e poor man has his relations round him, over
his humble _puchero_ (stew): the rich man likewise. _Friends_ have not
come, "for it is not the custom." In Spain only blood relations eat
and drink in the house as invited guests. Families meet as in England.
Two per cent. of the soldiers get a fortnight's leave of absence and a
free pass; and there is joy in peasant homes over peasant charcoal
pans. The dusky shades of evening are stealing over olive grove and
withering vineyard, and every house lights up its tiny oil lamp, and
every image of the Virgin is illuminated with a taper. In Eija, near
Cordova, an image or portrait of the Virgin and the Babe new-born,
hangs in well-nigh every room in every house. And why? Because the
beautiful belief is rooted in those simple minds, that, on Christmas
Eve, ere the clock strikes twelve, the Virgin, bringing blessings in
her train, visits every house where she can find an image or portrait
of _her Son_. And many a girl kneels down in robes of white before her
humble portrait of the Babe and prays; and hears a rustle in the room,
and thinks, "the Virgin comes: she brings me my Christmas Eve
blessing;" and turns, and lo! it is _her mother_, and the Virgin's
blessing is the mother's kiss!

In Northern Andalusia you have the _zambomba_, a flower-pot perforated
by a hollow reed, which, wetted and rubbed with the finger, gives out
a hollow, scraping, monotonous sound. In Southern Andalusia the
_panderita_, or tambourine, is the chief instrument. It is wreathed
with gaudy ribbons, and decked with bells, and beaten, shaken, and
tossed in the air with graceful abandon to the strains of the
Christmas hymn:

"This night is the good night,
And therefore is no night of rest!"

Or, perhaps, the Church chant is sung, called "The child of God was
born."

Then also men click the castanet in wine-shop and cottage; and in such
old-world towns as Eija, where no railway has penetrated, a
breast-plate of eccentrically strung bones--slung round the neck and
played with sticks--is still seen and heard.

The turkeys have been slaughtered and are smoking on the fire. The
night is drawing on and now the meal is over. Twelve o'clock strikes,
and in one moment every bell from every belfrey clangs out its
summons. Poltroon were he who had gone to bed before twelve on
_Noche-buena_. From every house the inmates hurry to the gaily-lit
church and throng its aisles, a dark-robed crowd of worshippers. The