what then? Why the men laugh low,
And hang up a branch of--the misletoe!
Oh, brave is the laurel! and brave is the holly!
But the misletoe banisheth melancholy!
Ah, nobody knows, nor ever _shall_ know,
What is done under the misletoe!"

A printed copy of the Masque, which bears date, "Tuesday, XXIV
December, MDCCCL.," is preserved in the British Museum.

"CHARACTERS

(Which speak)

"Old Father Christmas Hon. Mr. Thelluson
Young Grimston Hon. Mr. Denison
Baron of Beef Hon. Miss Thelluson
Plum-Pudding Hon. Miss Denison
Mince-Pie Hon. Miss Selina Denison
Wassail-Bowl Hon. Miss Isabella Denison

"CHARACTERS

(Which do not speak, or say as little as possible--all that they are
requested to do)

Ursa Minor Hon. Miss Ursula Denison
Baby Cake Hon. Henry Charles Denison."

[Illustration]

UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH.

Ye who have scorn'd each other
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come gather here.
Let sinn'd against and sinning,
Forget their strife's beginning;
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken,
Under the holly bough.

Ye who have lov'd each other,
Sister and friend and brother,
In this fast fading year:
Mother, and sire, and child,
Young man and maiden mild,
Come gather here;
And let your hearts grow fonder,
As memory shall ponder
Each past unbroken vow.
Old loves and younger wooing,
Are sweet in the renewing,
Under the holly bough.

Ye who have nourished sadness,
Estranged from hope and gladness,
In this fast fading year.
Ye with o'er-burdened mind
Made aliens from your kind,
Come gather here.
Let not the useless sorrow
Pursue you night and morrow,
If e'er you hoped--hope now--
Take heart: uncloud your faces,
And join in our embraces
Under the holly bough.

_Charles Mackay, LL.D._

The author of this beautiful poem (Dr. Charles Mackay) was born at
Perth in 1814, and died on Christmas Eve, 1889, at his residence,
Longridge Road, Earl's Court, Brompton.

GHOST STORIES.

Everybody knows that Christmas is the time for ghost stories, and that
Charles Dickens and other writers have supplied us with tales of the
true blood-curdling type. Thomas Hood's "