Now trees their leafy hats do bare
To reverence Winter's silver hair;
A handsome hostess, merry host,
A pot of ale and now a toast,
Tobacco and a good coal fire,
Are things this season doth require. ^*

I had not been long at the inn, when a post-chaise drove
up to the door. A young gentleman stepped out, and by the
light of the lamps I caught a glimpse of a countenance which
I thought I knew. I moved forward to get a nearer view,
when his eye caught mine. I was not mistaken; it was Frank
Bracebridge, a sprightly good-humored young fellow, with
whom I had once travelled on the continent. Our meeting
was extremely cordial, for the countenance of an old fellow-
traveller always brings up the recollection of a thousand
pleasant scenes, odd adventures, and excellent jokes. To
discuss all these in a transient interview at an inn, was im-
possible; and finding that I was not pressed for time and
was merely making a tour of observation, he insisted that I
should give him a day or two at his father's country-seat, to
which he was going to pass the holidays, and which lay at a
few miles' distance. "It is better than eating a solitary
Christmas dinner at an inn," said he, "and I can assure you
of a hearty welcome, in something of the old-fashioned style."
His reasoning was cogent, and I must confess the preparation
I had seen for universal festivity and social enjoyment, had
made me feel a little impatient of my loneliness. I closed,
therefore, at once, with his invitation; the chaise drove up to
the door, and in a few moments I was on my way to the
family mansion of the Bracebridges.

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