourselves. Why, papas and mammasnow-a-days seem quite proud to let their friends see how bold andgreedy and talkative their children can be! A lady said to me theother day, 'You wouldn't believe, Mr. Garbel, how forward dear littleHarry is for his age. He has his word in everything, and is not a bitshy! and his papa never comes home from town but Harry runs to ask himif he's brought him a present. Papa says he'll be the ruin of him!'

"'Madam, ' said I, 'even without your word for it, I am quite awarethat your child is forward. He is forward and greedy and intrusive, asyou justly point out, and I wish you joy of him when those qualitiesare fully developed. I think his father's fears are well founded. '

"But, bless me! now-a-days it's 'Come and tell Mr. Smith what a fineboy you are, and how many houses you can build with your bricks, ' or, 'The dear child wants everything he sees, ' or 'Little pet never letsMamma alone for a minute; does she, love?' But in my young days itwas, 'Self-praise is no recommendation' (as Kitty used to tell me), or, 'You're knocking too hard at No. One' (as my father said when wetalked about ourselves), or, 'Little boys should be seen but notheard' (as a rule of conduct 'in company'), or, 'Don't ask for whatyou want, but take what's given you and be thankful. '

"And so you see, young people, Patty and I felt a delicacy in askingOld Father Christmas about the tree. It was not till we had had teathree times round, with tasters and wasters to match, that Patty saidvery gently, 'It's quite dark now. ' And then she heaved a deep sigh. 

"Burning anxiety overcame me. I leant towards Father Christmas, andshouted--I had found out that it was needful to shout--

"'I suppose the candles are on the tree now?'

"'Just about putting of 'em on, ' said Father Christmas. 

"'And the presents, too?' said Patty. 

"'Aye, aye, _to_ be sure, ' said Father Christmas, and he smileddelightfully. 

"I was thinking what farther questions I might venture upon, when hepushed his cup towards Patty, saying, 'Since you are so pressing, miss, I'll take another dish. '

"And Kitty, swooping on us from the oven, cried, 'Make yourself athome, sir; there's more where these came from. Make a long arm, MissPatty, and hand them cakes. '

"So we had to devote ourselves to the duties of the table; and Patty, holding the lid with one hand and pouring out with the other, suppliedFather Christmas's wants with a heavy heart. 

"At last he was satisfied. I said grace, during which he stood, andindeed he stood for some time afterwards with his eyes shut--I fancyunder the impression that I was still speaking. He had just said afervent 'Amen, ' and reseated himself, when my father put his head intothe kitchen, and made this remarkable statement--

"'Old Father Christmas has sent a tree to the young people. '

"Patty and I uttered a cry of delight, and we forthwith danced roundthe old man, saying, 'Oh, how nice! Oh, how kind of you!' which Ithink must have bewildered him, but he only smiled and nodded. 

"'Come along, ' said my father. 'Come, children. Come, Reuben. Come, Kitty. '

"And he went into the parlour, and we all followed him. 

"My godmother's picture of a Christmas-tree was very pretty; and theflames of the candles were so naturally done in red and yellow, that Ialways wondered that they did not shine at night. But the picture wasnothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost in the dark, for, as Kitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at meal-times. ' Andwhen the parlour door was thrown open, and the tree, with lightedtapers on all the branches, burst upon our view, the blaze wasdazzling, and threw such a glory round the little gifts, and the bagsof coloured muslin with acid drops, and pink rose drops, and comfitsinside, as I shall never forget. We all got something; and Patty andI, at any rate, believed that the things came from the stores of OldFather Christmas. We were not undeceived even by his gratefullyaccepting a bundle of old clothes which had been hastily put togetherto form his present. 

"We were all very happy; even Kitty, I think, though she kept hersleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge enjoying herself (aweak point in some energetic characters). She went back to her ovenbefore the lights were out, and the angel on the top of the tree takendown. She locked up her present (a little work-box) at once. She oftenshowed it off afterwards, but it was kept in the same bit oftissue-paper till she died. Our presents certainly did not last solong!

"The old man died about a week afterwards, so we never made hisacquaintance as a common personage. When he was buried, his little dogcame to us. I suppose he remembered the hospitality he had received. Patty adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always looked on himwith favour. I hoped during our rambles together in the followingsummer that he would lead us at last to the cave where Christmas-treesare dressed. But he never did. 

"Our parents often spoke of his late master as 'old Reuben, ' butchildren are not easily disabused of a favourite fancy, and in Patty'sthoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully remembered as OLDFATHER CHRISTMAS. "

THE END. 

 * * * * *

_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, complete, and uniform Edition published. _

_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. Per vol. , issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these willappear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Serieswill be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover wasspecially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing. _

_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_--

1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. 

2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. 

3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES. 

4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING. 

5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. 

6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. 

7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. 

8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. 

9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. 

10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATETHEATRICALS, &c. 

11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES. 

12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN. 

13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I. 

14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. 

15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. 

16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. 

17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--WonderStories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations. 

18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's Letters. 

S. P. C. K. , Northumberland Avenue, London, W. C.