Lo, now is come our joyful'st feast!
Let every man be jolly,
Each roome with yvie leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their ovens they with bak't meats choke,
And all their spits are turning,
Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if, for cold, it hap to die,
Wee 'l bury't in a Christmas pye,
And evermore be merry.

WITHERS, Juvenilia.

I HAD finished my toilet, and was loitering with Frank
Bracebridge in the library, when we heard a distant thwack-
ing sound, which he informed me was a signal for the serving
up of the dinner. The 'Squire kept up old customs in kitchen
as well as hall; and the rolling-pin struck upon the dresser
by the cook, summoned the servants to carry in the meats.

Just in this nick the cook knock'd thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice,
His summons did obey;
Each serving man, with dish in hand,
Marched boldly up, like our train band,
Presented, and away. ^*

The dinner was served up in the great hall, where the
'Squire always held his Christmas banquet. A blazing crack-
ling fire of logs had been heaped on to warm the spacious

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