rch, "let
Jonas get up and stick some of it into those old hatchments; and,"
looking up at the clerk, busy at work in the pulpit, "don't you put
quite so much up there into my candlesticks!"

With this the parson and the squire took their departure. As they passed
slowly up the village, which already wore a sort of holiday aspect, they
met on all hands with a cordial, respectful, and affectionate greeting.
The quiet little public-house turned out some four or five stout steady
fellows--all tenants of Mr. Aubrey's--with their pipes in their hands,
and who took off their hats, and bowed very low. Mr. Aubrey went up and
entered into conversation with them for some minutes. Their families and
farms, he found, were well and thriving. There was quite a little crowd
of women about the shop of Nick Steele, the butcher, who, with an extra
hand to help him, was giving out the second ox which had been sent from
the Hall, to the persons whose names had been given in to him from Mrs.
Aubrey. Farther on, some were cleaning their little windows, others
sweeping their floors, and sprinkling sand over them; most were
displaying holly and mistletoe in their windows, and over their
mantelpieces. Everywhere, in short, was to be seen that air of quiet
preparation for the solemnly-cheerful morrow, which fills a thoughtful
English observer with feelings of pensive but exquisite satisfaction.

Mr. Aubrey returned home towards dusk, cheered and enlivened by his
walk. His sudden plunge into the simplicity and comparative solitude of
country life--and that country Yatton--had quite refreshed his feelings,
and given a tone to his spirits. Of course Dr. Tatham was to dine at the
Hall on the morrow; if he did not, indeed, it would have been for the
first time during the last five-and-twenty years!

Christmas eve passed pleasantly and quietly enough at the Hall. After
dinner the merry little ones were introduced, and their prattle and
romps occupied an hour right joyously. As soon as, smothered with
kisses, they had been dismissed to bed, old Mrs. Aubrey composed
herself, in her great chair, to her usual after-dinner's nap; while her
son, his wife, and sister, sitting fronting the fire--a decanter or two,
and a few wine-glasses and dessert, remaining on the table behind
them--sat conversing in a subdued tone, now listening to the wind
roaring in the chimney--a sound which not a little enhanced their sense
of comfort--then criticising the dispositio