it, grandpa Cheever, and Mrs.
Parlin, and Love, and Willy all struck up,--

"Come, bring with a noise,
My merry, merry boys,
The Christmas log to the firing,
While my good dame, she
Bids ye all be free,
And drink to your hearts' desiring."

The "good dame," I suppose, was Mrs. Parlin; and she gave them to drink,
it is true, but nothing stronger than metheglin, or egg nog, or flip. It
seems to me I can almost see her standing by the table, pouring it out
with a gracious smile. She was a handsome, queenly-looking woman, they
say, though rather too large round the waist you might think.

Her father was a famous singer, as well as herself; and for my part I
should have enjoyed hearing some of their old songs, while the wind
went whistling round the house:--

"Without the door let Sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap to die,
We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,
And evermore be merry."

Or this one:--

"Rejoice, our Saviour, he was born
On Christmas day in the morning."

But these were family affairs, these Christmas meetings. No one else in
Perseverance had anything to do with them, not even Caleb or Lydia.

But the little boys in those days did not live without amusements, you
may be sure. Perhaps their choicest and most bewitching sport was
training. There had been one great war,--the war of the
Revolution,--and as people were looking for another,--which actually
came in 1812,--it was thought safe for men to be drilled in the practice
of marching and carrying fire-arms.

In Perseverance, and many other towns, companies were formed, such as
the Light Infantry, or "String Bean Company," the Artillery, and the
"Troop." These met pretty often, and marched about the streets to the
sound of martial music.

Of course the little boys could not see and hear of all this without a
swelling of the heart and a prancing of the feet; for they were rather
different from boys of these days! Hard indeed, thought they, if they
couldn't form a company too! As for music, what was to hinder them from
pounding it out of tin pans and pewter porringers? There is music in
everything, if you can only get it out. Chickens' wind-pipes, when well
dried, are very melodious, and so are whistles made of willow; and if
you are fond of variety, there are always bones to be had, and
dinner-horns, and jews-harps.

Full of zeal for their country, the little boys on both sides of the
r