{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20425/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20425","id":"gutenberg_20425","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20425","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's Literature","Children's plays","Children's stories","Christmas -- Juvenile fiction","Christmas plays","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction","Mumming plays"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                            THE PEACE EGG\n\n                           AND OTHER TALES.\n\n\n\n                                  BY\n\n                        JULIANA HORATIA EWING.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                               LONDON:\n\n              SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE,\n\n                     NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C.\n\n                     BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET.\n\n                   NEW YORK: E. & J. B. YOUNG & CO.\n\n\n [Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nTHE PEACE EGG\n\nA CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY\n\nHINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS, I., II., III.\n\nSNAP-DRAGONS\n\nOLD FATHER CHRISTMAS\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEACE EGG.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEACE EGG.\n\nA CHRISTMAS TALE.\n\n\nEvery one ought to be happy at Christmas. But there are many things\nwhich ought to be, and yet are not; and people are sometimes sad even\nin the Christmas holidays.\n\nThe Captain and his wife were sad, though it was Christmas Eve. Sad,\nthough they were in the prime of life, blessed with good health,\ndevoted to each other and to their children, with competent means, a\ncomfortable house on a little freehold property of their own, and, one\nmight say, everything that heart could desire. Sad, though they were\ngood people, whose peace of mind had a firmer foundation than their\nearthly goods alone; contented people, too, with plenty of occupation\nfor mind and body. Sad--and in the nursery this was held to be past\nall reason--though the children were performing that ancient and most\nentertaining Play or Christmas Mystery of Good St. George of England,\nknown as _The Peace Egg_, for their benefit and behoof alone.\n\nThe play was none the worse that most of the actors were too young to\nlearn parts, so that there was very little of the rather tedious\ndialogue, only plenty of dress and ribbons, and of fighting with the\nwooden swords. But though St. George looked bonny enough to warm any\nfather's heart, as he marched up and down with an air learned by\nwatching many a parade in barrack-square and drill-ground, and though\nthe Valiant Slasher did not cry in spite of falling hard and the\nDoctor treading accidentally on his little finger in picking him up,\nstill the Captain and his wife sighed nearly as often as they smiled,\nand the mother dropped tears as well as pennies into the cap which the\nKing of Egypt brought round after the performance.\n\n\nTHE CAPTAIN'S WIFE.\n\nMany many years back the Captain's wife had been a child herself, and\nhad laughed to see the village mummers act the Peace Egg, and had been\nquite happy on Christmas Eve. Happy, though she had no mother. Happy,\nthough her father was a stern man, very fond of his only child, but\nwith an obstinate will that not even she dared thwart. She had lived\nto thwart it, and he had never forgiven her. It was when she married\nthe Captain. The old man had a prejudice against soldiers, which was\nquite reason enough, in his opinion, for his daughter to sacrifice the\nhappiness of her future life by giving up the soldier she loved. At\nlast he gave her her choice between the Captain and his own favour and\nmoney. She chose the Captain, and was disowned and disinherited.\n\nThe Captain bore a high character, and was a good and clever officer,\nbut that went for nothing against the old man's whim. He made a very\ngood husband too; but even this did not move his father-in-law, who\nhad never held any intercourse with him or his wife since the day of\ntheir marriage, and who had never seen his own grandchildren. Though\nnot so bitterly prejudiced as the old father, the Captain's wife's\nfriends had their doubts about the marriage. The place was not a\nmilitary station, and they were quiet country folk who knew very\nlittle about soldiers, whilst what they imagined was not altogether\nfavourable to \"red-coats\" as they called them. Soldiers are\nwell-looking generally, it is true (and the Captain was more than\nwell-looking--he was handsome); brave, of course it is their business\n(and the Captain had V.C. after his name and several bits of ribbon\non his patrol jacket). But then, thought the good people, they are\nhere to-day and gone to-morrow, you \"never know where you have them\";\nthey are probably in debt, possibly married to several women in\nseveral foreign countries, and, though they are very courteous in\nsociety, who knows how they treat their wives when they drag them off\nfrom their natural friends and protectors to distant lands where no\none can call them to account?\n\n\"Ah, poor thing!\" said Mrs. John Bull, junior, as she took off her\nhusband's coat on his return from business, a week after the Captain's\nwedding, \"I wonder how she feels? There's no doubt the old man behaved\ndisgracefully; but it's a great risk marrying a soldier. It stands to\nreason, military men aren't domestic; and I wish--Lucy Jane, fetch\nyour papa's slippers, quick!--she'd had the sense to settle down\ncomfortably amongst her friends with a man who would have taken care\nof her.\"\n\n\"Officers are a wild set, I expect,\" said Mr. Bull, complacently, as\nhe stretched his limbs in his own particular arm-chair, into which no\nmember of his family ever intruded. \"But the red-coats carry the day\nwith plenty of girls who ought to know better. You women are always\ncaught by a bit of finery. However, there's no use our bothering _our_\nheads about it. As she has brewed she must bake.\"\n\nThe Captain's wife's baking was lighter and more palatable than her\nfriends believed. The Captain (who took off his own coat when he came\nhome, and never wore slippers but in his dressing-room) was domestic\nenough. A selfish companion must, doubtless, be a great trial amid the\nhardships of military life, but when a soldier is kind-hearted, he is\noften a much more helpful and thoughtful and handy husband than any\nequally well-meaning civilian. Amid the ups and downs of their\nwanderings, the discomforts of shipboard and of stations in the\ncolonies, bad servants, and unwonted sicknesses, the Captain's\ntenderness never failed. If the life was rough the Captain was ready.\nHe had been, by turns, in one strait or another, sick-nurse, doctor,\ncarpenter, nursemaid, and cook to his family, and had, moreover, an\nidea that nobody filled these offices quite so well as himself.\nWithal, his very profession kept him neat, well-dressed, and active.\nIn the roughest of their ever-changing quarters he was a smarter man,\nmore like the lover of his wife's young days, than Mr. Bull amid his\nstationary comforts. Then if the Captain's wife was--as her friends\nsaid--\"never settled,\" she was also for ever entertained by new\nscenes; and domestic mischances do not weigh very heavily on people\nwhose possessions are few and their intellectual interests many. It is\ntrue that there were ladies in the Captain's regiment who passed by\nsea and land from one quarter of the globe to another, amid strange\nclimates and customs, strange trees and flowers, beasts and birds,\nfrom the glittering snows of North America to the orchids of the Cape,\nfrom beautiful Pera to the lily-covered hills of Japan, and who in no\nplace rose above the fret of domestic worries, and had little to tell\non their return but of the universal misconduct of servants, from\nIrish \"helps\" in the colonies, to _compradors_ and China-boys at\nShanghai. But it was not so with the Captain's wife. Moreover, one\nbecomes accustomed to one's fate, and she moved her whole\nestablishment from the Curragh to Corfu with less anxiety than that\nfelt by Mrs. Bull over a port-wine stain on the best table-cloth.\n\nAnd yet, as years went and children came, the Captain and his wife\ngrew tired of travelling. New scenes were small comfort when they\nheard of the death of old friends. One foot of murky English sky was\ndearer, after all, than miles of the unclouded heavens of the South.\nThe grey hills and overgrown lanes of her old home haunted the\nCaptain's wife by night and day, and home-sickness (that weariest of\nall sicknesses) began to take the light out of her eyes before their\ntime. It preyed upon the Captain too. Now and then he would say,\nfretfully, \"I _should_ like an English resting-place, however small,\nbefore _every-_body is dead! But the children's prospects have to be\nconsidered.\" The continued estrangement from the old man was an\nabiding sorrow also, and they had hopes that, if only they could get\nto England, he might be persuaded to peace and charity this time.\n\nAt last they were sent home. But the hard old father still would not\nrelent. He returned their letters unopened. This bitter disappointment\nmade the Captain's wife so ill that she almost died, and in one month\nthe Captain's hair became iron-grey. He reproached himself for having\never taken the daughter from her father, \"to kill her at last,\" as he\nsaid. And (thinking of his own children) he even reproached himself\nfor having robbed the old widower of his only child. After two years\nat home his regiment was ordered to India. He failed to effect an\nexchange, and they prepared to move once more--from Chatham to\nCalcutta. Never before had the packing, to which she was so well\naccustomed, been so bitter a task to the Captain's wife.\n\nIt was at the darkest hour of this gloomy time that the Captain came\nin, waving above his head a letter which changed all their plans.\n\nNow close by the old home of the Captain's wife there had lived a man,\nmuch older than herself, who yet had loved her with a devotion as\ngreat as that of the young Captain. She never knew it, for when he\nsaw that she had given her heart to his younger rival, he kept\nsilence, and he never asked for what he knew he might have had--the\nold man's authority in his favour. So generous was the affection which\nhe could never conquer, that he constantly tried to reconcile the\nfather to his children whilst he lived, and, when he died, he\nbequeathed his house and small estate to the woman he had loved.\n\n\"It will be a legacy of peace,\" he thought, on his death-bed. \"The old\nman cannot hold out when she and her children are constantly in sight.\nAnd it may please GOD that I shall know of the reunion I have not been\npermitted to see with my eyes.\"\n\nAnd thus it came about that the Captain's regiment went to India\nwithout him, and that the Captain's wife and her father lived on\nopposite sides of the same road.\n\n\nMASTER ROBERT.\n\nThe eldest of the Captain's children was a boy. He was named Robert,\nafter his grandfather, and seemed to have inherited a good deal of the\nold gentleman's character, mixed with gentler traits. He was a fair,\nfine boy, tall and stout for his age, with the Captain's regular\nfeatures, and (he flattered himself) the Captain's firm step and\nmartial bearing. He was apt--like his grandfather--to hold his own\nwill to be other people's law, and (happily for the peace of the\nnursery) this opinion was devoutly shared by his brother Nicholas.\nThough the Captain had sold his commission, Robin continued to command\nan irregular force of volunteers in the nursery, and never was colonel\nmore despotic. His brothers and sister were by turn infantry, cavalry,\nengineers, and artillery, according to his whim, and when his\naffections finally settled upon the Highlanders of \"The Black Watch,\"\nno female power could compel him to keep his stockings above his\nknees, or his knickerbockers below them.\n\nThe Captain alone was a match for his strong-willed son.\n\n\"If you please, sir,\" said Sarah, one morning, flouncing in upon the\nCaptain, just as he was about to start for the neighbouring town,--\"if\nyou please, sir, I wish you'd speak to Master Robert. He's past my\npowers.\"\n\n\"I've no doubt of it,\" thought the Captain, but he only said, \"Well,\nwhat's the matter?\"\n\n\"Night after night do I put him to bed,\" said Sarah, \"and night after\nnight does he get up as soon as I'm out of the room, and says he's\norderly officer for the evening, and goes about in his night-shirt,\nand his feet as bare as boards.\"\n\nThe Captain fingered his heavy moustache to hide a smile, but he\nlistened patiently to Sarah's complaints.\n\n\"It ain't so much _him_ I should mind, sir,\" she continued, \"but he\ngoes round the beds and wakes up the other young gentlemen and Miss\nDora, one after another, and when I speak to him, he gives me all the\nsauce he can lay his tongue to, and says he's going round the guards.\nThe other night I tried to put him back in his bed, but he got away\nand ran all over the house, me hunting him everywhere, and not a sign\nof him, till he jumps out on me from the garret-stairs and nearly\nknocks me down. 'I've visited the outposts, Sarah,' says he; 'all's\nwell,' And off he goes to bed as bold as brass.\"\n\n\"Have you spoken to your mistress?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Sarah. \"And missis spoke to him, and he promised not\nto go round the guards again.\"\n\n\"Has he broken his promise?\" asked the Captain, with a look of anger,\nand also of surprise.\n\n\"When I opened the door last night, sir,\" continued Sarah, in her\nshrill treble, \"what should I see in the dark but Master Robert\na-walking up and down with the carpet-brush stuck in his arm. 'Who\ngoes there?' says he. 'You owdacious boy!' says I. 'Didn't you\npromise your ma you'd leave off them tricks?' 'I'm not going round the\nguards,' says he; 'I promised not. But I'm for sentry-duty to-night.'\nAnd say what I would to him, all he had for me was, 'You mustn't speak\nto a sentry on duty.' So I says, 'As sure as I live till morning, I'll\ngo to your pa,' for he pays no more attention to his ma than to me,\nnor to any one else.\"\n\n\"Please to see that the chair-bed in my dressing-room is moved into\nyour mistress's bedroom,\" said the Captain. \"I will attend to Master\nRobert.\"\n\nWith this Sarah had to content herself, and she went back to the\nnursery. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and made no reply to her\nsummons. On this the unwary nursemaid flounced into the bedroom to\nlook for him, when Robert, who was hidden beneath a table, darted\nforth, and promptly locked her in.\n\n\"You're under arrest,\" he shouted, through the keyhole.\n\n\"Let me out!\" shrieked Sarah.\n\n\"I'll send a file of the guard to fetch you to the orderly room, by\nand by,\" said Robert, \"for 'preferring frivolous complaints.'\" And he\ndeparted to the farmyard to look at the ducks.\n\nThat night, when Robert went up to bed, the Captain quietly locked him\ninto his dressing-room, from which the bed had been removed.\n\n\"You're for sentry-duty to-night,\" said the Captain. \"The carpet-brush\nis in the corner. Good-evening.\"\n\nAs his father anticipated, Robert was soon tired of the sentry game in\nthese new circumstances, and long before the night had half worn away\nhe wished himself safely undressed and in his own comfortable bed. At\nhalf-past twelve o'clock he felt as if he could bear it no longer, and\nknocked at the Captain's door.\n\n\"Who goes there?\" said the Captain.\n\n\"Mayn't I go to bed, please?\" whined poor Robert.\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said the Captain. \"You're on duty.\"\n\nAnd on duty poor Robert had to remain, for the Captain had a will as\nwell as his son. So he rolled himself up in his father's railway-rug,\nand slept on the floor.\n\nThe next night he was very glad to go quietly to bed, and remain\nthere.\n\n\nIN THE NURSERY.\n\nThe Captain's children sat at breakfast in a large, bright nursery. It\nwas the room where the old bachelor had died, and now _her_ children\nmade it merry. This was just what he would have wished.\n\nThey all sat round the table, for it was breakfast-time. There were\nfive of them, and five bowls of boiled bread-and-milk smoked before\nthem. Sarah (a foolish, gossiping girl, who acted as nurse till better\ncould be found) was waiting on them, and by the table sat Darkie, the\nblack retriever, his long, curly back swaying slightly from the\ndifficulty of holding himself up, and his solemn hazel eyes fixed very\nintently on each and all of the breakfast bowls. He was as silent and\nsagacious as Sarah was talkative and empty-headed. The expression of\nhis face was that of King Charles I. as painted by Vandyke. Though\nlarge, he was unassuming. Pax, the pug, on the contrary, who came up\nto the first joint of Darkie's leg, stood defiantly on his dignity\n(and his short stumps). He always placed himself in front of the\nbigger dog, and made a point of hustling him in doorways and of going\nfirst down-stairs. He strutted like a beadle, and carried his tail\nmore tightly curled than a bishop's crook. He looked as one may\nimagine the frog in the fable would have looked, had he been able to\nswell himself rather nearer to the size of the ox. This was partly due\nto his very prominent eyes, and partly to an obesity favoured by\nhabits of lying inside the fender, and of eating meals proportioned\nmore to his consequence than to his hunger. They were both favourites\nof two years' standing, and had very nearly been given away, when the\ngood news came of an English home for the family, dogs and all.\n\nRobert's tongue was seldom idle, even at meals. \"Are you a\nYorkshirewoman, Sarah?\" he asked, pausing, with his spoon full in his\nhand.\n\n\"No, Master Robert,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"But you understand Yorkshire, don't you? I can't, very often; but\nMamma can, and can speak it, too. Papa says Mamma always talks\nYorkshire to servants and poor people. She used to talk Yorkshire to\nThemistocles, Papa said, and he said it was no good; for though\nThemistocles knew a lot of languages, he didn't know that. And Mamma\nlaughed, and said she didn't know she did.\"--\"Themistocles was our\nman-servant in Corfu,\" Robin added, in explanation. \"He stole lots of\nthings, Themistocles did; but Papa found him out.\"\n\nRobin now made a rapid attack on his bread-and-milk, after which he\nbroke out again.\n\n\"Sarah, who is that tall old gentleman at church, in the seat near the\npulpit? He wears a cloak like what the Blues wear, only all blue, and\nis tall enough for a Lifeguardsman. He stood when we were kneeling\ndown, and said _Almighty and most merciful Father_ louder than\nanybody.\"\n\nSarah knew who the old gentleman was, and knew also that the children\ndid not know, and that their parents did not see fit to tell them as\nyet. But she had a passion for telling and hearing news, and would\nrather gossip with a child than not gossip at all. \"Never you mind,\nMaster Robin,\" she said, nodding sagaciously. \"Little boys aren't to\nknow everything.\"\n\n\"Ah, then, I know you don't know,\" replied Robert; \"if you did, you'd\ntell. Nicholas, give some of your bread to Darkie and Pax. I've done\nmine. _For what we have received, the Lord make us truly thankful._\nSay your grace and put your chair away, and come along. I want to hold\na court-martial!\" And seizing his own chair by the seat, Robin carried\nit swiftly to its corner. As he passed Sarah, he observed tauntingly,\n\"You pretend to know, but you don't.\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Sarah.\n\n\"You don't,\" said Robin.\n\n\"Your ma's forbid you to contradict, Master Robin,\" said Sarah; \"and\nif you do I shall tell her. I know well enough who the old gentleman\nis, and perhaps I might tell you, only you'd go straight off and tell\nagain.\"\n\n\"No, no, I wouldn't!\" shouted Robin. \"I can keep a secret, indeed I\ncan! Pinch my little finger, and try. Do, do tell me, Sarah, there's a\ndear Sarah, and then I shall know you know.\" And he danced round her,\ncatching at her skirts.\n\nTo keep a secret was beyond Sarah's powers.\n\n\"Do let my dress be, Master Robin,\" she said, \"you're ripping out all\nthe gathers, and listen while I whisper. As sure as you're a living\nboy, that gentleman's your own grandpapa.\"\n\nRobin lost his hold on Sarah's dress; his arms fell by his side, and\nhe stood with his brows knit for some minutes, thinking. Then he said,\nemphatically, \"What lies you do tell, Sarah!\"\n\n\"Oh, Robin!\" cried Nicholas, who had drawn near, his thick curls\nstanding stark with curiosity, \"Mamma said 'lies' wasn't a proper\nword, and you promised not to say it again.\"\n\n\"I forgot,\" said Robin. \"I didn't mean to break my promise. But she\ndoes tell--ahem! _you know what_.\"\n\n\"You wicked boy!\" cried the enraged Sarah; \"how dare you to say such a\nthing! and everybody in the place knows he's your ma's own pa.\"\n\n\"I'll go and ask her,\" said Robin, and he was at the door in a moment;\nbut Sarah, alarmed by the thought of getting into a scrape herself,\ncaught him by the arm.\n\n\"Don't you go, love; it'll only make your ma angry. There; it was all\nmy nonsense.\"\n\n\"Then it's not true?\" said Robin, indignantly. \"What did you tell me\nso for?\"\n\n\"It was all my jokes and nonsense,\" said the unscrupulous Sarah. \"But\nyour ma wouldn't like to know I've said such a thing. And Master\nRobert wouldn't be so mean as to tell tales, would he, love?\"\n\n\"I'm not mean,\" said Robin, stoutly; \"and I don't tell tales; but you\ndo, and you tell _you know what_, besides. However, I won't go this\ntime; but I'll tell you what--if you tell tales of me to Papa any\nmore, I'll tell him what you said about the old gentleman in the blue\ncloak.\" With which parting threat Robin strode, off to join his\nbrothers and sister.\n\nSarah's tale had put the court-martial out of his head, and he leaned\nagainst the tall fender, gazing at his little sister, who was tenderly\nnursing a well-worn doll. Robin sighed.\n\n\"What a long time that doll takes to wear out, Dora!\" said he. \"When\nwill it be done?\"\n\n\"Oh, not yet, not yet!\" cried Dora, clasping the doll to her, and\nturning away. \"She's quite good, yet.\"\n\n\"How miserly you are,\" said her brother; \"and selfish, too; for you\nknow I can't have a military funeral till you'll let me bury that old\nthing.\"\n\nDora began to cry.\n\n\"There you go, crying!\" said Robin, impatiently. \"Look here: I won't\ntake it till you get the new one on your birthday. You can't be so\nmean as not to let me have it then!\"\n\nBut Dora's tears still fell. \"I love this one so much,\" she sobbed. \"I\nlove her better than the new one.\"\n\n\"You want both; that's it,\" said Robin, angrily. \"Dora, you're the\nmeanest girl I ever knew!\"\n\nAt which unjust and painful accusation Dora threw herself and the doll\nupon their faces, and wept bitterly. The eyes of the soft-hearted\nNicholas began to fill with tears, and he squatted down before her,\nlooking most dismal. He had a fellow-feeling for her attachment to an\nold toy, and yet Robin's will was law to him.\n\n\"Couldn't we make a coffin, and pretend the body was inside?\" he\nsuggested.\n\n\"No, we couldn't,\" said Robin. \"I wouldn't play the Dead March after\nan empty candle-box. It's a great shame--and I promised she should be\nchaplain in one of my night-gowns, too.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you'll get just as fond of the new one,\" said Nicholas,\nturning to Dora.\n\nBut Dora only cried, \"No, no! He shall have the new one to bury, and\nI'll keep my poor, dear, darling Betsy.\" And she clasped Betsy tighter\nthan before.\n\n\"That's the meanest thing you've said yet,\" retorted Robin; \"for you\nknow Mamma wouldn't let me bury the new one.\" And, with an air of\ngreat disgust, he quitted the nursery.\n\n\n\"A MUMMING WE WILL GO.\"\n\nNicholas had sore work to console his little sister, and Betsy's\nprospects were in a very unfavourable state, when a diversion was\ncaused in her favour by a new whim which put the military funeral out\nof Robin's head.\n\nAfter he left the nursery he strolled out of doors, and, peeping\nthrough the gate at the end of the drive, he saw a party of boys going\nthrough what looked like a military exercise with sticks and a good\ndeal of stamping; but, instead of mere words of command, they all\nspoke by turns, as in a play. In spite of their strong Yorkshire\naccent, Robin overheard a good deal, and it sounded very fine. Not\nbeing at all shy, he joined them, and asked so many questions that he\nsoon got to know all about it. They were practising a Christmas\nmumming-play, called \"The Peace Egg.\" Why it was called thus they\ncould not tell, as there was nothing whatever about eggs in it, and so\nfar from being a play of peace, it was made up of a series of battles\nbetween certain valiant knights and princes, of whom St. George of\nEngland was the chief and conqueror. The rehearsal being over, Robin\nwent with the boys to the sexton's house (he was father to the \"King\nof Egypt\"), where they showed him the dresses they were to wear. These\nwere made of gay-coloured materials, and covered with ribbons, except\nthat of the \"Black Prince of Paradine,\" which was black, as became his\ntitle. The boys also showed him the book from which they learned their\nparts, and which was to be bought for one penny at the post-office\nshop.\n\n\"Then are you the mummers who come round at Christmas, and act in\npeople's kitchens, and people give them money, that Mamma used to tell\nus about?\" said Robin.\n\nSt. George of England looked at his companions as if for counsel as to\nhow far they might commit themselves, and then replied, with Yorkshire\ncaution, \"Well, I suppose we are.\"\n\n\"And do you go out in the snow from one house to another at night? and\noh, don't you enjoy it?\" cried Robin.\n\n\"We like it well enough,\" St. George admitted.\n\nRobin bought a copy of \"The Peace Egg.\" He was resolved to have a\nnursery performance, and to act the part of St. George himself. The\nothers were willing for what he wished, but there were difficulties.\nIn the first place, there are eight characters in the play, and there\nwere only five children. They decided among themselves to leave out\nthe \"Fool,\" and Mamma said that another character was not to be acted\nby any of them, or indeed mentioned; \"the little one who comes in at\nthe end,\" Robin explained. Mamma had her reasons, and these were\nalways good. She had not been altogether pleased that Robin had bought\nthe play. It was a very old thing, she said, and very queer; not\nadapted for a child's play. If Mamma thought the parts not quite fit\nfor the children to learn, they found them much too long; so in the\nend she picked out some bits for each, which they learned easily, and\nwhich, with a good deal of fighting, made quite as good a story of it\nas if they had done the whole. What may have been wanting otherwise\nwas made up for by the dresses, which were charming.\n\nRobin was St. George, Nicholas the Valiant Slasher, Dora the Doctor,\nand the other two Hector and the King of Egypt. \"And now we've no\nBlack Prince!\" cried Robin in dismay.\n\n\"Let Darkie be the Black Prince,\" said Nicholas. \"When you wave your\nstick he'll jump for it, and then you can pretend to fight with him.\"\n\n\"It's not a stick, it's a sword,\" said Robin. \"However, Darkie may be\nthe Black Prince.\"\n\n\"And what's Pax to be?\" asked Dora; \"for you know he will come if\nDarkie does, and he'll run in before everybody else too.\"\n\n\"Then he must be the Fool,\" said Robin, \"and it will do very well, for\nthe Fool comes in before the rest, and Pax can have his red coat on,\nand the collar with the little bells.\"\n\n\nCHRISTMAS EVE.\n\nRobin thought that Christmas would never come. To the Captain and his\nwife it seemed to come too fast. They had hoped it might bring\nreconciliation with the old man, but it seemed they had hoped in vain.\n\nThere were times now when the Captain almost regretted the old\nbachelor's bequest. The familiar scenes of her old home sharpened his\nwife's grief. To see her father every Sunday in church, with marks of\nage and infirmity upon him, but with not a look of tenderness for his\nonly child, this tried her sorely.\n\n\"She felt it less abroad,\" thought the Captain. \"An English home in\nwhich she frets herself to death is, after all, no great boon.\"\n\nChristmas Eve came.\n\n\"I'm sure it's quite Christmas enough now,\" said Robin. \"We'll have\n'The Peace Egg' to-night.\"\n\nSo as the Captain and his wife sat sadly over their fire, the door\nopened, and Pax ran in shaking his bells, and followed by the nursery\nmummers. The performance was most successful. It was by no means\npathetic, and yet, as has been said, the Captain's wife shed tears.\n\n\"What is the matter, Mamma?\" said St. George, abruptly dropping his\nsword and running up to her.\n\n\"Don't tease Mamma with questions,\" said the Captain; \"she is not very\nwell, and rather sad. We must all be very kind and good to poor dear\nMamma;\" and the Captain raised his wife's hand to his lips as he\nspoke. Robin seized the other hand and kissed it tenderly. He was very\nfond of his mother. At this moment Pax took a little run, and jumped\non to Mamma's lap, where, sitting facing the company, he opened his\nblack mouth and yawned, with a ludicrous inappropriateness worthy of\nany clown. It made everybody laugh.\n\n\"And now we'll go and act in the kitchen,\" said Nicholas.\n\n\"Supper at nine o'clock, remember,\" shouted the Captain. \"And we are\ngoing to have real frumenty and Yule cakes, such as Mamma used to tell\nus of when we were abroad.\"\n\n\"Hurray!\" shouted the mummers, and they ran off, Pax leaping from his\nseat just in time to hustle the Black Prince in the doorway. When the\ndining-room door was shut, St. George raised his hand, and said\n\"Hush!\"\n\nThe mummers pricked their ears, but there was only a distant harsh and\nscraping sound, as of stones rubbed together.\n\n\"They're cleaning the passages,\" St. George went on, \"and Sarah told\nme they meant to finish the mistletoe, and have everything cleaned up\nby supper-time. They don't want us, I know. Look here, we'll go _real\nmumming_ instead. That _will_ be fun!\"\n\nThe Valiant Slasher grinned with delight.\n\n\"But will mamma let us?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Oh, it will be all right if we're back by supper-time,\" said St.\nGeorge, hastily. \"Only of course we must take care not to catch cold.\nCome and help me to get some wraps.\"\n\nThe old oak chest in which spare shawls, rugs, and coats were kept was\nsoon ransacked, and the mummers' gay dresses hidden by motley\nwrappers. But no sooner did Darkie and Pax behold the coats, &c., than\nthey at once began to leap and bark, as it was their custom to do when\nthey saw any one dressing to go out. Robin was sorely afraid that this\nwould betray them; but though the Captain and his wife heard the\nbarking they did not guess the cause.\n\nSo the front door being very gently opened and closed, the nursery\nmummers stole away.\n\n\nTHE NURSERY MUMMERS AND THE OLD MAN.\n\nIt was a very fine night. The snow was well trodden on the drive, so\nthat it did not wet their feet, but on the trees and shrubs it hung\nsoft and white.\n\n\"It's much jollier being out at night than in the daytime,\" said\nRobin.\n\n\"Much,\" responded Nicholas, with intense feeling.\n\n\"We'll go a wassailing next week,\" said Robin. \"I know all about it,\nand perhaps we shall get a good lot of money, and then we'll buy tin\nswords with scabbards for next year. I don't like these sticks. Oh,\ndear, I wish it wasn't so long between one Christmas and another.\"\n\n\"Where shall we go first?\" asked Nicholas, as they turned into the\nhigh-road. But before Robin could reply, Dora clung to Nicholas,\ncrying, \"Oh, look at those men!\"\n\nThe boys looked up the road, down which three men were coming in a\nvery unsteady fashion, and shouting as they rolled from side to side.\n\n\"They're drunk,\" said Nicholas; \"and they're shouting at us.\"\n\n\"Oh, run, run!\" cried Dora; and down the road they ran, the men\nshouting and following them. They had not run far, when Hector caught\nhis foot in the Captain's great-coat, which he was wearing, and came\ndown headlong in the road. They were close by a gate, and when\nNicholas had set Hector upon his legs, St. George hastily opened it.\n\n\"This is the first house,\" he said. \"We'll act here;\" and all, even\nthe Valiant Slasher, pressed in as quickly as possible. Once safe\nwithin the grounds, they shouldered their sticks, and resumed their\ncomposure.\n\n\"You're going to the front door,\" said Nicholas, \"Mummers ought to go\nto the back.\"\n\n\"We don't know where it is,\" said Robin, and he rang the front-door\nbell. There was a pause. Then lights shone, steps were heard, and at\nlast a sound of much unbarring, unbolting, and unlocking. It might\nhave been a prison. Then the door was opened by an elderly,\ntimid-looking woman, who held a tallow candle above her head.\n\n\"Who's there,\" she said, \"at this time of night?\"\n\n\"We're Christmas mummers,\" said Robin, stoutly; \"we don't know the way\nto the back door, but--\"\n\n\"And don't you know better than to come here?\" said the woman. \"Be off\nwith you, as fast as you can.\"\n\n\"You're only the servant,\" said Robin. \"Go and ask your master and\nmistress if they wouldn't like to see us act. We do it very well.\"\n\n\"You impudent boy, be off with you!\" repeated the woman. \"Master'd no\nmore let you nor any other such rubbish set foot in this house--\"\n\n\"Woman!\" shouted a voice close behind her, which made her start as if\nshe had been shot, \"who authorizes you to say what your master will or\nwill not do, before you've asked him? The boy is right. You _are_ the\nservant, and it is not your business to choose for me whom I shall or\nshall not see.\"\n\n\"I meant no harm, sir, I'm sure,\" said the housekeeper; \"but I thought\nyou'd never--\"\n\n\"My good woman,\" said her master, \"if I had wanted somebody to think\nfor me, you're the last person I should have employed. I hire you to\nobey orders, not to think.\"\n\n\"I'm sure, sir,\" said the housekeeper, whose only form of argument was\nreiteration, \"I never thought you would have seen them--\"\n\n\"Then you were wrong,\" shouted her master. \"I will see them. Bring\nthem in.\"\n\nHe was a tall, gaunt old man, and Robin stared at him for some\nminutes, wondering where he could have seen somebody very like him. At\nlast he remembered. It was the old gentleman of the blue cloak.\n\nThe children threw off their wraps, the housekeeper helping them, and\nchattering ceaselessly, from sheer nervousness.\n\n\"Well, to be sure,\" said she, \"their dresses are pretty too. And they\nseem quite a better sort of children, they talk quite genteel. I might\nha' knowed they weren't like common mummers, but I was so flusterated\nhearing the bell go so late, and--\"\n\n\"Are they ready?\" said the old man, who had stood like a ghost in the\ndim light of the flaring tallow candle, grimly watching the\nproceedings.\n\n\"Yes, sir. Shall I take them to the kitchen, sir?\"\n\n\"--for you and the other idle hussies to gape and grin at? No. Bring\nthem to the library,\" he snapped, and then stalked off, leading the\nway.\n\nThe housekeeper accordingly led them to the library, and then\nwithdrew, nearly falling on her face as she left the room by stumbling\nover Darkie, who slipped in last like a black shadow.\n\nThe old man was seated in a carved oak chair by the fire.\n\n\"I never said the dogs were to come in,\" he said.\n\n\"But we can't do without them, please,\" said Robin, boldly. \"You see\nthere are eight people in 'The Peace Egg,' and there are only five of\nus; and so Darkie has to be the Black Prince, and Pax has to be the\nFool, and so we have to have them.\"\n\n\"Five and two make seven,\" said the old man, with a grim smile; \"what\ndo you do for the eighth?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's the little one at the end,\" said Robin, confidentially.\n\"Mamma said we weren't to mention him, but I think that's because\nwe're children.--You're grown up, you know, so I'll show you the book,\nand you can see for yourself,\" he went on, drawing \"The Peace Egg\"\nfrom his pocket: \"there, that's the picture of him, on the last page;\nblack, with horns and a tail.\"\n\nThe old man's stern face relaxed into a broad smile as he examined the\ngrotesque woodcut; but when he turned to the first page the smile\nvanished in a deep frown, and his eyes shone like hot coals with\nanger. He had seen Robin's name.\n\n\"Who sent you here?\" he asked, in a hoarse voice. \"Speak, and speak\nthe truth! Did your mother send you here?\"\n\nRobin thought the old man was angry with them for playing truant. He\nsaid, slowly, \"N--no. She didn't exactly send us; but I don't think\nshe'll mind our having come if we get back in time for supper. Mamma\nnever _forbid_ our going mumming, you know.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose she ever thought of it,\" Nicholas said, candidly,\nwagging his curly head from side to side.\n\n\"She knows we're mummers,\" said Robin, \"for she helped us. When we\nwere abroad, you know, she used to tell us about the mummers acting\nat Christmas, when she was a little girl; and so we thought we'd be\nmummers, and so we acted to Papa and Mamma, and so we thought we'd act\nto the maids, but they were cleaning the passages, and so we thought\nwe'd really go mumming; and we've got several other houses to go to\nbefore supper-time; we'd better begin, I think,\" said Robin; and\nwithout more ado he began to march round and round, raising his sword\nand shouting--\n\n    \"I am St. George, who from Old England sprung,\n    My famous name throughout the world hath rung.\"\n\nAnd the performance went off quite as creditably as before.\n\nAs the children acted the old man's anger wore off. He watched them\nwith an interest he could not repress. When Nicholas took some hard\nthwacks from St. George without flinching, the old man clapped his\nhands; and, after the encounter between St. George and the Black\nPrince, he said he would not have had the dogs excluded on any\nconsideration. It was just at the end, when they were all marching\nround and round, holding on by each other's swords \"over the\nshoulder,\" and singing \"A mumming we will go,\" &c., that Nicholas\nsuddenly brought the circle to a standstill by stopping dead short,\nand staring up at the wall before him.\n\n\"What _are_ you stopping for?\" said St. George, turning indignantly\nround.\n\n\"Look there!\" cried Nicholas, pointing to a little painting which hung\nabove the old man's head.\n\nRobin looked, and said, abruptly, \"It's Dora.\"\n\n\"Which is Dora?\" asked the old man, in a strange, sharp tone.\n\n\"Here she is,\" said Robin and Nicholas in one breath, as they dragged\nher forward.\n\n\"She's the Doctor,\" said Robin; \"and you can't see her face for her\nthings. Dor, take off your cap and pull back that hood. There! Oh, it\n_is_ like her!\"\n\nIt was a portrait of her mother as a child; but of this the nursery\nmummers knew nothing. The old man looked as the peaked cap and hood\nfell away from Dora's face and fair curls, and then he uttered a sharp\ncry, and buried his head upon his hands. The boys stood stupefied, but\nDora ran up to him, and putting her little hands on his arms, said, in\nchildish pitying tones, \"Oh, I am so sorry! Have you got a headache?\nMay Robin put the shovel in the fire for you? Mamma has hot shovels\nfor her headaches.\" And, though the old man did not speak or move, she\nwent on coaxing him, and stroking his head, on which the hair was\nwhite. At this moment Pax took one of his unexpected runs, and jumped\non to the old man's knee, in his own particular fashion, and then\nyawned at the company. The old man was startled, and lifted his face\nsuddenly. It was wet with tears.\n\n\"Why, you're crying!\" exclaimed the children, with one breath.\n\n\"It's very odd,\" said Robin, fretfully. \"I can't think what's the\nmatter to-night. Mamma was crying too when we were acting, and Papa\nsaid we weren't to tease her with questions, and he kissed her hand,\nand I kissed her hand too. And Papa said we must all be very good and\nkind to poor dear Mamma, and so I mean to be, she's so good. And I\nthink we'd better go home, or perhaps she'll be frightened,\" Robin\nadded.\n\n\"She's so good, is she?\" asked the old man. He had put Pax off his\nknee, and taken Dora on to it.\n\n\"Oh, isn't she!\" said Nicholas, swaying his curly head from side to\nside as usual.\n\n\"She's always good,\" said Robin, emphatically; \"and so's Papa. But I'm\nalways doing something I oughtn't to,\" he added, slowly. \"But then,\nyou know, I don't pretend to obey Sarah. I don't care a fig for Sarah;\nand I won't obey any woman but Mamma.\"\n\n\"Who's Sarah?\" asked the grandfather.\n\n\"She's our nurse,\" said Robin, \"and she tells--I mustn't say what she\ntells--but it's not the truth. She told one about _you_ the other\nday,\" he added.\n\n\"About me?\" said the old man.\n\n\"She said you were our grandpapa. So then I knew she was telling _you\nknow what_.\"\n\n\"How did you know it wasn't true?\" the old man asked.\n\n\"Why, of course,\" said Robin, \"if you were our Mamma's father, you'd\nknow her, and be very fond of her, and come and see her. And then\nyou'd be our grandfather, too, and you'd have us to see you, and\nperhaps give us Christmas-boxes. I wish you were,\" Robin added with a\nsigh. \"It would be very nice.\"\n\n\"Would _you_ like it?\" asked the old man of Dora.\n\nAnd Dora, who was half asleep and very comfortable, put her little\narms about his neck as she was wont to put them round the Captain's,\nand said, \"Very much.\"\n\nHe put her down at last, very tenderly, almost unwillingly, and left\nthe children alone. By and by he returned, dressed in the blue cloak,\nand took Dora up again.\n\n\"I will see you home,\" he said.\n\nThe children had not been missed. The clock had only just struck nine\nwhen there came a knock on the door of the dining-room, where the\nCaptain and his wife still sat by the Yule log. She said \"Come in,\"\nwearily, thinking it was the frumenty and the Christmas cakes.\n\nBut it was her father, with her child in his arms!\n\n\nPEACE AND GOODWILL.\n\nLucy Jane Bull and her sisters were quite old enough to understand a\ngood deal of grown-up conversation when they overheard it. Thus, when\na friend of Mrs. Bull's observed during an afternoon call that she\nbelieved that \"officers' wives were very dressy,\" the young ladies\nwere at once resolved to keep a sharp look-out for the Captain's\nwife's bonnet in church on Christmas Day.\n\nThe Bulls had just taken their seats when the Captain's wife came in.\nThey really would have hid their faces, and looked at the bonnet\nafterwards, but for the startling sight that met the gaze of the\ncongregation. The old grandfather walked into church abreast of the\nCaptain.\n\n\"They've met in the porch,\" whispered Mr. Bull, under the shelter of\nhis hat.\n\n\"They can't quarrel publicly in a place of worship,\" said Mrs. Bull,\nturning pale.\n\n\"She's gone into his seat,\" cried Lucy Jane in a shrill whisper.\n\n\"And the children after her,\" added the other sister, incautiously\naloud.\n\nThere was now no doubt about the matter. The old man in his blue cloak\nstood for a few moments politely disputing the question of precedence\nwith his handsome son-in-law. Then the Captain bowed and passed in,\nand the old man followed him.\n\nBy the time that the service was ended everybody knew of the happy\npeacemaking, and was glad. One old friend after another came up with\nblessings and good wishes. This was a proper Christmas, indeed, they\nsaid. There was a general rejoicing.\n\nBut only the grandfather and his children knew that it was hatched\nfrom \"The Peace Egg.\"\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY.\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY.\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nSince a little story of mine called \"The Peace Egg\" appeared in _Aunt\nJudy's Magazine_, I have again and again been asked where the Mumming\nPlay could be found which gave its name to my tale, and if real\nchildren could act it, as did the fancy children of my story.\n\nAs it stands, this old Christmas Mumming Play (which seems to have\nborrowed the name of an Easter Entertainment or Pasque Egg) is not fit\nfor domestic performance; and though probably there are few nurseries\nin those parts of England where \"mumming\" and the sword-dance still\nlinger, in which the children do not play some version of St. George's\nexploits, a little of the dialogue goes a long way, and the mummery\n(which must almost be seen to be imitated) is the chief matter.\n\nIn fact, the mummery _is_ the chief matter--which is what makes the\nplay so attractive to children, and, it may be added, so suitable for\ntheir performance. In its rudeness, its simplicity, its fancy\ndressing, the rapid action of the plot, and last, but not least, its\n_bludginess_--that quality which made the history of Goliath so dear\nto the youngest of Helen's Babies!--it is adapted for nursery\namusement, as the Drama of Punch and Judy is, and for similar reasons.\n\nFor some little time past I have purposed to try and blend the various\nversions of \"Peace Egg\" into one Mummery for the nursery, with as\nlittle change of the old rhymes as might be. I have been again urged\nto do so this Christmas, and though I have not been able to give so\nmuch time or research to it as I should have liked, I have thought it\nbetter to do it without further delay, even if somewhat imperfectly.\n\nTo shuffle the characters and vary the text is nothing new in the\nhistory of these \"Mock Plays,\" as they were sometimes called.\n\nThey are probably of very ancient origin--\"Pagan, I regret to say,\" as\nMr. Pecksniff observed in reference to the sirens--and go back to \"the\nheathen custom of going about on the Kalends of January in disguises,\nas wild beasts and cattle, the sexes changing apparel,\" (There is a\nrelic of this last unseemly custom still in \"The Old Tup\" and \"The Old\nHorse\"; when these are performed by both girls and boys, the latter\nwear skirts and bonnets, the former hats and great-coats; this is also\nthe case in Scotland where the boys and girls go round at Hogmanay.)\n\nIn the 12th century the clergy introduced miracle plays and Scripture\nhistories to rival the performances of the strolling players, which\nhad become very gross. They became as popular as beneficial, and\nLondon was famous for them. Different places, and even trade-guilds\nand schools, had their differing \"mysteries.\"\n\nSecular plays continued, and the two seem occasionally to have got\nmixed. Into one of the oldest of old plays, \"St. George and the\nDragon,\" the Crusaders and Pilgrims introduced the Eastern characters\nwho still remain there. This is the foundation of \"The Peace Egg.\"\nAbout the middle of the 15th century, plays, which, not quite\nreligious, still witnessed to the effect of the religious plays in\nraising the standard of public taste, appeared under the name of\n\"Morals,\" or \"Moralities.\"\n\nChristmas plays, masques, pageants, and the like were largely\npatronized by the Tudor sovereigns, and the fashion set by the Court\nwas followed in the country. Queen Elizabeth was not only devoted to\nthe drama, and herself performed, but she was very critical and\nexacting; and the high demand which she did so much to stimulate, was\nfollowed by such supply as was given by the surpassing dramatic\ngenius of the Elizabethan age of literature. Later, Ben Jonson and\nInigo Jones combined to produce the Court masks, one of which,--the\nwell-known \"Mask of Christmas,\" had for chief characters, Christmas\nand his children, Misrule, Carol, Mince Pie, Gambol, Post and Pair,\nNew Year's Gift, Mumming, Wassel, Offering, and Baby's Cake. In the\n17th century the Christmas Mummeries of the Inns of Court were\nconducted with great magnificence and at large cost.\n\nAll such entertainments were severely suppressed during the\nCommonwealth, at which time the words \"Welcome, or not welcome, I am\ncome,\" were introduced into Father Christmas's part.\n\nAt one time the Jester of the piece (he is sometimes called the\nJester, and sometimes the Fool, or the Old Fool) used to wear a calf's\nhide. Robin Goodfellow says, \"I'll go put on my devilish robes--I mean\nmy Christmas calf's-skin suit--and then walk to the woods.\" \"I'll put\nme on my great carnation nose, and wrap me in a rousing calf-skin\nsuit, and come like some hobgoblin.\" And a character of the 18th\ncentury \"clears the way\" with--\n\n    \"My name is Captain Calftail, Calftail--\n      And on my back it is plain to be seen,\n    Although I am simple and wear a fool's cap,\n      I am dearly beloved of a queen--\"\n\nwhich looks as if Titania had found her way into that mummery!\n\n\"The Hobby Horse's\" costume was a horse's hide, real or imitated. I\nhave no copy of a Christmas Play in which the Hobby Horse appears. In\nthe north of England, \"The Old Horse\" and \"The Old Tup\" are the\nrespective heroes of their own peculiar mummeries, generally performed\nby a younger, or perhaps a rougher, set of lads than those who play\nthe more elegant mysteries of St. George. The boy who acts \"Old Tup\"\nhas a ram's head impaled upon a short pole, which he grasps and uses\nas a sort of wooden leg in front of him. He needs some extra support,\nhis back being bent as If for leap-frog, and covered with an old rug\n(in days when \"meat\" was cheaper it was probably a hide). The hollow\nsound of his peg-leg upon the \"flags\" of the stone passages and\nkitchen floor, and the yearly test of courage supplied by the rude\nfamiliarities of his gruesome head as he charged and dispersed maids\nand children, amid shrieks and laughter, are probably familiar\nmemories of all Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire childhoods. I do\nnot know if the Old Horse and the Old Tup belong to other parts of the\nBritish Isles. It is a rude and somewhat vulgar performance,\nespecially if undertaken by older revellers, when the men wear skirts\nand bonnets, and the women don great-coats and hats--the Fool, the\nDoctor, and a darker character with a besom, are often of the party,\nbut the Knights of Christendom and the Eastern Potentates take no\nshare in these proceedings, which are oftenest and most inoffensively\nperformed by little boys not yet promoted to be \"mummers.\" It is,\nhowever, essential that one of them should have a good voice, true and\ntuneful enough to sing a long ballad, and lead the chorus.\n\nIn the scale of contributions to the numerous itinerant Christmas\nBoxes of Christmas week--such as the Ringers, the Waits, the Brass\nBand, the Hand-bells, the Mummers (Peace Egg), the Superior Mummers,\nwho do more intricate sword-play (and in the North Riding are called\nMorris Dancers), &c. &c., the Old Tup stands low down on the list. I\nnever heard the Rhymes of the Old Horse; they cannot be the same.\nThese diversions are very strictly localized and handed on by word of\nmouth.\n\nOf the best version of \"Peace Egg\" which I have seen performed, I have\nas yet quite vainly endeavoured to get any part transcribed. It is\noral tradition. It is practised for some weeks beforehand, and the\ncostumes, including wonderful head-dresses about the size of the\nplumed bonnet of a Highlander in full-dress, are carefully preserved\nfrom year to year. These paste-board erections are covered with\nflowers, feathers, bugles, and coloured streamers. The dresses are of\ncoloured calico, with ribbons everywhere; \"points\" to the breeches and\nhose, shoulder-knots and sashes.\n\nBut, as a rough rule, it is one of the conveniences of mumming play,\nthat the finery may be according to the taste and the resources of the\ncompany.\n\nThe swords are of steel, and those I have seen are short. In some\nplaces I believe rapiers are used. I am very sorry to be unable to\ngive proper directions for the sword-play, which is so pretty. I have\nonly one version in which such directions are given. I have copied the\n\"Grand Sword Dance\" in its proper place for the benefit of those who\ncan interpret it. It is not easy to explain in writing even so much of\nit as I know. Each combat consists of the same number of cuts, to the\nbest of my remembrance, and the \"shoulder cuts\" (which look very like\ntwo persons sharpening two knives as close as possible to each other's\nnose!) are in double time, twice as quick as the others. The stage\ndirections are as follows:--\n\n   A. and B. fight\n\nCut I  ... ...  Crossing each other.\n        (They change places, striking as they pass.)\n\nCut 2  ... ...    \"     \"     back.\n\nCut 3  ... ...    \"     \"     other.\n\nCut 4  ... ...    \"     \"     back.\n\nFour shoulder cuts.\n\n  A. loses his sword and falls.\n\nBut I do not think the version from which this is an extract is at all\nan elaborate one. There ought to be a \"Triumph,\" with an archway of\nswords, in the style of Sir Roger de Coverley. After the passing and\nrepassing strokes, there is usually much more hand-to-hand fighting,\nthen four shoulder cuts, and some are aimed high and some down among\ntheir ankles, in a way which would probably be quite clear to any one\ntrained in broadsword exercise.\n\nThe following Christmas Mumming Play is compiled from five\nversions--the \"Peace Egg,\" the \"Wassail Cup,\" \"Alexander the Great,\"\n\"A Mock Play,\" and the \"Silverton Mummer's Play\" (Devon), which has\nbeen lent to me in manuscript.\n\nThe Mumming Chorus, \"And a mumming we will go,\" &c., is not in any one\nof these versions, but I never saw mumming without it.\n\nThe Silverton version is an extreme example of the continuous\ndevelopment of these unwritten dramas. Generation after generation,\nthe most incongruous characters have been added. In some cases this is\na very striking testimony to the strength of rural sympathy with the\ngreat deeds and heroes of the time, as well as to native talent for\ndramatic composition.\n\nWellington and Wolfe almost eclipsed St. George in some parts of\nEngland, and the sea Heroes are naturally popular in Devonshire. The\ndeath of Nelson in the Silverton play has fine dramatic touches.\nThough he \"has but one arm and a good one too,\" he essays to\nfight--whether Tippo Saib or St. George is not made clear. He falls,\nand St. George calls for the Doctor in the usual words. The Doctor\nends his peculiar harangue with: \"Britons! our Nelson is dead.\" To\nwhich a voice, which seems to play the part of Greek chorus,\nresponds--\"But he is not with the dead, but in the arms of the Living\nGod!\" Then, enter Collingwood--\n\n    \"_Collingwood_--Here comes I, bold Collingwood,\n                    Who fought the French and boldly stood;\n                    And now the life of that bold Briton's gone,\n                    I'll put the crown of victory on\"--\n\nwith which--\"he takes the crown off Nelson's head and puts it on his\nown.\"\n\nI have, however, confined myself in \"The Peace Egg\" to those\ncharacters which have the warrant of considerable antiquity, and their\nnumber is not small. They can easily be reduced by cutting out one or\ntwo; or some of the minor characters could play more than one part, by\nmaking real exits and changing the dress, instead of the conventional\nexit into the background of the group.\n\nSome of these minor characters are not the least charming. The fair\nSabra (who is often a mute) should be the youngest and prettiest\nlittle maid that can toddle through her part, and no old family\nbrocade can be too gorgeous for her. The Pretty Page is another part\nfor a \"very little one,\" and his velvets and laces should become him.\nThey contrast delightfully with Dame Dolly and Little Man Jack, and\nmight, if needful, be played by the same performers.\n\nI have cut out everything that could possibly offend, except the\nline--\"Take him and give him to the flies.\" It betrays an experience\nof Asiatic battlefields so terribly real, that I was unwilling to\nabolish this unconscious witness to the influence of Pilgrims and\nCrusaders on the Peace Egg. It is easily omitted.\n\nI have dismissed the Lord of Flies, Beelzebub, and (with some\nreluctance) \"Little Devil Doubt\" and his besom. I had a mind to have\nretained him as \"The Demon of Doubt,\" for he plays in far higher\ndramas. His besom also seems to come from the East, where a figure\n\"sweeping everything out\" with a broom is the first vision produced in\nthe crystal or liquid in the palm of a medium by the magicians of\nEgypt.\n\nThose who wish to do so can admit him at the very end, after the sword\ndance, very black, and with a besom, a money-box, and the following\ndoggrel:\n\n    In come I, the Demon of Doubt,\n    If you don't give me money I'll sweep you all out;\n    Money I want and money I crave,\n    Money I want and money I'll have.\n\nHe is not a taking character--unless to the antiquary! I have\nsubstituted the last line for the less decorous original, \"If you\ndon't give me money, I'll sweep you all to the grave.\"\n\nIt is perhaps only the antiquary who will detect the connection\nbetween the Milk Pail and the Wassail Cup in the Fool's Song. But it\nseems at one time to have been made of milk. In a play of the 16th\ncentury it is described as--\n\n    \"Wassayle, wassayle, out of the mylke payle;\n    Wassayle, wassayle, as white as my nayle,\"\n\nand Selden calls it \"a slabby stuff,\" which sounds as if it had got\nmixed up with frumenty.\n\nSince the above went to press, I have received some extracts from the\nunwritten version of \"Peace Egg\" in the West Riding of Yorkshire to\nwhich I have alluded. They recall to me that the piece properly opens\nwith a \"mumming round,\" different to the one I have given, _that_ one\nbelonging to the end. The first Mumming Song rehearses each character\nand his exploits. The hero of the verse which describes him singing\n(autobiographically!) his own doughty deeds in the third person. Thus\nSt. George begins; I give it in the vernacular.\n\n    \"The first to coom in is the Champion bould,\n    The Champion bould is he,\n    He never fought battle i' all his loife toim,\n    But he made his bould enemy flee, flee, flee,\n    He made his bould enemy flee.\"\n\nThe beauty of this song is the precision with which each character\nenters and joins the slowly increasing circle. But that is its only\nmerit. It is wretched doggrel, and would make the play far too\ntedious. I was, however, interested by this verse:--\n\n    The next to come in is the Cat and Calftail,\n    The Cat and Calftail is he;\n    He'll beg and he'll borrow, and he'll steal all he can,\n    But he'll never pay back one penny, penny,\n    He'll never pay back one penny.\n\nWhether \"Cat and Calftail\" is a corruption of Captain Calftail or\n(more likely) Captain Calftail was evolved from a Fool in Calf's hide\nand Cat's skins, it is hard to say. They are evidently one and the\nsame shabby personage!\n\nThe song which I have placed at the head of the Peace Egg Play has\nother verses which also recite \"the argument\" of the piece, but not\none is worth recording. A third song does not, I feel sure, belong to\nthe classic versions, but to another \"rude and vulgar\" one, which I\nhave not seen for some years, and which was played in a dialect dark,\neven to those who flattered themselves that they were to the manner\nborn. In it St. George and the Old Fool wrangle, the O.F. accusing the\nPatron Saint of England of stealing clothes hung out to dry on the\nhedges. St. George, who has previously boasted--\n\n    I've travelled this world all round,\n    And hope to do it again,\n    I was once put out of my way\n    By a hundred and forty men--\n\n--indignantly denies the theft, and adds that, on the contrary, he has\nalways sent home money to his old mother. To which the Old Fool\ncontemptuously responds--\n\n    All the relations thou had were few,\n    Thou had an Old Granny I knew,\n    She went a red-cabbage selling,\n    As a many old people do.\n\nIn either this, or another, rough version, the hero (presumably St.\nGeorge) takes counsel with Man Jack on his love affairs. Man Jack is\nplayed by a small boy in a very tall beaver hat, and with his face\nblacked.\n\n\"My Man Jack, what can the matter be?\nThat I should luv this lady, and she will not luv me.\"\n\nST. GEORGE and MAN JACK.\n\n  No, nor nayther will she walk {with me\n                                {with thee.\n\n  No, nor nayther will she talk {with me\n                                {with thee.\n\nBut the true \"Peace Egg,\" if _bludgy_, is essentially a heroic play,\nand I think the readers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ will be content that\nI have omitted accretions which are not the less vulgar because they\nare old.\n\nIn refining and welding the piece together, I have introduced thirty\nlines of my own, in various places. The rest is genuine.\n\nJ. H. E.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEACE EGG.\n\nA CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY.\n\n_Written expressly for all Mummers, to commemorate the Holy Wars, and\nthe happy Festival of Christmas._\n\n\nDRAMATIS PERSONAE.\n\nST. GEORGE OF ENGLAND (_he must wear a rose_).\n\nST. ANDREW OF SCOTLAND(_he must wear a thistle_).\n\nST. PATRICK OF IRELAND(_he must wear the shamrock_).\n\nST. DAVID OF WALES(_he must wear a leek_).\n\nSALADIN, A PAGAN GIANT OF PALESTINE(_a very tall grown-up\nactor would be effective_).\n\nTHE KING OF EGYPT(_in a turban and crown_).\n\nTHE PRINCE OF PARADINE, HIS SON(_face blacked, and it is_\n\"tradition\" _to play this part in weeds, as if he were Hamlet_).\n\nTHE TURKISH KNIGHT(_Eastern costume_).\n\nHECTOR.\n\nTHE VALIANT SLASHER (_old yeomanry coat, &c., is effective_).\n\nTHE DRAGON(_a paste-board head, with horrid jaws, if possible.\nA tail, and paws with claws_).\n\nTHE FOOL(_Motley: with a bauble long enough to put over his shoulder\nand be held by the one behind in the mumming circle_).\n\nOLD FATHER CHRISTMAS(_white beard, &c., and a staff_).\n\nTHE DOCTOR(_wig, spectacles, hat and cane_).\n\nTHE LITTLE PAGE(_pretty little boy in velvet, &c_.).\n\nLITTLE MAN JACK(_big mask head, if convenient, short cloak\nand club_).\n\nPRINCESS SABRA(_pretty little girl, gorgeously dressed, a crown_).\n\nDAME DOLLY(_a large mask head, if possible, and a very amazing\ncap. Dame Dolly should bob curtseys and dance about_).\n\nNo scenery is required. The actors, as a rule, all come in together.\nTo \"enter\" means to stand forth, and \"exit\" that the actor retires\ninto the background. But the following method will be found most\neffective. Let Fool enter alone, and the rest come in one by one when\nthe Fool begins to sing. They must march in to the music, and join the\ncircle with regularity. Each actor as he \"brags,\" and gives his\nchallenge, does so marching up and down, his drawn sword over his\nshoulder. All the characters take part in the \"Mumming Round.\" The\nnext to Fair Sabra might hold up her train, and if Dame Dolly had a\nGamp umbrella to put over _her_ shoulder, it would not detract from\nher comic charms. The Trumpet Calls for the four Patron Knights should\nbe appropriate to each. If a Trumpet is quite impossible, some one\nshould play a national air as each champion enters.\n\n_Enter_ FOOL.\n\n    FOOL. Good morrow, friends and neighbours dear,\n    We are right glad to meet you here,\n    Christmas comes but once a year,\n    But when it comes it brings good cheer,\n    And when it's gone it's no longer near.\n    May luck attend the milking-pail,\n    Yule logs and cakes in plenty be,\n    May each blow of the thrashing-flail\n    Produce good frumenty.\n    And let the Wassail Cup abound,\n    Whene'er the mummers' time comes round.\n\n_Air, \"Le Petit Tambour._\"\n\n    _Sings._ Now all ye jolly mummers\n    Who mum in Christmas time,\n    Come join with me in chorus,\n    Come join with me in rhyme.\n\n[_He has laid his bauble, over his shoulder, and it is taken by_ ST.\nGEORGE, _who is followed by all the other actors, each laying his\nsword over his right shoulder and his left hand on the sword-point in\nfront of him, and all marking time with their feet till the circle is\ncomplete, when they march round singing the chorus over and over\nagain._]\n\n    _Chorus._ And a mumming we will go, will go,\n    And a mumming we will go,\n    With a bright cockade in all our hats, we'll go with a gallant show.\n\n[_Disperse, and stand aside._]\n\n[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS.]\n\nFATHER CHRISTMAS Here comes I, old Father Christmas;\nWelcome, or welcome not,\nI hope poor old Father Christmas\nWill never be forgot!\nMy head is white, my back is bent,\nMy knees are weak, my strength is spent.\nEighteen hundred and eighty-three\nIs a very great age for me.\nAnd if I'd been growing all these years\nWhat a monster I should be!\nNow I have but a short time to stay,\nAnd if you don't believe what I say--\nCome in, Dame Dolly, and clear the way.\n\n[_Enter_ DAME DOLLY.]\n\nDAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dolly,\nWearing smart caps in all my folly.\nIf any gentleman takes my whim,\nI'll set my holiday cap at him.\nTo laugh at my cap would be very rude;\nI wish you well, and I won't intrude.\nGentlemen now at the door do stand,\nThey will walk in with drawn swords in hand,\nAnd if you don't believe what I say--\nLet one Fool and four knights from the British Isles come in and clear\n    the way!\n\n[_Enter_ FOOL_ and four Christian knights._]\n\nFOOL[_shaking his bells at intervals_].\nRoom, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport,\nFor to this room we wish now to resort:\nResort, and to repeat to you our merry rhyme,\nFor remember, good sirs, that this is Christmas time.\nThe time to make mince-pies doth now appear,\nSo we are come to act our merriment in here.\nAt the sounding of the trumpet, and beating of the drum,\nMake room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come.\nWe are the merry actors that traverse the street,\nWe are the merry actors that fight for our meat,\nWe are the merry actors that show pleasant play.\nStand forth, St. George, thou champion, and clear the way.\n\n[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. GEORGE.]\n\n[ST. GEORGE _stands forth and walks up and down with sword on\nshoulder._]\n\nST. GEORGE. I am St. George, from good Old England sprung,\nMy famous name throughout the world hath rung,\nMany bloody deeds and wonders have I shown,\nAnd made false tyrants tremble on their throne.\nI followed a fair lady to a giant's gate,\nConfined in dungeon deep to meet her fate.\nThen I resolved with true knight-errantry\nTo burst the door, and set the captive free.\nFar have I roamed, oft have I fought, and little do I rest;\nAll my delight is to defend the right, and succour the opprest.\nAnd now I'll slay the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin;\nA fell and fiery Dragon he, but I will clip his wing.\nI'll clip his wings, he shall not fly,\nI'll rid the land of him, or else I'll die.\n\n[_Enter_ THE DRAGON, _with a sword over his shoulder._]\n\nDRAGON. Who is it seeks the Dragon's blood,\nAnd calls so angry and so loud?\nThat English dog who looks so proud--\nIf I could catch him in my claw--\nWith my long teeth and horrid jaw,\nOf such I'd break up half a score,\nTo stay my appetite for more.\nMarrow from his bones I'd squeeze,\nAnd suck his blood up by degrees.\n\n[ST. GEORGE _and_ THE DRAGON _fight_. THE DRAGON_ is killed_. _Exit_\nDRAGON.]\n\nST. GEORGE. I am St. George, that worthy champion bold,\nAnd with my sword and spear I won three crowns of gold.\nI fought the fiery Dragon and brought him to the slaughter,\nBy which behaviour I won the favour of the King of Egypt's daughter.\nThus I have gained fair Sabra's hand, who long had won her heart.\nStand forth, Egyptian Princess, and boldly act thy part!\n\n[_Enter_ THE PRINCESS SABRA.]\n\nSABRA. I am the Princess Sabra, and it is my delight,\nMy chiefest pride, to be the bride of this gallant Christian knight.\n\n[ST. GEORGE _kneels and kisses her hand_. FOOL _advances and holds up\nhis hands over them._]\n\nFOOL. Why here's a sight will do any honest man's heart good,\nTo see the Dragon-slayer thus subdued!\n\n[ST. GEORGE _rises_. _Exit_ SABRA.]\n\nST. GEORGE. Keep thy jests in thy pocket if thou\nwould'st keep thy head on thy shoulders.\nI love a woman, and a woman loves me,\nAnd when I want a fool I'll send for thee.\nIf there is any man but me\nWho noxious beasts can tame,\nLet him stand forth in this gracious company,\nAnd boldly tell his name.\n\n[ST. GEORGE _stands aside_. _Trumpet sounds for_ ST. PATRICK.]\n\n[ST. PATRICK _stands forth._]\n\nST. PATRICK. I am St. Patrick from the bogs,\nThis truth I fain would learn ye,\nI banished serpents, toads, and frogs,\nFrom beautiful Hibernia.\nI flourished my shillelah\nAnd the reptiles all ran races,\nAnd they took their way into the sea,\nAnd they've never since shown their faces.\n\n[_Enter_ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE.]\n\nPRINCE. I am black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown,\nSoon will I fetch thy lofty courage down.\nCry grace, thou Irish conqueror of toads and frogs,\nGive me thy sword, or else I'll give thy carcase to the dogs.\n\nST. PATRICK. Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been?\nAnd what fine sights pray have you seen?\nDost think that no man of thy age\nDares such a black as thee engage?\nStand off, thou black Morocco dog, or by my sword thou'lt die,\nI'll pierce thy body full of holes, and make thy buttons fly.\n\n[_They fight._ THE PRINCE OF PARADINE _is slain._]\n\nST. PATRICK. Now Prince of Paradine is dead,\nAnd all his joys entirely fled,\nTake him and give him to the flies.\nThat he may never more come near my eyes.\n\n[_Enter_ KING OF EGYPT.]\n\nKING. I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear;\nI am come to seek my son, my only son and heir.\n\nST. PATRICK. He's slain! That's the worst of it.\n\nKING. Who did him slay, who did him kill,\nAnd on the ground his precious blood did spill?\n\nST. PATRICK. I did him slay, I did him kill,\nAnd on the ground his precious blood did spill.\nPlease you, my liege, my honour to maintain,\nAs I have done, so would I do again.\n\nKING. Cursed Christian! What is this thou hast done?\nThou hast ruined me, slaying my only son.\n\nST. PATRICK. He gave me the challenge. Why should I him deny?\nHow low he lies who held himself so high!\n\nKING. Oh! Hector! Hector! help me with speed,\nFor in my life I ne'er stood more in need.\n\n[_Enter_ HECTOR.]\n\nKING. Stand not there, Hector, with sword in hand,\nBut fight and kill at my command.\n\nHECTOR. Yes, yes, my liege, I will obey,\nAnd by my sword I hope to win the day.\nIf that be he who doth stand there\nThat slew my master's son and heir,\nThough he be sprung from royal blood\nI'll make it run like ocean flood.\n\n[_They fight._ HECTOR _is wounded._]\n\nI am a valiant hero, and Hector is my name,\nMany bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same,\nBut from St. Patrick I received this deadly wound.\n\n[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. ANDREW.]\n\nHark, hark, I hear the silver trumpet sound,\nIt summons me from off this bloody ground.\nDown yonder is the way (_pointing_);\nFarewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.\n\n[_Exit_ HECTOR.]\n\n[_Enter_ ST. ANDREW.]\n\nKING. Is there never a doctor to be found\nCan cure my son of his deep and deadly wound?\n\n[_Enter_ DOCTOR.]\n\nDOCTOR. Yes, yes, there is a doctor to be found\nCan cure your son of his deep and deadly wound.\n\nKING. What's your fee?\n\nDOCTOR. Five pounds and a yule cake to thee.\nI have a little bottle of Elacampane,\nIt goes by the name of virtue and fame,\nThat will make this worthy champion to rise and fight again.\n\n[_To_ PRINCE.] Here, sir, take a little of my flip-flop,\n\nPour it on thy tip-top.\n\n[_To audience, bowing._]\n\nLadies and Gentlemen can have my advice gratis.\n\n[_Exeunt_ KING OF EGYPT, PRINCE OF PARADINE, _and_ DOCTOR.]\n\n[ST. ANDREW _stands forth._]\n\nST. ANDREW. I am St. Andrew from the North,\nMen from that part are men of worth;\nTo travel south we're nothing loth,\nAnd treat you fairly, by my troth.\nHere comes a man looks ready for a fray.\nCome in, come in, bold soldier, and bravely clear the way.\n\n[_Enter_ SLASHER.]\n\nSLASHER. I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name,\nWith sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win more fame;\nAnd for to fight with me I see thou art not able,\nSo with my trusty broadsword I soon will thee disable.\n\nST. ANDREW. Disable, disable? It lies not in thy power,\nFor with a broader sword than thine I soon will thee devour.\nStand off, Slasher, let no more be said,\nFor if I draw my broadsword, I'm sure to break thy head.\n\nSLASHER. How canst thou break my head?\nSince my head is made of iron;\nMy body made of steel;\nMy hands and feet of knuckle-bone.\nI challenge thee to feel.\n\n[_They fight, and_ SLASHER _is wounded._]\n\n[FOOL _advances to_ SLASHER.]\n\nFOOL. Alas, alas, my chiefest son is slain!\nWhat must I do to raise him up again?\nHere he lies before you all,\nI'll presently for a doctor call.\nA doctor! A doctor! I'll go and fetch a doctor.\n\nDOCTOR. Here am I.\n\nFOOL. Are you the doctor?\n\nDOCTOR. That thou may plainly see, by my art and activity.\n\nFOOL. What's your fee to cure this poor man?\n\nDOCTOR. Five pounds is my fee; but, Jack, as thou art a fool, I'll\n    only take ten from thee.\n\nFOOL. You'll be a clever doctor if you get any.\n\n[_Aside._]\n\nWell, how far have you travelled in doctorship?\n\nDOCTOR. From the front door to the cupboard,\nCupboard to fireplace, fireplace up-stairs and into bed.\n\nFOOL. So far, and no farther?\n\nDOCTOR. Yes, yes, much farther.\n\nFOOL. How far?\n\nDOCTOR. Through England, Ireland, Scotland, Flanders, France, and Spain,\nAnd now am returned to cure the diseases of Old England again.\n\nFOOL. What can you cure?\n\nDOCTOR. All complaints within and without,\nFrom a cold in your head to a touch of the gout.\nIf any lady's figure is awry\nI'll make her very fitting to pass by.\nI'll give a coward a heart if he be willing,\nWill make him stand without fear of killing.\nRibs, legs, or arms, whate'er you break, be sure\nOf one or all I'll make a perfect cure.\nNay, more than this by far, I will maintain,\nIf you should lose your head or heart, I'll give it you again.\nThen here's a doctor rare, who travels much at home,\nSo take my pills, I'll cure all ills, past, present, or to come.\nI in my time many thousands have directed,\nAnd likewise have as many more dissected,\nAnd I never met a gravedigger who to me objected.\nIf a man gets nineteen bees in his bonnet, I'll cast\n    twenty of 'em out. I've got in my pocket\n    crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind\n    bumble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for\n    grasshoppers, and many other needful things.\n    Surely I can cure this poor man.\nHere, Slasher, take a little out of my bottle, and let\n    it run down thy throttle; and if thou beest not\n    quite slain, rise, man, and fight again.\n\n[SLASHER _rises._]\n\nSLASHER. Oh, my back!\n\nFOOL. What's amiss with thy back?\n\nSLASHER. My back is wounded,\nAnd my heart is confounded;\nTo be struck out of seven senses into fourscore,\nThe like was never seen in Old England before.\n\n[_Trumpet sounds for_ ST. DAVID.]\n\nOh, hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound!\nIt summons me from off this bloody ground.\nDown yonder is the way (_points_);\nFarewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.\n\n[_Exit_ SLASHER.]\n\nFOOL. Yes, Slasher, thou hadst better go,\nElse the next time he'll pierce thee through.\n\n[ST. DAVID _stands forth._]\n\nST. DAVID. Of Taffy's Land I'm Patron Saint.\nOh yes, indeed, I'll you acquaint,\nOf Ancient Britons I've a race\nDare meet a foeman face to face.\nFor Welshmen (hear it once again;)\nWere born before all other men.\nI'll fear no man in fight or freaks,\nWhilst Wales produces cheese and leeks.\n\n[_Enter_ TURKISH KNIGHT.]\n\nTURKISH KNIGHT. Here comes I, the Turkish Knight,\nCome from the Turkish land to fight.\nI'll take St. David for my foe,\nAnd make him yield before I go;\nHe brags to such a high degree,\nHe thinks there was never a Knight but he.\nSo draw thy sword, St. David, thou man of courage bold,\nIf thy Welsh blood is hot, soon will I fetch it cold.\n\nST. DAVID. Where is the Turk that will before me stand?\nI'll cut him down with my courageous hand.\n\nTURKISH KNIGHT. Draw out thy sword and slay,\nPull out thy purse and pay,\nFor satisfaction I will have, before I go away.\n\n[_They fight_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is wounded, and falls on one\nknee._]\n\nQuarter! quarter! good Christian, grace of thee I crave,\nOh, pardon me this night, and I will be thy slave.\n\nST. DAVID. I keep no slaves, thou Turkish Knight.\nSo rise thee up again, and try thy might.\n\n[_They fight again_. THE TURKISH KNIGHT _is slain._]\n\n[_Exit_ TURKISH KNIGHT.]\n\n[_Enter_ ST. GEORGE.]\n\nST. GEORGE. I am the chief of all these valiant knights,\nWe'll spill our heart's blood for Old England's rights.\nOld England's honour we will still maintain,\nWe'll fight for Old England once and again.\n\n[_Flourishes his sword above his head and then lays it over his right\nshoulder._]\n\nI challenge all my country's foes.\n\nST. PATRICK [_dealing with his sword in like manner,\nand then taking the point of_ ST. GEORGE'S _sword\nwith his left hand_].\n\nAnd I'll assist with mighty blows.\n\nST. ANDREW [_acting like the other_].\n\nAnd you shall find me ready too.\n\nST. DAVID [_the same_].\n\nAnd who but I so well as you.\n\nFOOL [_imitates the Knights, and they close the circle\nand go round_].\n\nWhile we are joined in heart and hand,\nA gallant and courageous band,\nIf e'er a foe dares look awry,\nWe'll one and all poke out his eye.\n\n[_Enter_ SALADIN.]\n\nSALADIN. Don't vaunt thus, my courageous knights,\nFor I, as you, have seen some sights\nIn Palestine, in days of yore.\n'Gainst prowess strong I bravely bore\nThe sway, when all the world in arms\nShook Holy Land with war's alarms.\nI for the crescent, you the cross,\nEach mighty host oft won and lost.\nI many a thousand men did slay,\nAnd ate two hundred twice a day,\nAnd now I come, a giant great,\nJust waiting for another meat.\n\nST. GEORGE. Oh! Saladin! Art thou come with sword in hand,\nAgainst St. George and Christendom so rashly to withstand?\n\nSALADIN. Yes, yes, St. George, with thee I mean to fight,\nAnd with one blow, I'll let thee know\nI am not the Turkish Knight.\n\nST. GEORGE. Ah, Saladin, St. George is in this very room,\nThou'rt come this unlucky hour to seek thy fatal doom.\n\n[_Enter_ LITTLE PAGE.]\n\nLITTLE PAGE. Hold, hold, St. George, I pray thee stand by,\nI'll conquer him, or else I'll die;\nLong with that Pagan champion will I engage,\nAlthough I am but the Little Page.\n\nST. GEORGE. Fight on, my little page, and conquer!\n  And don't thee be perplext,\nFor if thou discourage in the field,\n  Fight him will I next.\n\n[_They fight._ THE LITTLE PAGE _falls._]\n\nSALADIN. Though but a little man, they were great words he said.\n\nST. GEORGE. Ah! cruel monster. What havoc hast thou made?\nSee where the lovely stripling all on the floor is laid.\nA doctor! A doctor! Ten pounds for a doctor!\n\n[DAME DOLLY _dances forward, bobbing as before._]\n\nDAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dorothy,\nFlap front, and good-morrow to ye;\nMy head is big, my body is small,\nI'm the prettiest little jade of you all.\nCall not the Doctor for to make him worse,\nBut give the boy into my hand to nurse.\n\n[_To_ LITTLE PAGE.] Rise up, my pretty page, and come with me,\nAnd by kindness and kitchen physic, I'll cure thee without fee.\n\n[PAGE _rises. Exeunt_ PAGE _and_ DAME DOLLY.]\n\n[ST. GEORGE _and_ SALADIN _fight_. Saladin _is slain._]\n\n[_Enter_ FATHER CHRISTMAS.]\n\nST. GEORGE. Carry away the dead, Father.\n\nFATHER CHRISTMAS. Let's see whether he's dead or no, first, Georgy.\nYes; I think he's dead enough, Georgy.\n\nST. GEORGE. Carry him away then, Father.\n\nFATHER CHRISTMAS [_vainly tries to move the_ GIANT'S _body_].\n\nThou killed him; thou carry him away.\n\nST. GEORGE. If you can't carry him, call for help.\n\nFATHER CHRISTMAS [_to audience_].\nThree or four of you great logger-headed fellows,\nCome and carry him away.\n\n[DOCTOR _and_ FOOL _raise the_ GIANT _by his arms. Exit_ GIANT.]\n\n[_Enter_ LITTLE MAN JACK.]\n\nLITTLE MAN JACK. Here comes I, Little Man Jack,\nThe Master of Giants;\nIf I could but conquer thee, St. George,\nI'd bid the world defiance.\n\nST. GEORGE. And if thou beest Little Man Jack, the Master of all Giants,\nI'll take thee up on my back, and carry thee without violence.\n\n[_Lifts him over his shoulder._]\n\nFOOL. Now brave St. George, he rules the roast;\nBritons triumphant be the toast;\nLet cheerful song and dance abound,\nWhene'er the Mummers' time comes round.\n\n[_All sing._]\n\nRule, Britannia; Britannia rules the waves,\nBritons never, never, never will be slaves.\n\nGRAND SWORD DANCE.\n\nCut 1 and cross.\n\nCut 2 and cross partner (which is R. and L.).\n\nSame back again.\n\nThe two Knights at opposite corners R. H. Cut 1 and cross, and Cut 2\nwith opposite Knights.\n\nSame back (which is Ladies' Chain).\n\nFour sword-points up in the centre.\n\nAll go round--all Cut 6--and come to bridle-arm protect, and round to\nplaces.\n\nRepeat the first figure.\n\n[_All go round, and then out, singing._]\n\n[Illustration: Musical Score]\n\n_Allegro_,\n\nAnd a mumming we will go, will go, and a mumming we will go, With a\n\nbright cock-ade  in  all our hats, We'll go with a  gal-lant show.\n\n[_Exeunt omnes._]\n\nGOD SAVE THE QUEEN.\n\n\n\n\nHINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.\n\n\n\n\nHINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--I.\n\nIN A LETTER FROM BURNT CORK TO ROUGE POT.\n\n\nMY DEAR ROUGE POT,--You say that you all want to have \"theatricals\"\nthese holidays, and beg me to give you some useful rules and hints to\nstudy before the Christmas Play comes out in the December Number of\n_Aunt Judy_.\n\nI will do my best. But--to begin with--_do_ you \"all\" want them? At\nleast, do you all want them enough to keep in the same mind for ten\ndays or a fortnight, to take a good deal of trouble, whether it is\npleasant or not, and to give up some time and some of your own way, in\norder that the theatricals may be successful?\n\nIf you say Yes, we will proceed at once to the first--and perhaps the\nmost important--point, on which you will have to display two of an\nactor's greatest virtues--self-denial and good temper:--\n\nTHE STAGE-MANAGER.\n\nIf your numbers are limited, you may have to choose the one who knows\nmost about theatricals, and he or she may have to act a leading part\nas well. But by rights _the stage-manager ought not to act_;\nespecially as in juvenile theatricals he will probably be prompter,\nproperty-man, and scene-shifter into the bargain.\n\nIf your \"company\" consists of very young performers, an elder sister\nis probably the best stage-manager you could have. But _when once your\nstage-manager is chosen, all the actors must make up their minds to\nobey him implicitly_. They must take the parts he gives them, and\nabout any point in dispute the stage-manager's decision must be final.\nIt is quite likely that now and then he may be wrong. The leading\ngentleman may be more in the right, the leading lady may have another\nplan quite as good, or better; but as there would be \"no end to it\" if\neverybody's ideas had to be listened to and discussed, it is\nabsolutely necessary that there should be one head, and one plan\nloyally supported by the rest.\n\nTruism as it is, my dear Rouge Pot, I am bound to beg you never to\nforget that _everybody can't have everything_ in this world, and that\n_everybody can't be everything_ on the stage. What you (and I, and\nevery other actor!) would really like, would be to choose the play, to\nact the best part, to wear the nicest dress, to pick the people you\nwant to act with, to have the rehearsal on those days, and that part\nof the day, when you do not happen to want to go out, or do something\nelse, to have the power of making all the others do as you tell them,\nwithout the bother of hearing any grumbles, and to be well clapped and\ncomplimented at the conclusion of the performance. But as this very\nleading part could only be played by one person at the expense of all\nthe rest, private theatricals--like so many other affairs of this\nlife--must for everybody concerned be a compromise of pains and\npleasures, of making strict rules and large allowances, of giving and\ntaking, bearing and forbearing, learning to find one's own happiness\nin seeing other people happy, aiming at perfection with all one's\nmight, and making the best of imperfection in the end.\n\nAt this point, I foresee that you will very naturally exclaim that you\nasked me for stage-directions, and that I am sending you a sermon. I\nam very sorry; but the truth really is, that as the best of plays and\nthe cleverest of actors will not ensure success, if the actors quarrel\nabout the parts, and are unwilling to suppress themselves for the\ncommon good, one is obliged to set out with a good stock of philosophy\nas well as of \"properties.\"\n\nNow, in case it should strike you as \"unfair\" that any one of your\nparty should have so much of his own way as I have given to the\nstage-manager, you must let me say that no one has more need of\nphilosophy than that all-powerful person.\n\n_The stage-manager will have his own way, but he will have nothing\nelse._\n\nHe will certainly have \"no peace\" from the first cry of \"Let us have\nsome private theatricals\" till the day when the performance ceases to\nbe discussed. If there are ten actors, it is quite possible that ten\ndifferent plays will be warmly recommended to him, and that, whichever\nhe selects, he will choose it against the gloomy forebodings of nine\nmembers of his company. Nine actors will feel a natural disappointment\nat not having the best part, and as it is obviously impossible to fix\nrehearsals so as to be equally convenient for everybody, the\nstage-manager, whose duty it is to fix them, will be very fortunate if\nhe suits the convenience of the majority. You will easily believe that\nit is his painful duty to insist upon regular attendance, and even to\nenforce it by fines or by expulsion from the part, if such stringent\nlaws have been agreed to by the company beforehand. But at the end he\nwill have to bear in mind that private theatricals are an amusement,\nnot a business; that it is said to be a pity to \"make a toil of a\npleasure\"; that \"boys will be boys\"; that \"Christmas comes but once a\nyear,\" and holidays not much oftener--and in a general way to console\nhimself for the absence of defaulters, with the proverbial philosophy\nof everyday life, and the more reliable panacea of resolute good\ntemper.\n\nHe must (without a thought of self) do his best to give the right\nparts to the right people, and he must try to combine a proper \"cast\"\nwith pleasing everybody--so far as that impossible task is possible!\n\nHe must not only be ready to meet his own difficulties with each\nseparate actor, but he must be prepared to be confidant, if not\numpire, in all the squabbles which the actors and actresses may have\namong themselves.\n\nIf the performance is a great success, the actors will have the credit\nof it, and will probably be receiving compliments amongst the audience\nwhilst the stage-manager is blowing out the guttering footlights, or\nshowing the youngest performer how to get the paint off his cheeks,\nwithout taking the skin off into the bargain. And if the performance\nis a failure, nine of the performers will have nine separate sets of\nproofs that it was due to the stage-manager's unfortunate selection of\nthe piece, or mistaken judgment as to the characters.\n\nHe will, however, have the satisfaction (and when one has a head to\nplan and a heart in one's work, it _is_ a satisfaction) of carrying\nthrough the thing in his own way, and sooner or later, and here and\nthere, he will find some people who know the difficulties of his\nposition, and will give him ample credit and _kudos_ if he keeps his\ncompany in good humour, and carries out his plans without a breakdown.\n\nBy this time, my dear Rouge Pot, you will see that the stage-manager,\nlike all rulers, pays dearly for his power; but it is to be hoped that\nthe difficulties inseparable from his office will not be wilfully\nincreased by\n\n\nTHE ACTORS.\n\nThey are a touchy race at any time. Amateur actors are said to\nhave--one and all--a belief that each and every one can play any part\nof any kind. Shakespeare found that some of them thought they could\nplay _every_ part also! But besides this general error, each actor has\nhis own peculiarities, which the stage-manager ought to acquaint\nhimself with as soon as possible.\n\nIt is a painful fact that there are some people who \"come forward\"\nreadily, do not seem at all nervous, are willing to play anything, and\nare either well provided with anecdotes of previous successes, or\nquite amazingly ready for leading parts, though they \"never tried\nacting,\" and are only \"quite sure they shall like it\"--but who, when\nthe time comes, fail completely. I fear that there is absolutely\nnothing to be done with such actors, but to avoid them for the\nfuture. On the other hand, there are many people who are nervous and\nawkward at first, and even more or less so through every rehearsal,\nbut who _do not fail at the pinch_. Once fairly in their clothes, and\npledged to their parts, they forget themselves in the sense of what\nthey have undertaken, and their courage is stimulated by the crisis.\nTheir knees may shake, but their minds see no alternative but to do\ntheir best, and the best, with characters of this conscientious type,\nis seldom bad.\n\nIt is quite true, also, that some actors are never at their best till\nthey are dressed, and that some others can put off learning their\nparts till the last moment, and then \"study\" them at a push, and\nacquit themselves creditably in the play. _But these peculiarities are\nno excuse for neglecting rehearsals, or for not learning parts, or for\nrehearsing in a slovenly manner._\n\n_Actors should never forget that rehearsals are not only for the\nbenefit of each actor individually, but also of all the characters of\nthe piece as a whole._\n\nA. and B. may be able to learn their parts in a day, and to act fairly\nunder the inspiration of the moment, but if they neglect rehearsals on\nthis account, they deal very selfishly by C. and D., who have not the\nsame facility, and who rehearse at great disadvantage if the other\nparts are not properly represented too.\n\nAnd now a word or two to the actors of the small parts. It _is_ a\ndisappointment to find yourself \"cast\" for a footman, with no more to\ndo than to announce and usher in the principal personages of the\npiece, when you feel a strong (and perhaps well-grounded) conviction\nthat you would have \"made a hit\" as the Prince in blank verse and blue\nvelvet. Well! one must fall back on one's principles. Be loyal to the\nstage-manager. Help the piece through, whether it is or is not a\npleasure and a triumph for you yourself. Set an example of willingness\nand good-humour. If to these first principles you add the amiable\nquality of finding pleasure in the happiness of others, you will be\npartly consoled for not playing the Prince yourself by sympathizing\nwith Jack's unfeigned pride in his part and his finery, and if Jack\nhas a heart under his velvet doublet, he will not forget your\ngenerosity. It may also be laid down as an axiom that _a good actor\nwill take a pride in making the most of a small part_. There are many\nplays in which small parts have been raised to the rank of principal\nones by the spirit put into them by a good actor, who \"made\" his part\ninstead of grumbling at it. And the credit gained by a triumph of this\nkind is very often even beyond the actor's deserts. _From those who\nplay the principal parts much is expected, and it is difficult to\nsatisfy ones audience, but if any secondary character is made pathetic\nor amusing, the audience (having expected nothing) are willing to\nbelieve that if the actor can surprise them with a small part, he\nwould take the house by storm with a big one._\n\nI will conclude my letter with a few general rules for young actors.\n\n_Say nothing whatever on the stage but your part._ This is a rule for\nrehearsals, and if it could be attended to, every rehearsal would have\nmore than double its usual effect. People chatter from nervousness,\nexplain or apologize for their mistakes, and waste quite three-fourths\nof the time in words which are not in the piece.\n\n_Speak very slowly and very clearly._ All young actors speak too fast,\nand do not allow the audience time to digest each sentence. _Speak\nlouder than usual, but clearness of enunciation is even more\nimportant. Do not be slovenly with the muscles of the lips, or talk\nfrom behind shut teeth._\n\n_Keep your face to the audience as a rule._\n\nIf two people talking together have to cross each other so as to\nchange their places on the stage, _the one who has just spoken should\ncross before the one who is going to speak_.\n\n_Learn to stand still._\n\nAs a rule, _do not speak when you are crossing the stage_, but cross\nfirst and then speak.\n\n_Let the last speaker get his sentence well out before you begin\nyours._\n\nIf you are a comic actor, _don't run away with the piece by over-doing\nyour fun. Never spoil another actor's points by trying to make the\naudience laugh whilst he is speaking._ It is inexcusably bad\nstage-manners.\n\nIf the audience applauds, _wait till the noise of the clapping is over\nto finish your speech_.\n\n_Rehearse without your book in the last rehearsals_, so as to get into\nthe way of hearing the prompter, and catching the word from him when\nyour memory fails you.\n\n_Practise your part before a looking-glass, and say it out aloud._ A\npart may be pat in your head, and very stiff on your tongue.\n\nThe Green-room is generally a scene of great confusion in private\ntheatricals. Besides getting everything belonging to your dress\ntogether _yourself_ and in _good time_, I advise you to have _a little\nhand-basket_, such as you may have used at the seaside or in the\ngarden, and into this to put _pins_, _hair-pins_, _a burnt cork_,\n_needles and thread_, _a pair of scissors_, _a pencil_, _your part_,\n_and any small things you may require_. It is easy to drop them into\nthe basket again. Small things get mislaid under bigger ones when one\nis dressing in a hurry; and a hero who is flustered by his moustache\nhaving fallen under the washstand well out of sight is apt to forget\nhis part when he has found the moustache.\n\nRemember that _Right and Left in stage directions mean the right and\nleft hand of the actor as he faces the audience_.\n\nI will not burden you with any further advice for yourself, and I will\nreserve a few hints as to rough and ready scenery, properties, &c.,\nfor another letter.\n\nMeanwhile--whatever else you omit--get your parts well by rote; and if\nyou cannot find or spare a stage-manager, you must find good-humour\nand common agreement in proportion; prompt by turns, and each look\nstrictly after his own \"properties.\"\n\nYours, &c.,\n\nBURNT CORK.\n\n\nHINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--II.\n\nMY DEAR ROUGE POT,--I promised to say a few words about _rough and\nready properties_.\n\nThe most indispensable of all is _the curtain_, which can be made (at\nsmall expense) to roll up and come down in orthodox fashion. Even\nbetter are two curtains, with the rings and strings so arranged that\nthe curtains can be pulled apart or together by some one in the wings.\nAny upholsterer will do this. A double drawing-room with folding doors\nis of course \"made for theatricals.\" The difficulty of having only one\nexit from the stage--the door of the room--may be met by having a\nscreen on the other side. But then _the actors who go out behind the\nscreen, must be those who will not have to come in again till the\ncurtain has been drawn_.\n\nIf, however, the room, or part of a room, devoted to the stage is\nlarge enough for an amateur proscenium, with \"wings\" at the sides, and\nspace behind the \"scenes\" to conceal the actors, and enable them to\ngo round, of course there can be as many exits as are needed.\n\nA proscenium is quite a possibility. _The framework in which the\ncurtain falls need not be an expensive or complicated concern._ Two\nwooden uprights, firmly fastened to the floor by bolt and socket, each\nupright being four or five feet from the wall on either side; a\ncross-bar resting on the top, but the whole width of the room, to\nwhich (if it draws up) the curtain is to be nailed; a curtain, with a\nwooden pole in the hem at the bottom to steady it (like a\nwindow-blind); long, narrow, fixed curtains to fall from the cross-bar\nat each end where it projects beyond the uprights, so as to fill the\nspace between each upright and the wall of the room, and hide the\nwings; some bright wall-paper border to fasten on to the uprights and\ncross-bar, as decoration;--these are not expensive matters, and the\nlittle carpentry needed could be done in a very short time by a\nvillage carpenter.\n\nAnd here, my dear Rouge Pot, I feel inclined to say a word to \"Parents\nand Guardians.\" _I wish that a small annual outlay on little pleasures\nwere oftener reckoned among legitimate expenses in middle-class\nBritish families._ But little pleasures and alms are apt to be left\ntill they are asked for, and then grudged. Though, if the annual\nexpenses under these two heads were summed up at the end of the year,\nwe should perhaps be more inclined to blush than to bewail our\nextravagances. As to little pleasures, I am not speaking of toys and\nbooks and presents, of which children have commonly six times as many\nnow-a-days as they can learn to love; nor do I mean such pleasures as\nthe month at the seaside, which I should be sorry to describe as a\nlight matter for papa's purse. But I mean little pleasures of the\nchildren's own devising, for which some trifling help from the elders\nwill make all the difference between failure and success. In short, my\ndear Rouge Pot, at the present moment I mean the children's\ntheatricals; and papa himself will confess that, whereas two or three\npounds, \"up or down,\" in the seaside move, would hardly be considered,\nand fifteen shillings \"more or less\" in the price of a new dining-room\nfender would upset nobody's nerves in the household--if \"the children\"\nasked for a day's work of the village carpenter, and seven and\nsixpence worth of wood, to carry out a project of their own, it would\nbe considered a great waste of money. However, it is only fair to add\nthat the young people themselves will do wisely to establish a\n\"theatrical fund\" box, which will not open, and to put in a fixed\npercentage of everybody's pocket-money to accumulate for some genuine\nproperties when the theatrical season begins.\n\nThe question of _scenery_ of course must depend on the resources of\nthe company. But _acting may be very successful without any at all_.\nIt must never be forgotten that _those who look and listen can also\nimagine_, and unless tolerably good scenes can be had, it is almost\nbetter to content oneself with what served in the days of\nShakespeare--a written placard of what the scene is supposed to be.\n_Shakespeare scenery_, as we may call it, will amuse people of itself,\nand a good piece and good actors will not suffer from its use. Thus,\nif _The Barmecide_ is being played, Alnaschan and Ina will be\n\"discovered\" standing in an empty room, at the back of which a placard\nwill bear this inscription in large letters--A STREET IN BAGDAD.\n\nIt is possible, however, that your company may include some\nwater-colour artist, who will try his or her hand at scene-painting in\nthe barn. Well: he will want canvas or unbleached calico, which must\nbe covered completely with a \"first wash\" of whitening and size, mixed\nto a freely working consistency, and laid on with a white-wash brush.\nWhen dry, he must outline his scene on this in charcoal. The painting\nis then to be done in distemper--all the effects are put in by the\nfirst wash; lights and shadows in their full tone, &c. He will use\npowder paints, mix them with size (which must be kept warm on a fire),\nand add white for body-colour when he wants to lay one colour over\nanother. I will add four hints. _For a small stage avoid scenes with\nextreme perspective. Keep the general colouring rather sober, so as to\nharmonize with the actors' dresses. Only broad effects will show. Keep\nstepping back to judge your work from a distance._ In a wood, for\ninstance, the distance may be largely blue and grey, and the\nforeground trees a good deal in warm browns and dull olive. _Paint by\ncandle-light when convenient._\n\n_All the lights in your theatre must be protected by glasses. The\nfootlights should have reflectors behind them_, or a board about\neighteen inches high with block-tin nailed on it. Failing this, a\nplain polished fender, in which candles or lamps can be placed, will\nserve. _There must also be sidelights_, or the footlights will cast\nshadows. _Long strips of coloured glass, in frames, can lie flat in\nfront of the stage when not in use, and be raised up when wanted,\nbetween the footlights and the stage--blue for moonlight, yellow for\nsunshine, rose-colour for sunset scenes and fairy effects._ A shade\nmay be quickly thrown up between the footlights and the stage, _on the\nsame principle, if darkness is required. For thunder, shake a thin\nsheet of iron behind the scenes. Powdered resin or lycopodium thrown\non to the flame of a candle from a quill_ is said to be effective as\n_lightning_. But any tricks with naked lights, in the confusion of\nprivate theatricals, are objectionable, and should never be used\nexcept by some grown-up person not among the actors. _For rain, shake\nparched peas in a box with irregular partitions. For a full moon, cut\na round hole in your scene, cover it with some translucent material,\nand hold a lamp behind it_; the blue-glass shade must be up before the\nfootlights. A similar hole, or, if low on the horizon, a\nhalf-moon-shaped one, with a crimson transparency, will do for a\nsetting sun--then the rose-coloured glass will be required before the\nfootlights.\n\nI have no further space just now, my dear Rouge Pot; but you may\nexpect another letter from me on Scenery Screens, Properties and\nCostumes.\n\nYours, &c.,\n\nBURNT CORK.\n\n\nHINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS.--III.\n\nMY DEAR ROUGE POT,--I promised to say something about _scenery\nscreens_.\n\nIf the house happens to boast a modern pseudo-Japanese screen of a\nlarge size (say six feet high), it will make a very pretty background\nfor a drawing-room scene, and admit of entrances as I suggested. But\n_screens with light grounds are also very valuable as reflectors_,\ncarrying the light into the back of the stage. There is generally a\nwant of light on the amateur stage, and all means to remedy this\ndefect and brighten up matters are worth considering.\n\n_Folding screens_ may be covered on both sides _with strips of lining\nwall-paper of delicate tints, pinned on with drawing-pins_. The paper\ncan be left plain, or it may serve as the background on which to affix\n\"Shakespeare Scenery.\" Or again, your amateur painter will find an\neasier and more effective reward for such labour as he will not\ngrudge to bestow in the holidays, if, instead of attempting the\nambitious task of scene-painting on canvas, he adorns these scenery\nscreens with Japanese designs in water-colours. Bold and not too\ncrowded combinations of butterflies and flamingoes, tortoises,\ndragons, water-reeds, flowers and ferns. He need not hesitate to\nemploy Bessemer's gold and silver paints, with discretion, and the two\nsides of the screen can be done in different ways. The Japanesque side\nwould make a good drawing-room background, and some other scene (such\nas a wood) might be indicated on the other with a nearer approach to\nreal scene-painting. _These screens light up beautifully, and are well\nadapted for drawing-room theatricals._\n\nIn the common event of your requiring a bit of a cottage with a\npracticable door to be visible, it will be seen that two folds of a\nscreen, painted with bricks and windows, may be made to do duty in no\nill fashion as the two sides of a house, and with a movable porch (a\nvaluable stage property) the entrance can be contrived just out of\nsight. _The stage will be brightened up by laying down a \"crumb\ncloth,\" or covering it with holland._ A drawing-room scene is made\nvery pretty _by hanging up pairs of the summer white muslin curtains,\nlooped with gay ribbons, as if there were windows in the sides of the\nstage_.\n\nIf a fireplace is wanted and will do at the side, a mantelpiece is\neasily represented, and a banner screen will help to conceal the\nabsence of a grate. A showy specimen of that dreadful thing, a paper\ngrate-ornament, flowing well down into the fender, may sometimes hide\ndeficiencies. The appearance of _hot coals in a practicable grate_ is\ngiven by _irregularly-shaped pieces of red glass, through which light\nis thrown from a candle behind_.\n\nA very important part of your preparations will be _the dresses_.\n\nNow of dresses it may be said--as we have said of scenery--that if the\nactors are clever, very slight (if suggestive) accessories in the way\nof costume will suffice. At the same time, whilst the scenery can\nnever be good enough in amateur theatricals to cover deficiencies in\nthe performance, good costumes may be a most material help to the\nsuccess of a piece. Very little wit is demanded from the young\ngentleman who plays the part of a monkey, if his felt coat is well\nmade, and his monkey-mask comical, and if he has acquired some\ndexterity in the management of his tail.\n\nI think, my dear Rouge Pot, that you were taken to see that splendid\nexhibition of stage properties, _Babil and Bijou_? Do you remember the\ndelightful effect of the tribe of oysters? The little boys who played\nthe oysters had nothing to do but to hop and run, and keep their\nshells nicely in front of them, and yet how we laughed at them! Now,\nin a large family, such parts as these afford an opportunity for\nallowing \"the little ones\" to \"act,\" and so to become accustomed to\nthe stage, before they can be trusted to learn written parts. Nor are\n_comical costumes_ beyond the powers of home manufacturers.\n\nYou know those men--sandwich-men as they are often called!--who go\nabout the London streets with one board in front and one behind. These\nboards are of simple shape and only reach from the shoulder, to a\nlittle below the knee; they are only wanted to paste advertisements\non. But if you think about it, you will see that to have the boards\nhigh enough to hide the head, and low enough to hide the legs, rounded\nat the top like a scallop shell, with the ribs of the shell nicely\npainted, eyeholes to peep through, and the hinge of the shell arranged\nto conceal the feet, would be no very great effort of skill. _Sandwich\ncostumes for the little ones_ might be of many effective shapes. Thick\npaste-board would probably be strong enough for very little people,\nand in many cases a covered framework would be better still, and if\nyou have a kite-maker in your troupe, you had better commit these\ncostumes to his skill and ingenuity. A very simple device would be\nthat of flower-pots painted red. They need come no higher than the\nchin, if a good thick bush is firmly held by the little hands behind,\nso as to conceal the face. But no doubt, my dear Rouge Pot, you will\nsay, \"if we have no plays with such characters in, we cannot have\nthem, however desirable it may be to bring in the little ones.\" But I\nthink you will find some of the elders ingenious enough to \"tack them\non\" to your pieces if required, especially to those founded on fairy\ntales.\n\n_Glazed calico_ is the amateur costume-maker's best friend. It is\ncheap, it is shiny, and it can be had in all the most effective\ncolours. I have never seen a very good green; but the turquoise blue,\nthe pink, and the yellow, are of those pretty Dresden china shades\nwhich Mr. Marcus Ward and other Christmas-card makers use to such good\npurpose against gold backgrounds. Many of these Christmas cards, by\nthe bye, with children dressed in ancient costumes painted by good\nartists, will give you and your sisters help in a tasteful combination\nof colours; and besides the gold and silver powder paints, which\nanswer admirably, gold and silver paper can be had to cut stars and\ntrimmings of various sorts from, to stitch or gum on to fairies'\ndresses, &c.\n\nTarlatan can now be had in hues that almost rival the colours of\nflowers, but I fear that only the white can be had \"fire-proof.\"\nGauze wings, flowing hair, and tarlatan skirts, combined with the\n\"flurry\" of the performances, the confined space behind the scenes,\nand lights everywhere, form a dangerous combination which it makes one\nshudder to think of. The truth is, my dear Rouge Pot, it cannot be too\noften or too emphatically repeated that _naked lights on the stage or\nbehind the scenes in amateur theatricals are as wrong as in a\ncoal-mine_. Glass shades for the bedroom candles--with which\nboy-brothers, seeing imperfectly through masks, will rush past little\nsisters whose newly-crimped hair and tarlatan skirts are sticking out,\nthey can't feel how far behind them--cost a few shillings, _and the\nmental effort of resolving to have and use them_. Depend upon it,\nRouge Pot, the latter is the greater difficulty! And yet our petty\neconomies in matters which affect our health, our daily comfort, or\nour lives, are wonderful, when the dangers or discomforts we have to\navert may, _by chance_, be averted by good luck at no cost at all. So\nperhaps the few shillings have something to do with it. I hope they\nwill always be expended on safety glasses for all lights in use on or\nabout your stage.\n\nWell, glazed calico and tarlatan are very effective, and so is cotton\nvelvet or velveteen; but in every family there will probably be found\na few articles of finery originally made of expensive materials, but\nwhich are now yielded to the juvenile property-box, and from\nexperience I can assure you that these are valuable treasures. I have\na tender remembrance of a few which were our _pieces de resistance_\nwhen we \"dressed up\" either for charades or one of Miss Corner's\nplays--\"in my young days.\" A black satin dress--ancient, but of such\nlustre and softness as satins are not made now; a real camel's-hair\nburnous, dyed crimson; a green satin driving cloak, lined with\nfur--these things did not crush and tumble during their long periods\nof repose in the property-box, as tarlatan skirts and calico doublets\nwere apt to do. Most valuable of all, a grey wig, worn right side\nforemost by our elderly gentlemen, and wrong side foremost (so as to\nbring the pig-tail curls over the forehead) by our elderly ladies. Fur\ngloves, which, with a black rabbit-skin mask over her rosy cheeks,\ngave ferocity in the part of \"the Beast\" to our jolliest little\nactress. A pair of claret-coloured stockings, silk throughout, and a\npair of yellow leather slippers, embroidered with gold, doubtless\nbought long years back in some Eastern bazaar, &c., &c. There came a\ndate in our theatrical history when only one pair of feet could get\nright into these much-desired shoes, heels and all; and as the\nindividual who owned them was also supposed to display the\nclaret-coloured stockings to the best advantage, both these important\nproperties, with the part of Prince to which our custom assigned\nthem, fell to an actor who could lay no other claim to pre-eminence.\n\nSurely your home will provide one or two of these \"stand-bys\" of the\ngreen-room, and you will not fail to value them, I assure you. I hope\nyou will not fight for them!\n\n_Wigs are very important. Unbleached calico is a very fair imitation\nof the skin of one's head._ A skull-cap made of it will do for a bald\npate, or, with a black pig-tail and judicious face-painting, will turn\nany smooth-faced actor into a very passable Chinaman. Flowing locks of\ntow, stitched on round the lower part, will convert it into a\npatriarchal wig. _Nigger wigs are made of curly black horsehair\nfastened on to a black skull-cap._ Moustaches and whiskers can be\nbought at small expense, but if well painted the effect is nearly as\ngood.\n\nAs to _face-painting_. Rouge is indispensable, but care must be taken\nnot to overdo it. The eyebrows must be darkened with sepia or Indian\nink, and a camel's-hair brush--especially for fair people. With the\nsame materials you must deepen all the lines of the face, if you want\nto make a young person look like an old one. The cheek lines on each\nside of the nose, furrows across the forehead, and crow's-foot marks\nby the eyes, are required for an old face; but if the audience are to\nbe very close to the stage, you must be careful not to overdo your\npainting. Violet powder is the simplest and least irritating white for\nthe skin. Rouge should be laid on with a hare's foot. If your \"old\nman\" is wearing a bald wig, be careful to colour his forehead to match\nas well as possible with his bald pate. All these applications are\nmore or less irritating to one's skin. It is said to be a mistake to\n_wash_ them off. Cold cream should be rubbed over the face, and then\nwiped off with a soft towel.\n\nAs a parting hint, my dear Rouge Pot, when you have passed the stage\nof child-plays in rhyme--but do not be in a _hurry_ to discard such\nuniversal favourites as _Dick Whittington_, _Beauty and the Beast_,\nand _Cinderella_--don't be too ambitious in your selection from\n\"grown-up\" plays. As a matter of experience, when _we_ got beyond Miss\nCorner we took to farces, and found them very successful. There are\nmany which play well in young hands, and only require the omission of\na few coarse expressions, which, being intended to raise a laugh among\n\"roughs\" in the gallery of a public theatre, need hardly be hurled at\nthe ears of one's private friends.\n\nI am bound to say that competent critics have told me that farces were\nabout the most difficult things we could have attempted. I can only\nsay that we found them answer. Partly, perhaps, because it requires a\nless high skill to raise a laugh than to move by passion or pathos.\nPartly, too, because farces are short, and amateurs can make no\ngreater mistake than to weary their audience.\n\nIf you prefer \"dress pieces\" and dramas to farces or burlesque, let\nsome competent person curtail the one you choose to a suitable length.\n\nThe manager of juvenile theatricals should never forget the wisdom\nembodied in Sam Weller's definition of the art of letter-writing, that\nthe writer should stop short at such a point as that the reader should\n\"wish there wos more of it.\"\n\nYours, &c.,\n\nBURNT CORK.\n\n\n\n\nSNAP-DRAGONS.\n\n\n\n\nSNAP-DRAGONS.\n\nA TALE OF CHRISTMAS EVE.\n\nMR. AND MRS. SKRATDJ.\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a certain family of the name of Skratdj.\n(It has a Russian or Polish look, and yet they most certainly lived in\nEngland.) They were remarkable for the following peculiarity. They\nseldom seriously quarrelled, but they never agreed about anything. It\nis hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear\nthem constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover\nthat it \"meant nothing,\" and was \"only their way.\"\n\nIt began with the father and mother. They were a worthy couple, and\nreally attached to each other. But they had a habit of contradicting\neach other's statements, and opposing each other's opinions, which,\nthough mutually understood and allowed for in private, was most trying\nto the bystanders in public. If one related an anecdote, the other\nwould break in with half-a-dozen corrections of trivial details of no\ninterest or importance to any one, the speakers included. For\ninstance: Suppose the two dining in a strange house, and Mrs. Skratdj\nseated by the host, and contributing to the small-talk of the\ndinner-table. Thus:--\n\n\"Oh yes. Very changeable weather indeed. It looked quite promising\nyesterday morning in the town, but it began to rain at noon.\"\n\n\"A quarter-past eleven, my dear,\" Mr. Skratdj's voice would be heard\nto say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband\nand a father; \"and really, my dear, so far from being a promising\nmorning, I must say it looked about as threatening as it well could.\nYour memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love.\"\n\nBut Mrs. Skratdj had not been a wife and a mother for fifteen years,\nto be snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As Mr. Skratdj\nleaned forward in his chair, she leaned forward in hers, and defended\nherself across the intervening couples.\n\n\"Why, my dear Mr. Skratdj, you said yourself the weather had not been\nso promising for a week.\"\n\n\"What I said, my dear, pardon me, was that the barometer was higher\nthan it had been for a week. But, as you might have observed if these\ndetails were in your line, my love, which they are not, the rise was\nextraordinarily rapid, and there is no surer sign of unsettled\nweather.--But Mrs. Skratdj is apt to forget these unimportant\ntrifles,\" he added, with a comprehensive smile round the dinner-table;\n\"her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more important\ndomestic questions of the nursery.\"\n\n\"Now I think that's rather unfair on Mr. Skratdj's part,\" Mrs. Skratdj\nwould chirp, with a smile quite as affable and as general as her\nhusband's. \"I'm sure he's _quite_ as forgetful and inaccurate as _I_\nam. And I don't think _my_ memory is at _all_ a bad one.\"\n\n\"You forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week,\nnevertheless,\" said Mr. Skratdj.\n\n\"And you couldn't help me when I asked you,\" was the sprightly retort.\n\"And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything about _dinner_, my\ndear.\"\n\n\"The letter was addressed to you,\" said Mr. Skratdj.\n\n\"I sent it to you by Jemima,\" said Mrs. Skratdj.\n\n\"I didn't read it,\" said Mr. Skratdj.\n\n\"Well, you burnt it,\" said Mrs. Skratdj; \"and, as I always say,\nthere's nothing more foolish than burning a letter of invitation\nbefore the day, for one is certain to forget.\"\n\n\"I've no doubt you always do say it,\" Mr. Skratdj remarked, with a\nsmile, \"but I certainly never remember to have heard the observation\nfrom your lips, my love.\"\n\n\"Whose memory's in fault there?\" asked Mrs. Skratdj triumphantly; and\nas at this point the ladies rose, Mrs. Skratdj had the last word.\n\nIndeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Mrs. Skratdj was\nquite able to defend herself. When she was yet a bride, and young and\ntimid, she used to collapse when Mr. Skratdj contradicted her\nstatements and set her stories straight in public. Then she hardly\never opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic\nextinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that\nMr. Skratdj's bark was a great deal worse than his bite. (If, indeed,\nhe had a bite at all.) Thus snubs that made other people's ears\ntingle, had no effect whatever on the lady to whom they were\naddressed, for she knew exactly what they were worth, and had by this\ntime become fairly adept at snapping in return. In the days when she\nsuccumbed she was occasionally unhappy, but now she and her husband\nunderstood each other, and having agreed to differ, they unfortunately\nagreed also to differ in public.\n\nIndeed, it was the bystanders who had the worst of it on these\noccasions. To the worthy couple themselves the habit had become second\nnature, and in no way affected the friendly tenour of their domestic\nrelations. They would interfere with each other's conversation,\ncontradicting assertions, and disputing conclusions for a whole\nevening; and then, when all the world and his wife thought that these\nceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into a flaming quarrel as\nsoon as they were alone, they would bowl amicably home in a cab,\ncriticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and as little\nagreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any\nother events whatever.\n\nYes, the bystanders certainly had the worst of it. Those who were near\nwished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to. Those\nwho were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble at a\ncertain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a\npoint beyond the range of guns. In such a position one may some day be\nplaced oneself! Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull\nevening to be able to say _sotto voce_ to one's neighbour, \"Do listen!\nThe Skratdjs are at it again!\" Their unmarried friends thought a\nterrible abyss of tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and\nblessed their stars that they were still single, and able to tell a\ntale their own way. The married ones had more idea of how it really\nwas, and wished in the name of common sense and good taste that\nSkratdj and his wife would not make fools of themselves.\n\nSo it went on, however; and so, I suppose, it goes on still, for not\nmany bad habits are cured in middle age.\n\nOn certain questions of comparative speaking their views were never\nidentical. Such as the temperature being hot or cold, things being\nlight or dark, the apple-tarts being sweet or sour. So one day Mr.\nSkratdj came into the room, rubbing his hands, and planting himself at\nthe fire with \"Bitterly cold it is to-day, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Why, my dear William,\" said Mrs. Skratdj, \"I'm sure you must have got\na cold; I feel a fire quite oppressive myself.\"\n\n\"You were wishing you'd a seal-skin jacket yesterday, when it wasn't\nhalf as cold as it is to-day,\" said Mr. Skratdj.\n\n\"My dear William! Why, the children were shivering the whole day, and\nthe wind was in the north.\"\n\n\"Due east, Mrs. Skratdj.\"\n\n\"I know by the smoke,\" said Mrs. Skratdj, softly but decidedly.\n\n\"I fancy I can tell an east wind when I feel it,\" said Mr. Skratdj,\njocosely, to the company.\n\n\"I told Jemima to look at the weathercock,\" murmured Mrs. Skratdj.\n\n\"I don't care a fig for Jemima,\" said her husband.\n\nOn another occasion Mrs. Skratdj and a lady friend were conversing.\n\n... \"We met him at the Smiths'--a gentleman-like agreeable man, about\nforty,\" said Mrs. Skratdj, in reference to some matter interesting to\nboth ladies.\n\n\"Not a day over thirty-five,\" said Mr. Skratdj, from behind his\nnewspaper.\n\n\"Why, my dear William, his hair's grey,\" said Mrs. Skratdj.\n\n\"Plenty of men are grey at thirty,\" said Mr. Skratdj. \"I knew a man\nwho was grey at twenty-five.\"\n\n\"Well, forty or thirty-five, it doesn't much matter,\" said Mrs.\nSkratdj, about to resume her narration.\n\n\"Five years matter a good deal to most people at thirty-five,\" said\nMr. Skratdj, as he walked towards the door. \"They would make a\nremarkable difference to me, I know;\" and with a jocular air Mr.\nSkratdj departed, and Mrs. Skratdj had the rest of the anecdote her\nown way.\n\n\nTHE LITTLE SKRATDJS.\n\nThe Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to\na varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by nature,\nlike young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in some\nsuch spirited dialogues as the following:--\n\n{\"I will.\"         {\"You daren't.\"\n{\"You can't.\"      {\"I dare.\"\n\n{\"You shall.\"      {\"I'll tell Mamma.\"\n{\"I won't.\"        {\"I don't care if you do.\"\n\nIt is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of\njuvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that\nin this world one must often \"pass over\" and \"put up with\" things in\nother people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a\nkindness, and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things\nin their own way occasionally.\n\nBut even if Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this\nto their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have\ncome with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and\nsnarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the\nnursery.\n\nThe two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between\nthese, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from\nmorning to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both\nwere in constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them\nto the highest pitch.\n\nIt began at breakfast, if not sooner.\n\n\"You've taken my chair.\"\n\n\"It's not your chair.\"\n\n\"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place.\"\n\n\"How do you know it was in your place?\"\n\n\"Never mind. I do know.\"\n\n\"No, you don't.\"\n\n\"Yes, I do.\"\n\n\"Suppose I say it was in my place.\"\n\n\"You can't, for it wasn't.\"\n\n\"I can, if I like.\"\n\n\"Well, was it?\"\n\n\"I sha'n't tell you.\"\n\n\"Ah! that shows it wasn't.\"\n\n\"No, it doesn't.\"\n\n\"Yes, it does.\"\n\nEtc., etc., etc.\n\nThe direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of\ndifference of opinion.\n\n\"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common.\"\n\n\"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey\nLane. We never go down Gipsey Lane.\"\n\n\"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see\nthere.\"\n\n\"I don't care, I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa\nto say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you.\"\n\n\"That's very sneaking; but I don't care.\"\n\n\"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak.\"\n\n\"No, I didn't, Papa.\"\n\n\"You did.\"\n\n\"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run\nfaster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane.\"\n\n\"Then you did call him sneaking,\" said Mr. Skratdj. \"And you're a very\nnaughty ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,\nPolly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in\norder. Go where your brother wishes at once.\"\n\nFor Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient,\nif possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.\nIn families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm,\nthere comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall,\nbecause they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic\nauthority, like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the\nweaker class.\n\nBut Mr. Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.\n\n\"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating\nthe two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday,\" said Master\nHarry on one occasion.\n\n    \"Tell-tale tit!\n    Your tongue shall be slit,\n    And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,\"\n\nquoted his sister.\n\n\"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You got\ninto a fine scrape for calling me names the other day.\"\n\n\"Go, then! I don't care.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't like me to go, I know.\"\n\n\"You daren't. That's what it is.\"\n\n\"I dare.\"\n\n\"Then why don't you?\"\n\n\"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it.\"\n\nPolly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry\nstarted. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr. Skratdj had\nespecially announced that morning that he did not wish to be\ndisturbed, and though he was a favourite, Harry had no desire to\ninvade the dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery,\nand said with a magnanimous air, \"I don't want to get you into a\nscrape, Polly. If you'll beg my pardon I won't go.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I sha'n't,\" said Polly, who was equally well informed as to\nthe position of affairs at head-quarters. \"Go, if you dare.\"\n\n\"I won't if you want me not,\" said Harry, discreetly waiving the\nquestion of apologies.\n\n\"But I'd rather you went,\" said the obdurate Polly. \"You're always\ntelling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid.\"\n\nSo Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and\nwas meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when\nPolly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue\ngoaded him on.\n\n\"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go.\"\n\n\"I dare,\" said Harry; and at last he went.\n\nAs he turned the handle of the door, Mr. Skratdj turned round.\n\n\"Please, Papa--\" Harry began.\n\n\"Get away with you!\" cried Mr. Skratdj, \"Didn't I tell you I was not\nto be disturbed this morning? What an extraor----\"\n\nBut Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.\n\nOnce outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an\nair of apparent satisfaction, saying,\n\n\"You're to give me the bricks, please.\"\n\n\"Who says so?\"\n\n\"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?\"\n\n\"I don't know, and I don't care.\"\n\n\"I've been to Papa. There!\"\n\n\"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?\"\n\n\"I've told you.\"\n\n\"No, you've not.\"\n\n\"I sha'n't tell you any more.\"\n\n\"Then I'll go to Papa and ask.\"\n\n\"Go by all means.\"\n\n\"I won't if you'll tell me truly.\"\n\n\"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare,\" said Harry,\nonly too glad to have the tables turned.\n\nPolly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover\nher retreat in a similar manner.\n\n\"Ah! you didn't tell.\"\n\n\"I don't believe you asked Papa.\"\n\n\"Don't you? Very well!\"\n\n\"Well, did you?\"\n\n\"Never mind.\"\n\nEtc., etc., etc.\n\nMeanwhile Mr. Skratdj scolded Mrs. Skratdj for not keeping the\nchildren in better order. And Mrs. Skratdj said it was quite\nimpossible to do so, when Mr. Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and\nweakened her (Mrs. Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.\n\nDifference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it\nso often does to domestic broils.\n\n\"Boys never will do what they're asked,\" Polly would complain.\n\n\"Girls ask such unreasonable things,\" was Harry's retort.\n\n\"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask.\"\n\n\"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell\nthem, whether it's reasonable or not.\"\n\n\"No, they've not!\" said Polly. \"At least, that's only husbands and\nwives.\"\n\n\"All women are inferior animals,\" said Harry.\n\n\"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!\" said Polly.\n\n\"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey,\" said Harry,\nfalling back on the general principle. \"And when I get a wife, I'll\ntake care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your\nhusband when you get one.\"\n\n\"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be\nmarried.\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know why,\" said Polly; \"they must have had enough of\nmen if they have brothers.\"\n\nAnd so they went on, _ad infinitum_, with ceaseless arguments that\nproved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of\ncontradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.\n\nIndeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than\nin the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other\nchildren, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to\nhear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, and\nold and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:\n\n\"I'll give you a Christmas-box. Which ear will you have it on?\"\n\n\"I won't stand it.\"\n\n\"Pray take a chair.\"\n\n\"You shall have it to-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-morrow never comes.\"\n\nAnd so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children,\nanother was sure to draw near and \"take up\" all the first child's\nanswers, with smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly as\nthey were tiresome and impertinent.\n\nAnd ill-mannered as this was, Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj never put a stop\nto it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves.\nBut they often said, \"We can't think how it is the children are always\nsquabbling!\"\n\n\nTHE SKRATDJS' DOG AND THE HOT-TEMPERED GENTLEMAN.\n\nIt is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is\ninfluenced by the heads of it. Mr. Skratdj was a very kind master, and\nMrs. Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in\na perpetual fever of irritability that just fell short of discontent.\nThey jostled each other on the back stairs, said sharp things in the\npantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of\nthe sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on the\nslightest provocation.\n\nThe very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave\ndog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned his\npretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a bad\nhabit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and\nindeed of all visitors whatsoever.\n\nThe moment any one approached the house, on certain occasions when he\nwas spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at\nall, Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharp\nvoice--\"Yap! yap! yap!\" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound\naway sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went\non his way again, Snap was at his heels--\"Yap! yap! yap!\" He barked at\nthe milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them\nevery day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got\nused to him. She said he \"put her in mind of that there black dog in\nthe _Pilgrim's Progress_.\" He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at\nevery vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the\nhigh-road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars;\nand then, though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they\nsaid, \"It's only Snap's way.\" The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a\nStilton cheese, and two electro christening mugs, on this occasion;\nand Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj dispute who it was who discouraged reliance\non Snap's warning to the present day.\n\nOne Christmas time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the\nSkratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag\nfrom the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after\nthe wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot\ndistended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay.\n\nAs he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual--\"Yap! yap! yap!\"\nNow the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting\nsome dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite\nas well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.\nThe gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and\nwas greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke\nfriendly to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate,\ncould not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner\ndid the gentleman proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in\nthe usual fashion--\n\n     \"Yap! Yap! Yap!\"\n\nOn which the gentleman--being hot-tempered, and one of those people\nwith whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow\nfirst--made a dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the\ngentleman flung his carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream\nhit upon a stone and was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on\nthe back, and sent him squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked\nat that gentleman again.\n\nIf the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked\nthe continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old\nfriend of Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj, however, and knew that they were\nreally happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made\nthem constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their\nreal affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he\ncalled them the \"Snapping Turtles.\"\n\nWhen the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his\nhost and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy\nhair, and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, \"Don't\nflirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward.\"\n\nAnd neither Mr. nor Mrs. Skratdj could help laughing.\n\nWith the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very\nfond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or\ntrouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would not\ntolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was\nmuch more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile\nat the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children\nso often to \"show off\" before strangers. These civil acquaintances\nonly abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very\nbad habits which they help to encourage.\n\nThe hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very\ndifferent. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind\ninquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and\nsensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his\nwit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and\ncontradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the\nusual snap-dialogue went on as before.\n\n\"Then you like music,\" said the hot-tempered gentleman.\n\n\"Yes, I like it very much,\" said Polly.\n\n\"Oh, do you?\" Harry broke in. \"Then what are you always crying over it\nfor?\"\n\n\"I'm not always crying over it.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast.\"\n\n\"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast.\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" said the hot-tempered gentleman.\n\nWith what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his\ntongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that\nhe had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman\ngave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather\nsharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in\nconsequence.\n\n\"It's no use _speaking_,\" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his\nhands through his hair.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nChildren are like dogs, they are very good judges of their real\nfriends. Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less\nbecause he was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children\nwelcomed him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have\nspoken of in connection with his attack on Snap.\n\nIt was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch-bowl was\nbroken. Mr. Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs. Skratdj as to whether\nit had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk\nencounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and\nshe, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flew\nat the gardener as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef;\nwho stepping backwards trode upon the cat; who spit and swore, and\nwent up the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush.\n\nTo avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to\nthe breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By and by, Harry and Polly\ncame in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own\naffairs in a corner.\n\nThe hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top\nof his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, \"Harry, my\nboy!\"\n\nAnd Harry came up to him.\n\n\"Show me your tongue, Harry,\" said he.\n\n\"What for?\" said Harry; \"you're not a doctor.\"\n\n\"Do as I tell you,\" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw\nhis hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The\nhot-tempered gentleman sighed. \"Ah!\" he said, in depressed tones; \"I\nthought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours.\"\n\nPolly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the\nhot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.\n\n\"What is it?\" cried both the children. \"What do you mean?\" And they\nseized the tips of their tongues with their fingers, to feel for\nthemselves.\n\nBut the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without\nanswering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, \"Ah! Hum!\"\nand nodding with an air of grave foreboding.\n\nJust as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head\ninto the room. \"Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing\npointed?\" he asked.\n\n\"No!\" cried the children with alarm. \"Are they?\"\n\n\"If ever you find them becoming forked,\" said the gentleman in solemn\ntones, \"let me know.\"\n\nWith which he departed, gravely shaking his head.\n\nIn the afternoon the children attacked him again.\n\n\"_Do_ tell us what's the matter with our tongues.\"\n\n\"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning,\" said\nthe hot-tempered gentleman.\n\n\"Well, we forgot,\" said Polly. \"We don't mean anything, you know. But\nnever mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going\nto happen to them?\"\n\n\"I'm very much afraid,\" said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn\nmeasured tones, \"that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the--\"\n\n\"Dogs?\" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.\n\n\"Dogs!\" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his\nhair. \"Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is, unless\nall dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my sad\nfear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to the\nSnap-Dragons_!\"\n\nAnd not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the\nsubject.\n\n\nCHRISTMAS EVE.\n\nIn the course of a few hours Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj recovered their\nequanimity. The punch was brewed in a jug, and tasted quite as good as\nusual. The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule\ncakes, log, and candles, furmety, and snap-dragon after supper. When\nthe company was tired of the tree, and had gained an appetite by the\nhard exercise of stretching to high branches, blowing out \"dangerous\"\ntapers, and cutting ribbon and pack-thread in all directions, supper\ncame, with its welcome cakes and furmety and punch. And when furmety\nsomewhat palled upon the taste (and it must be admitted to boast more\nsentiment than flavour as a Christmas dish), the Yule candles were\nblown out, and both the spirits and the palates of the party were\nstimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap-dragon.\n\nThen, as the hot-tempered gentleman warmed his coat-tails at the Yule\nlog, a grim smile stole over his features as he listened to the sounds\nin the room. In the darkness the blue flames leaped and danced, the\nraisins were snapped and snatched from hand to hand, scattering\nfragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted as the\nfiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the furmety. Mr.\nSkratdj cried that they were spoiling the carpet; Mrs. Skratdj\ncomplained that he had spilled some brandy on her dress. Mr. Skratdj\nretorted that she should not wear dresses so susceptible of damage in\nthe family circle. Mrs. Skratdj recalled an old speech of Mr.\nSkratdj's on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit\nof one's family, and not reserving them for visitors. Mr. Skratdj\nremembered that Mrs. Skratdj's excuse for buying that particular dress\nwhen she did not need it, was her intention of keeping it for the next\nyear. The children disputed as to the credit for courage and the\namount of raisins due to each. Snap barked furiously at the flames;\nand the maids hustled each other for good places in the doorway, and\nwould not have allowed the man-servant to see at all, but he looked\nover their heads.\n\n\"St! St! At it! At it!\" chuckled the hot-tempered gentleman in\nundertones. And when he said this, it seemed as if the voices of Mr.\nand Mrs. Skratdj rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the\nchildren's squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were\nmad, and the maids' contest was sharper; whilst the snap-dragon flames\nleaped up and up, and blue fire flew about the room like foam.\n\nAt last the raisins were finished, the flames were all but out, and\nthe company withdrew to the drawing-room. Only Harry lingered.\n\n\"Come along, Harry,\" said the hot-tempered gentleman.\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" said Harry.\n\n\"You had better come,\" said the gentleman.\n\n\"Why?\" said Harry.\n\n\"There's nothing to stop for. The raisins are eaten, the brandy is\nburnt out--\"\n\n\"No, it's not,\" said Harry.\n\n\"Well, almost. It would be better if it were quite out. Now come. It's\ndangerous for a boy like you to be alone with the Snap-Dragons\nto-night.\"\n\n\"Fiddle-sticks!\" said Harry.\n\n\"Go your own way, then!\" said the hot-tempered gentleman; and he\nbounced out of the room, and Harry was left alone.\n\n\nDANCING WITH THE DRAGONS.\n\nHe crept up to the table, where one little pale blue flame flickered\nin the snap-dragon dish.\n\n\"What a pity it should go out!\" said Harry. At this moment the\nbrandy-bottle on the sideboard caught his eye.\n\n\"Just a little more,\" muttered Harry to himself; and he uncorked the\nbottle, and poured a little brandy on to the flame.\n\nNow of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all the brandy\nin the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to pieces; and\nit was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously hurt. A\nlittle of the hot brandy did get into his eyes, and made them smart,\nso that he had to shut them for a few seconds.\n\nBut when he opened them again, what a sight he saw! All over the room\nthe blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in the\nsoup-plate with the raisins. And Harry saw that each successive flame\nwas the fold in the long body of a bright blue Dragon, which moved\nlike the body of a snake. And the room was full of these Dragons. In\nthe face they were like the dragons one sees made of very old blue and\nwhite china; and they had forked tongues, like the tongues of\nserpents. They were most beautiful in colour, being sky-blue. Lobsters\nwho have just changed their coats are very handsome, but the violet\nand indigo of a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky-blue of\na Snap-Dragon.\n\nHow they leaped about! They were for ever leaping over each other like\nseals at play. But if it was \"play\" at all with them, it was of a very\nrough kind; for as they jumped, they snapped and barked at each\nother, and their barking was like that of the barking Gnu in the\nZoological Gardens; and from time to time they tore the hair out of\neach other's heads with their claws, and scattered it about the floor.\nAnd as it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from\ntheir fingers when they are eating snap-dragon raisins.\n\nHarry stood aghast.\n\n\"What fun!\" cried a voice close behind him; and he saw that one of the\nDragons was lying near, and not joining in the game. He had lost one\nof the forks of his tongue by accident, and could not bark for awhile.\n\n\"I'm glad you think it funny,\" said Harry; \"I don't.\"\n\n\"That's right. Snap away!\" sneered the Dragon. \"You're a perfect\ntreasure. They'll take you in with them the third round.\"\n\n\"Not those creatures?\" cried Harry.\n\n\"Yes, those creatures. And if I hadn't lost my bark, I'd be the first\nto lead you off,\" said the Dragon. \"Oh, the game will exactly suit\nyou.\"\n\n\"What is it, please?\" Harry asked.\n\n\"You'd better not say 'please' to the others,\" said the Dragon, \"if\nyou don't want to have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. You\nhave always to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either\ntalk or bark. If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. I\nneed not explain what _snapping_ is. _You know._ If any one by\naccident gives a civil answer, a claw-full of hair is torn out of his\nhead to stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier.\"\n\n\"I dare say it suits you capitally,\" said Harry; \"but I'm sure we\nshouldn't like it. I mean men and women and children. It wouldn't do\nfor us at all.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't it?\" said the Dragon. \"You don't know how many human beings\ndance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house\ntill after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds, and take\nthem to dance in Vesuvius.\"\n\n\"Vesuvius!\" cried Harry.\n\n\"Yes, Vesuvius. We come from Italy originally, you know. Our skins are\nthe colour of the Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent\nspirits. We have glorious fun in the mountain sometimes. Oh! what\nsnapping, and scratching, and tearing! Delicious! There are times when\nthe squabbling becomes too great, and Mother Mountain won't stand it,\nand spits us all out, and throws cinders after us. But this is only at\ntimes. We had a charming meeting last year. So many human beings, and\nhow they _can_ snap! It was a choice party. So very select. We always\nhave plenty of saucy children, and servants. Husbands and wives too,\nand quite as many of the former as the latter, if not more. But\nbesides these, we had two vestry-men; a country postman, who devoted\nhis talents to insulting the public instead of to learning the postal\nregulations; three cabmen and two \"fares\"; two young shop-girls from a\nBerlin wool shop in a town where there was no competition; four\ncommercial travellers; six landladies; six Old Bailey lawyers; several\nwidows from almshouses; seven single gentlemen and nine cats, who\nswore at everything; a dozen sulphur-coloured screaming cockatoos; a\nlot of street children from a town; a pack of mongrel curs from the\ncolonies, who snapped at the human beings' heels; and five elderly\nladies in their Sunday bonnets with Prayer-books, who had been\nfighting for good seats in church.\"\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Harry.\n\n\"If you can find nothing sharper to say than 'Dear me,'\" said the\nDragon, \"you will fare badly, I can tell you. Why, I thought you'd a\nsharp tongue, but it's not forked yet, I see. Here they are, however.\nOff with you! And if you value your curls--Snap!\"\n\nAnd before Harry could reply, the Snap-Dragons came in on their third\nround, and as they passed they swept Harry along with them.\n\nHe shuddered as he looked at his companions. They were as transparent\nas shrimps, but of a lovely cerulaean blue. And as they leaped they\nbarked--\"Howf! Howf!\"--like barking Gnus; and when they leaped Harry\nhad to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and wrangled with\neach other; and in this Harry must join also.\n\n\"Pleasant, isn't it?\" said one of the blue Dragons.\n\n\"Not at all,\" snapped Harry.\n\n\"That's your bad taste,\" snapped the blue Dragon.\n\n\"No, it's not!\" snapped Harry.\n\n\"Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing.\"\n\n\"Oh, please don't!\" shrieked Harry, forgetting himself. On which the\nDragon clawed a handful of hair out of his head, and Harry screamed,\nand the blue Dragons barked and danced.\n\n\"That made your hair curl, didn't it?\" asked another Dragon, leaping\nover Harry.\n\n\"That's no business of yours,\" Harry snapped, as well as he could for\ncrying.\n\n\"It's more my pleasure than business,\" retorted the Dragon.\n\n\"Keep it to yourself, then,\" snapped Harry.\n\n\"I mean to share it with you, when I get hold of your hair,\" snapped\nthe Dragon.\n\n\"Wait till you get the chance,\" Harry snapped, with desperate presence\nof mind.\n\n\"Do you know whom you're talking to?\" roared the Dragon; and he opened\nhis mouth from ear to ear, and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's\nface; and the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried\npiteously,\n\n\"Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't!\"\n\nOn which the blue Dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his\nhead, and all the Dragons barked as before.\n\nHow long the dreadful game went on Harry never exactly knew. Well\npractised as he was in snapping in the nursery, he often failed to\nthink of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the loss of his\nhair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome all this rudeness and snapping now\nseemed to him! But on he had to go, wondering all the time how near it\nwas to twelve o'clock, and whether the Snap-Dragons would stay till\nmidnight and take him with them to Vesuvius.\n\nAt last, to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to\nan end. The Dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and at\nlast one after another they began to go out.\n\n\"Oh, if they only all of them get away before twelve!\" thought poor\nHarry.\n\nAt last there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and\nbarked, and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the\nclock in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do before\nthey strike, as if it were clearing its throat.\n\n\"Oh, _please_ go!\" screamed Harry in despair.\n\nThe blue Dragon leaped up, and took such a claw-full of hair out of\nthe boy's head, that it seemed as if part of the skin went too. But\nthat leap was his last. He went out at once, vanishing before the\nfirst stroke of twelve. And Harry was left on his face on the floor in\nthe darkness.\n\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\nWhen his friends found him there was blood on his forehead. Harry\nthought it was where the Dragon had clawed him, but they said it was a\ncut from a fragment of the broken brandy-bottle. The Dragons had\ndisappeared as completely as the brandy.\n\nHarry was cured of snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a\nlifetime, and the catch-contradictions of the household now made him\nshudder. Polly had not had the benefit of his experiences, and yet she\nimproved also.\n\nIn the first place, snapping, like other kinds of quarrelling,\nrequires two parties to it, and Harry would never be a party to\nsnapping any more. And when he gave civil and kind answers to Polly's\nsmart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself, and did not repeat them.\n\nIn the second place, she heard about the Snap-Dragons. Harry told all\nabout it to her and to the hot-tempered gentleman.\n\n\"Now do you think it's true?\" Polly asked the hot-tempered man.\n\n\"Hum! Ha!\" said he, driving his hands through his hair. \"You know I\nwarned you, you were going to the Snap-Dragons.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHarry and Polly snubbed \"the little ones\" when they snapped, and\nutterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example and\nadmonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery\ndiscipline, and before long there was not a \"sharp tongue\" amongst all\nthe little Skratdjs.\n\nBut I doubt if the parents ever were cured. I don't know if they heard\nthe story. Besides, bad habits are not easily cured when one is old.\n\nI fear Mr. and Mrs. Skratdj have yet got to dance with the Dragons.\n\n\n\n\nOLD FATHER CHRISTMAS.\n\n\n\n\nOLD FATHER CHRISTMAS.\n\nAN OLD-FASHIONED TALE OF THE YOUNG DAYS OF A GRUMPY OLD GODFATHER.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\n\"Can you fancy, young people,\" said Godfather Garbel, winking with his\nprominent eyes, and moving his feet backwards and forwards in his\nsquare shoes, so that you could hear the squeak-leather half a room\noff--\"can you fancy my having been a very little boy, and having a\ngodmother? But I had, and she sent me presents on my birthdays too.\nAnd young people did not get presents when I was a child as they get\nthem now. _Grumph_! We had not half so many toys as you have, but we\nkept them twice as long. I think we were fonder of them too, though\nthey were neither so handsome nor so expensive as these new-fangled\naffairs you are always breaking about the house. _Grumph_!\n\n\"You see, middle-class folk were more saving then. My mother turned\nand dyed her dresses, and when she had done with them, the servant was\nvery glad to have them; but, bless me! your mother's maids dress so\nmuch finer than their mistress, I do not think they would say 'thank\nyou' for her best Sunday silk. The bustle's the wrong shape. _Grumph_!\n\n\"What's that you are laughing at, little miss? It's _pannier_, is it?\nWell, well, bustle or pannier, call it what you like; but only donkeys\nwore panniers in my young days, and many's the ride I've had in them.\n\n\"Now, as I say, my relations and friends thought twice before they\npulled out five shillings in a toy-shop, but they didn't forget me,\nall the same.\n\n\"On my eighth birthday my mother gave me a bright blue comforter of\nher own knitting.\n\n\"My little sister gave me a ball. My mother had cut out the divisions\nfrom various bits in the rag-bag, and my sister had done some of the\nseaming. It was stuffed with bran, and had a cork inside which had\nbroken from old age, and would no longer fit the pickle-jar it\nbelonged to. This made the ball bound when we played 'prisoner's\nbase.'\n\n\"My father gave me the broken driving-whip that had lost the lash, and\nan old pair of his gloves, to play coachman with; these I had long\nwished for, since next to sailing in a ship, in my ideas, came the\nhonour and glory of driving a coach.\n\n\"My whole soul, I must tell you, was set upon being a sailor. In those\ndays I had rather put to sea once on Farmer Fodder's duck-pond than\nride twice atop of his hay-waggon; and between the smell of hay and\nthe softness of it, and the height you are up above other folk, and\nthe danger of tumbling off if you don't look out--for hay is elastic\nas well as soft--you don't easily beat a ride on a hay-waggon for\npleasure. But as I say, I'd rather put to sea on the duck-pond, though\nthe best craft I could borrow was the pigstye-door, and a pole to punt\nwith, and the village boys jeering when I got aground, which was most\nof the time--besides the duck-pond never having a wave on it worth the\nname, punt as you would, and so shallow you could not have got drowned\nin it to save your life.\n\n\"You're laughing now, little master, are you? But let me tell you that\ndrowning's the death for a sailor, whatever you may think. So I've\nalways maintained, and have given every navigable sea in the known\nworld a chance, though here I am after all, laid up in arm-chairs and\nfeather-beds, to wait for bronchitis or some other slow poison.\n_Grumph_!\n\n\"Well, we must all go as we're called, sailors or landsmen, and as I\nwas saying, if I was never to sail a ship, I would have liked to drive\na coach. A mail coach, serving His Majesty (Her Majesty now, GOD\nbless her!), carrying the Royal Arms, and bound to go, rough weather\nand fair. Many's the time I've done it (in play you understand) with\nthat whip and those gloves. Dear! dear! The pains I took to teach my\nsister Patty to be a highwayman, and jump out on me from the\ndrying-ground hedge in the dusk with a 'Stand and deliver!' which she\ncouldn't get out of her throat for fright, and wouldn't jump hard\nenough for fear of hurting me.\n\n\"The whip and the gloves gave me joy, I can tell you; but there was\nmore to come.\n\n\"Kitty the servant gave me a shell that she had had by her for years.\nHow I had coveted that shell! It had this remarkable property: when\nyou put it to your ear, you could hear the roaring of the sea. I had\nnever seen the sea, but Kitty was born in a fisherman's cottage, and\nmany an hour have I sat by the kitchen fire whilst she told me strange\nstories of the mighty ocean, and ever and anon she would snatch the\nshell from the mantelpiece and clap it to my ear, crying, 'There,\nchild, you couldn't hear it plainer than that. It's the very moral!'\n\n\"When Kitty gave me that shell for my very own, I felt that life had\nlittle more to offer. I held it to every ear in the house, including\nthe cat's; and, seeing Dick the sexton's son go by with an armful of\nstraw to stuff Guy Fawkes, I ran out, and in my anxiety to make him\nshare the treat, and learn what the sea is like, I clapped the shell\nto his ear so smartly and unexpectedly, that he, thinking me to have\nstruck him, knocked me down then and there with his bundle of straw.\nWhen he understood the rights of the case, he begged my pardon\nhandsomely, and gave me two whole treacle-sticks and part of a third\nout of his breeches-pocket, in return for which I forgave him freely,\nand promised to let him hear the sea roar on every Saturday\nhalf-holiday till farther notice.\n\n\"And speaking of Dick and the straw reminds me that my birthday falls\non the fifth of November. From this it came about that I always had to\nbear a good many jokes about being burnt as a Guy Fawkes; but, on the\nother hand, I was allowed to make a small bonfire of my own, and to\nhave eight potatoes to roast therein, and eight-pennyworth of crackers\nto let off in the evening. A potato and a pennyworth of crackers for\nevery year of my life.\n\n\"On this eighth birthday, having got all the above-named gifts, I\ncried, in the fulness of my heart, 'There never was such a day!' And\nyet there was more to come, for the evening coach brought me a parcel,\nand the parcel was my godmother's picture-book.\n\n\"My godmother was a gentlewoman of small means; but she was\naccomplished. She could make very spirited sketches, and knew how to\ncolour them after they were outlined and shaded in Indian ink. She\nhad a pleasant talent for versifying. She was very industrious. I have\nit from her own lips that she copied the figures in my picture-book\nfrom prints in several different houses at which she visited. They\nwere fancy portraits of characters, most of which were familiar to my\nmind. There were Guy Fawkes, Punch, his then Majesty the King, Bogy,\nthe Man in the Moon, the Clerk of the Weather Office, a Dunce, and Old\nFather Christmas. Beneath each sketch was a stanza of my godmother's\nown composing.\n\n\"My godmother was very ingenious. She had been mainly guided in her\nchoice of these characters by the prints she happened to meet with, as\nshe did not trust herself to design a figure. But if she could not get\nexactly what she wanted, she had a clever knack of tracing the outline\nof an attitude from some engraving, and altering the figure to suit\nher purpose in the finished sketch. She was the soul of truthfulness,\nand the notes she added to the index of contents in my picture-book\nspoke at once for her honesty in avowing obligations, and her\ningenuity in availing herself of opportunities.\n\n\"They ran thus:--\n\n     No. 1.--GUY FAWKES. Outlined from a figure of a warehouseman\n     rolling a sherry flask into Mr. Rudd's wine-vaults. I added\n     the hat, cloak, and boots in the finished drawing.\n\n     No. 2.--PUNCH. I sketched him from the life.\n\n     No. 3.--HIS MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY THE KING. On a quart jug\n     bought in Cheapside.\n\n     No. 4.--BOGY, _with bad boys in the bag on his back_.\n     Outlined from Christian bending under his burden, in my\n     mother's old copy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_. The face from\n     Giant Despair.\n\n     No. 5 and No. 6.--THE MAN IN THE MOON, and THE CLERK OF THE\n     WEATHER OFFICE. From a book of caricatures belonging to Dr.\n     James.\n\n     No. 7.--A DUNCE. From a steel engraving framed in rosewood\n     that hangs in my Uncle Wilkinson's parlour.\n\n     No. 8.--OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS. From a German book at Lady\n     Littleham's.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\"My sister Patty was six years old. We loved each other dearly. The\npicture-book was almost as much hers as mine. We sat so long together\non one big footstool by the fire, with our arms round each other, and\nthe book resting on our knees, that Kitty called down blessings on my\ngodmother's head for having sent a volume that kept us both so long\nout of mischief.\n\n\"'If books was allus as useful as that, they'd do for me,' said she;\nand though this speech did not mean much, it was a great deal for\nKitty to say; since, not being herself an educated person, she\nnaturally thought that 'little enough good comes of larning.'\n\n\"Patty and I had our favourites amongst the pictures. Bogy, now, was a\ncharacter one did not care to think about too near bed-time. I was\ntired of Guy Fawkes, and thought he looked more natural made of straw,\nas Dick did him. The Dunce was a little too personal; but Old Father\nChristmas took our hearts by storm; we had never seen anything like\nhim, though now-a-days you may get a plaster figure of him in any\ntoy-shop at Christmas-time, with hair and beard like cotton-wool, and\na Christmas-tree in his hand.\n\n\"The custom of Christmas-trees came from Germany. I can remember when\nthey were first introduced into England, and what wonderful things we\nthought them. Now, every village school has its tree, and the scholars\nopenly discuss whether the presents have been 'good' or 'mean,' as\ncompared with other trees of former years.\n\n\"The first one that I ever saw I believed to have come from good\nFather Christmas himself; but little boys have grown too wise now to\nbe taken in for their own amusement. They are not excited by secret\nand mysterious preparations in the back drawing-room; they hardly\nconfess to the thrill--which I feel to this day--when the\nfolding-doors are thrown open, and amid the blaze of tapers, Mamma,\nlike a Fate, advances with her scissors to give every one what falls\nto his lot.\n\n\"Well, young people, when I was eight years old I had not seen a\nChristmas-tree, and the first picture of one I ever saw was the\npicture of that held by Old Father Christmas in my godmother's\npicture-book.\n\n\"'What are those things on the tree?' I asked.\n\n\"'Candles,' said my father.\n\n\"'No, father, not the candles; the other things?'\n\n\"'Those are toys, my son.'\n\n\"'Are they ever taken off?'\n\n\"'Yes, they are taken off, and given to the children who stand round\nthe tree.'\n\n\"Patty and I grasped each other by the hand, and with one voice\nmurmured, 'How kind of Old Father Christmas!'\n\n\"By and by I asked, 'How old is Father Christmas?'\n\n\"My father laughed, and said, 'One thousand eight hundred and thirty\nyears, child,' which was then the year of our Lord, and thus one\nthousand eight hundred and thirty years since the first great\nChristmas Day.\n\n\"'He _looks_ very old,' whispered Patty.\n\n\"And I, who was, for my age, what Kitty called 'Bible-learned,' said\nthoughtfully, and with some puzzledness of mind, 'Then he's older than\nMethuselah.'\n\n\"But my father had left the room, and did not hear my difficulty.\n\n\"November and December went by, and still the picture-book kept all\nits charm for Patty and me; and we pondered on and loved Old Father\nChristmas as children can love and realize a fancy friend. To those\nwho remember the fancies of their childhood I need say no more.\n\n\"Christmas week came, Christmas Eve came. My father and mother were\nmysteriously and unaccountably busy in the parlour (we had only one\nparlour), and Patty and I were not allowed to go in. We went into the\nkitchen, but even here was no place of rest for us. Kitty was 'all\nover the place,' as she phrased it, and cakes, mince-pies, and\npuddings were with her. As she justly observed, 'There was no place\nthere for children and book; to sit with their toes in the fire, when\na body wanted to be at the oven all along. The cat was enough for\n_her_ temper,' she added.\n\n\"As to puss, who obstinately refused to take a hint which drove her\nout into the Christmas frost, she returned again and again with soft\nsteps, and a stupidity that was, I think, affected, to the warm\nhearth, only to fly at intervals, like a football, before Kitty's\nhasty slipper.\n\n\"We had more sense, or less courage. We bowed to Kitty's behests, and\nwent to the back door.\n\n\"Patty and I were hardy children, and accustomed to 'run out' in all\nweathers, without much extra wrapping up. We put Kitty's shawl over\nour two heads, and went outside. I rather hoped to see something of\nDick, for it was holiday time; but no Dick passed. He was busy\nhelping his father to bore holes in the carved seats of the church,\nwhich were to hold sprigs of holly for the morrow--that was the idea\nof church decoration in my young days. You have improved on your\nelders there, young people, and I am candid enough to allow it. Still,\nthe sprigs of red and green were better than nothing, and, like your\nlovely wreaths and pious devices, they made one feel as if the old\nblack wood were bursting into life and leaf again for very Christmas\njoy!\n\n\"And, if one only knelt carefully, they did not scratch his nose,\"\nadded Godfather Garbel, chuckling and rubbing his own, which was large\nand rather red.\n\n\"Well,\" he continued, \"Dick was busy, and not to be seen. We ran\nacross the little yard and looked over the wall at the end to see if\nwe could see anything or anybody. From this point there was a pleasant\nmeadow field sloping prettily away to a little hill about\nthree-quarters of a mile distant; which, catching some fine breezes\nfrom the moors beyond, was held to be a place of cure for\nwhooping-cough, or 'kinkcough,' as it was vulgarly called. Up to the\ntop of this Kitty had dragged me, and carried Patty, when we were\nrecovering from the complaint, as I well remember. It was the only\n'change of air' we could afford, and I dare say it did as well as if\nwe had gone into badly-drained lodgings at the seaside.\n\n\"This hill was now covered with snow, and stood off against the grey\nsky. The white fields looked vast and dreary in the dusk. The only gay\nthings to be seen were the red berries on the holly hedge, in the\nlittle lane--which, running by the end of our back-yard, led up to the\nHall--and a fat robin redbreast who was staring at me. I was watching\nthe robin, when Patty, who had been peering out of her corner of\nKitty's shawl, gave a great jump that dragged the shawl from our\nheads, and cried,\n\n\"'LOOK!'\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\"I looked. An old man was coming along the lane. His hair and beard\nwere as white as cotton-wool. He had a face like the sort of apple\nthat keeps well in winter; his coat was old and brown. There was snow\nabout him in patches, and he carried a small fir-tree.\n\n\"The same conviction seized upon us both. With one breath we\nexclaimed, '_It's Old Father Christmas!_'\n\n\"I know now that it was only an old man of the place, with whom we did\nnot happen to be acquainted, and that he was taking a little fir-tree\nup to the Hall, to be made into a Christmas-tree. He was a very\ngood-humoured old fellow, and rather deaf, for which he made up by\nsmiling and nodding his head a good deal, and saying, 'Aye, aye, _to_\nbe sure!' at likely intervals.\n\n\"As he passed us and met our earnest gaze, he smiled and nodded so\naffably, that I was bold enough to cry, 'Good-evening, Father\nChristmas!'\n\n\"'Same to you!' said he, in a high-pitched voice.\n\n\"'Then you _are_ Father Christmas?' said Patty.\n\n\"'And a Happy New Year,' was Father Christmas's reply, which rather\nput me out. But he smiled in such a satisfactory manner, that Patty\nwent on, 'You're very old, aren't you?'\n\n\"'So I be, miss, so I be,' said Father Christmas, nodding.\n\n\"'Father says you're eighteen hundred and thirty years old,' I\nmuttered.\n\n\"'Aye, aye, to be sure,' said Father Christmas, 'I'm a long age.'\n\n\"A _very_ long age, thought I, and I added, 'You're nearly twice as\nold as Methuselah, you know,' thinking that this might not have struck\nhim.\n\n\"'Aye, aye,' said Father Christmas; but he did not seem to think\nanything of it. After a pause he held up the tree, and cried, 'D'ye\nknow what this is, little miss?'\n\n\"'A Christmas-tree,' said Patty.\n\n\"And the old man smiled and nodded.\n\n\"I leant over the wall, and shouted, 'But there are no candles.'\n\n\"'By and by,' said Father Christmas, nodding as before. 'When it's\ndark they'll all be lighted up. That'll be a fine sight!'\n\n\"'Toys too, there'll be, won't there?' screamed Patty.\n\n\"Father Christmas nodded his head. 'And sweeties,' he added,\nexpressively.\n\n\"I could feel Patty trembling, and my own heart beat fast. The thought\nwhich agitated us both, was this--'Was Father Christmas bringing the\ntree to us?' But very anxiety, and some modesty also, kept us from\nasking outright.\n\n\"Only when the old man shouldered his tree, and prepared to move on, I\ncried in despair, 'Oh, are you going?'\n\n\"'I'm coming back by and by,' said he.\n\n\"'How soon?' cried Patty.\n\n\"'About four o'clock,' said the old man, smiling. 'I'm only going up\nyonder.'\n\n\"And, nodding, and smiling as he went, he passed away down the lane.\n\n\"'Up yonder.' This puzzled us. Father Christmas had pointed, but so\nindefinitely, that he might have been pointing to the sky, or the\nfields, or the little wood at the end of the Squire's grounds. I\nthought the latter, and suggested to Patty that perhaps he had some\nplace underground, like Aladdin's cave, where he got the candles, and\nall the pretty things for the tree. This idea pleased us both, and we\namused ourselves by wondering what Old Father Christmas would choose\nfor us from his stores in that wonderful hole where he dressed his\nChristmas-trees.\n\n\"'I wonder, Patty,' said I, 'why there's no picture of Father\nChristmas's dog in the book.' For at the old man's heels in the lane\nthere crept a little brown and white spaniel, looking very dirty in\nthe snow.\n\n\"'Perhaps it's a new dog that he's got to take care of his cave,' said\nPatty.\n\n\"When we went indoors we examined the picture afresh by the dim light\nfrom the passage window, but found no dog there.\n\n\"My father passed us at this moment, and patted my head. 'Father,'\nsaid I, 'I don't know, but I do think Old Father Christmas is going to\nbring us a Christmas-tree to-night.'\n\n\"'Who's been telling you that?' said my father. But he passed on\nbefore I could explain that we had seen Father Christmas himself, and\nhad had his word for it that he would return at four o'clock, and that\nthe candles on his tree would be lighted as soon as it was dark.\n\n\"We hovered on the outskirts of the rooms till four o'clock came. We\nsat on the stairs and watched the big clock, which I was just learning\nto read; and Patty made herself giddy with constantly looking up and\ncounting the four strokes, towards which the hour hand slowly moved.\nWe put our noses into the kitchen now and then, to smell the cakes\nand get warm, and anon we hung about the parlour door, and were most\nunjustly accused of trying to peep. What did we care what our mother\nwas doing in the parlour?--we who had seen Old Father Christmas\nhimself, and were expecting him back again every moment!\n\n\"At last the church clock struck. The sounds boomed heavily through\nthe frost, and Patty thought there were four of them. Then, after due\nchoking and whirring, our own clock struck, and we counted the strokes\nquite clearly--one! two! three! four! Then we got Kitty's shawl once\nmore, and stole out into the back-yard. We ran to our old place, and\npeeped, but could see nothing.\n\n\"'We'd better get up on to the wall,' I said; and with some difficulty\nand distress from rubbing her bare knees against the cold stones, and\ngetting the snow up her sleeves, Patty got on the coping of the little\nwall. I was just struggling after her, when something warm and\nsomething cold coming suddenly against the bare calves of my legs,\nmade me shriek with fright. I came down 'with a run,' and bruised my\nknees, my elbows, and my chin; and the snow that hadn't gone up\nPatty's sleeves, went down my neck. Then I found that the cold thing\nwas a dog's nose, and the warm thing was his tongue; and Patty cried\nfrom her post of observation, 'It's Father Christmas's dog, and he's\nlicking your legs.'\n\n\"It really was the dirty little brown and white spaniel; and he\npersisted in licking me, and jumping on me, and making curious little\nnoises, that must have meant something if one had known his language.\nI was rather harassed at the moment. My legs were sore, I was a little\nafraid of the dog, and Patty was very much afraid of sitting on the\nwall without me.\n\n\"'You won't fall,' I said to her. 'Get down, will you!' I said to the\ndog.\n\n\"'Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall,' said Patty.\n\n\"'Bow! wow!' said the dog.\n\n\"I pulled Patty down, and the dog tried to pull me down; but when my\nlittle sister was on her feet, to my relief, he transferred his\nattentions to her. When he had jumped at her, and licked her several\ntimes, he turned round and ran away.\n\n\"'He's gone,' said I; 'I'm so glad.'\n\n\"But even as I spoke he was back again, crouching at Patty's feet, and\nglaring at her with eyes the colour of his ears.\n\n\"Now Patty was very fond of animals, and when the dog looked at her\nshe looked at the dog, and then she said to me, 'He wants us to go\nwith him.'\n\n\"On which (as if he understood our language, though we were ignorant\nof his) the spaniel sprang away, and went off as hard as he could;\nand Patty and I went after him, a dim hope crossing my mind--'Perhaps\nFather Christmas has sent him for us.'\n\n\"This idea was rather favoured by the fact that the dog led us up the\nlane. Only a little way; then he stopped by something lying in the\nditch--and once more we cried in the same breath, 'It's Old Father\nChristmas!'\"\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\"Returning from the Hall, the old man had slipped upon a bit of ice,\nand lay stunned in the snow.\n\n\"Patty began to cry. 'I think he's dead,' she sobbed.\n\n\"'He is so very old, I don't wonder,' I murmured; 'but perhaps he's\nnot. I'll fetch Father.'\n\n\"My father and Kitty were soon on the spot. Kitty was as strong as a\nman; and they carried Father Christmas between them into the kitchen.\nThere he quickly revived.\n\n\"I must do Kitty the justice to say that she did not utter a word of\ncomplaint at this disturbance of her labours; and that she drew the\nold man's chair close up to the oven with her own hand. She was so\nmuch affected by the behaviour of his dog, that she admitted him even\nto the hearth; on which puss, being acute enough to see how matters\nstood, lay down with her back so close to the spaniel's that Kitty\ncould not expel one without kicking both.\n\n\"For our parts, we felt sadly anxious about the tree; otherwise we\ncould have wished for no better treat than to sit at Kitty's round\ntable taking tea with Father Christmas. Our usual fare of thick bread\nand treacle was to-night exchanged for a delicious variety of cakes,\nwhich were none the worse to us for being 'tasters and wasters'--that\nis, little bits of dough, or shortbread, put in to try the state of\nthe oven, and certain cakes that had got broken or burnt in the\nbaking.\n\n\"Well, there we sat, helping Old Father Christmas to tea and cake, and\nwondering in our hearts what could have become of the tree. But you\nsee, young people, when I was a child, parents were stricter than they\nare now. Even before Kitty died (and she has been dead many a long\nyear) there was a change, and she said that 'children got to think\nanything became them.' I think we were taught more honest shame about\ncertain things than I often see in little boys and girls now. We were\nashamed of boasting, or being greedy, or selfish; we were ashamed of\nasking for anything that was not offered to us, and of interrupting\ngrown-up people, or talking about ourselves. Why, papas and mammas\nnow-a-days seem quite proud to let their friends see how bold and\ngreedy and talkative their children can be! A lady said to me the\nother day, 'You wouldn't believe, Mr. Garbel, how forward dear little\nHarry is for his age. He has his word in everything, and is not a bit\nshy! and his papa never comes home from town but Harry runs to ask him\nif he's brought him a present. Papa says he'll be the ruin of him!'\n\n\"'Madam,' said I, 'even without your word for it, I am quite aware\nthat your child is forward. He is forward and greedy and intrusive, as\nyou justly point out, and I wish you joy of him when those qualities\nare fully developed. I think his father's fears are well founded.'\n\n\"But, bless me! now-a-days it's 'Come and tell Mr. Smith what a fine\nboy you are, and how many houses you can build with your bricks,' or,\n'The dear child wants everything he sees,' or 'Little pet never lets\nMamma alone for a minute; does she, love?' But in my young days it\nwas, 'Self-praise is no recommendation' (as Kitty used to tell me),\nor, 'You're knocking too hard at No. One' (as my father said when we\ntalked about ourselves), or, 'Little boys should be seen but not\nheard' (as a rule of conduct 'in company'), or, 'Don't ask for what\nyou want, but take what's given you and be thankful.'\n\n\"And so you see, young people, Patty and I felt a delicacy in asking\nOld Father Christmas about the tree. It was not till we had had tea\nthree times round, with tasters and wasters to match, that Patty said\nvery gently, 'It's quite dark now.' And then she heaved a deep sigh.\n\n\"Burning anxiety overcame me. I leant towards Father Christmas, and\nshouted--I had found out that it was needful to shout--\n\n\"'I suppose the candles are on the tree now?'\n\n\"'Just about putting of 'em on,' said Father Christmas.\n\n\"'And the presents, too?' said Patty.\n\n\"'Aye, aye, _to_ be sure,' said Father Christmas, and he smiled\ndelightfully.\n\n\"I was thinking what farther questions I might venture upon, when he\npushed his cup towards Patty, saying, 'Since you are so pressing,\nmiss, I'll take another dish.'\n\n\"And Kitty, swooping on us from the oven, cried, 'Make yourself at\nhome, sir; there's more where these came from. Make a long arm, Miss\nPatty, and hand them cakes.'\n\n\"So we had to devote ourselves to the duties of the table; and Patty,\nholding the lid with one hand and pouring out with the other, supplied\nFather Christmas's wants with a heavy heart.\n\n\"At last he was satisfied. I said grace, during which he stood, and\nindeed he stood for some time afterwards with his eyes shut--I fancy\nunder the impression that I was still speaking. He had just said a\nfervent 'Amen,' and reseated himself, when my father put his head into\nthe kitchen, and made this remarkable statement--\n\n\"'Old Father Christmas has sent a tree to the young people.'\n\n\"Patty and I uttered a cry of delight, and we forthwith danced round\nthe old man, saying, 'Oh, how nice! Oh, how kind of you!' which I\nthink must have bewildered him, but he only smiled and nodded.\n\n\"'Come along,' said my father. 'Come, children. Come, Reuben. Come,\nKitty.'\n\n\"And he went into the parlour, and we all followed him.\n\n\"My godmother's picture of a Christmas-tree was very pretty; and the\nflames of the candles were so naturally done in red and yellow, that I\nalways wondered that they did not shine at night. But the picture was\nnothing to the reality. We had been sitting almost in the dark, for,\nas Kitty said, 'Firelight was quite enough to burn at meal-times.' And\nwhen the parlour door was thrown open, and the tree, with lighted\ntapers on all the branches, burst upon our view, the blaze was\ndazzling, and threw such a glory round the little gifts, and the bags\nof coloured muslin with acid drops, and pink rose drops, and comfits\ninside, as I shall never forget. We all got something; and Patty and\nI, at any rate, believed that the things came from the stores of Old\nFather Christmas. We were not undeceived even by his gratefully\naccepting a bundle of old clothes which had been hastily put together\nto form his present.\n\n\"We were all very happy; even Kitty, I think, though she kept her\nsleeves rolled up, and seemed rather to grudge enjoying herself (a\nweak point in some energetic characters). She went back to her oven\nbefore the lights were out, and the angel on the top of the tree taken\ndown. She locked up her present (a little work-box) at once. She often\nshowed it off afterwards, but it was kept in the same bit of\ntissue-paper till she died. Our presents certainly did not last so\nlong!\n\n\"The old man died about a week afterwards, so we never made his\nacquaintance as a common personage. When he was buried, his little dog\ncame to us. I suppose he remembered the hospitality he had received.\nPatty adopted him, and he was very faithful. Puss always looked on him\nwith favour. I hoped during our rambles together in the following\nsummer that he would lead us at last to the cave where Christmas-trees\nare dressed. But he never did.\n\n\"Our parents often spoke of his late master as 'old Reuben,' but\nchildren are not easily disabused of a favourite fancy, and in Patty's\nthoughts and in mine the old man was long gratefully remembered as OLD\nFATHER CHRISTMAS.\"\n\nTHE END.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n_The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized,\ncomplete, and uniform Edition published._\n\n_It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol.,\nissued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will\nappear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series\nwill be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was\nspecially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing._\n\n_The following is a list of the books included in the Series_--\n\n\n1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES.\n\n2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES.\n\n3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES.\n\n4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING.\n\n5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES.\n\n6. SIX TO SIXTEEN.\n\n7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES.\n\n8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL.\n\n9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS.\n\n10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE\nTHEATRICALS, &c.\n\n11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES.\n\n12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN.\n\n13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I.\n\n14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II.\n\n15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE.\n\n16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS.\n\n17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--Wonder\nStories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations.\n\n18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs.\nEwing's Letters.\n\n\nS.P.C.K., Northumberland Avenue, London, W.C.","title":"The Peace Egg and Other tales","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":32531}