The fire 's with dried yule-logs supplied, "The wassail, in a deep brown bowl, ""Tis Christmas taps the best of ale, Loud and long were the plaudits bestowed upon the yeoman's song; and, whether from exhaustion, or a temporary flagging of the late and long-continued boisterous glee, some minutes elapsed, and yet there appeared no disposition to quit the seats already occupied. The fiddler scraped the most enlivening tunes, from his well-frayed catgut; but in vain. No one rose to again trip it on the light fantastic foot; and, save for the hum of busy voices, the Christmas revel might have seemed like an expiring ember on the hearth, waning to a close. The cock crowed once, but not from the approach of day. His doze in the partlet was broken by the unusual nocturnal tumult, and, vexed at the disturbance, he threw his bold challenge on the breeze, and felt ready to spur his own shadow, reflected on the wall in the moonlight. Drowsy bats, skulking in nook and cranny, stared with sleepy wonderment, and clung more closely to their retreats. Even the screech-owl ceased her startling-scream, to listen; and many a mouse, scared to its securest hole, pricked his ears with throbbing fear. "Since ye seem to be wearied," observed the Squire, glancing around him, "what say ye to a story?" 66 echo. Ay, ay; a story, a story!" was now the "Well, well!" rejoined the Squire, goodhumouredly," a story it shall be. Who 'll tell it?" To be sure. There was the rub. Who would tell it? Countless feet shuffled on the floor, and each one present appeared to become immediately engrossed with some important subject with his neighbour. No voice was raised above a whisper, and all appeared a little nervous and uneasy. "I say," repeated the Squire, raising his voice, "who will tell it?" But there was no offer, and, after an effective pause, which seemed to keep alive the awakened fears, he added-" Since we cannot have a freely-given tale, I must exercise my right of call. Tom Bright, the tale shall be told by you." This was spoken to an old and hardy son of the soil, sitting on a settle under the wide and yawning chimney. His hair was white, and thinly scattered over his brow; but scarcely a wrinkle furrowed or lined his cheek. In his clear blue eyes good-will and kindliness of disposition were blended; and although his back was bent by time, his frame still looked strong and sturdy, and capable of bearing a long day's honest labour. By his side sat, decked in holiday gear, Tom Bright's better half. Bleached as a snow-drift was the close cap, fringed with lace of her own handicraft; and the once nut-brown and luxuriant locks, now frosted and whitening with age, were parted in two smooth and equal divisions. In her face the glad expression of a sunny heart shone; and as she sat with her mittened hands crossed upon her lap, in all the grandeur of farthingale, high-heeled shoes, and buckles, few happier mortals have been met with on a Christmas night than Mistress Bright. 66 'Well, sir," exclaimed Tom Bright, "I'm but an indifferent hand at the telling of a story; but if ye 'll put up with what I know, I'll do my best to please!" 66 Very good," rejoined the Squire. "Nothing more is wanted here, than each to do his best to please and be pleased." Tom Bright drew a finger across his forehead, looked at the ceiling just above his head, and dropping his eyes gradually, until they fell upon the features of his wife, he brought the palms of his hands together with a slight crack, expressive of a resolved idea. After clearing his voice with sundry hems and hums, he settled himself in his seat, and then began. CHAPTER II. "Had I power, I should Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, "It must be a few years more than two score," said Tom, appealing to his wife, "since we first became acquainted?" "Adzooks, Tom!" returned Mistress Bright, bridling with wounded vanity, "ye make one appear old before the time, I'm thinking." And then the good dame looked around, as if she had said a very good thing, and laughed immeasurably. 66 Ay," continued Tom, making a knowing gesture with his head-"we don't add to our youth by concealing our age. Ye may don your ruffles, lace, and farthingale, and bind your hair deftly 'neath your coif, |