I drew aside the curtains, to hear them more distinctly. The moonbeams
fell through the upper part of the casement, partially lighting up the
antiquated apartment. The sounds, as they receded, became more soft and
aerial, and seemed to accord with quiet and moonlight. I listened and
listened--they became more and more tender and remote, and, as they
gradually died away, my head sank upon the pillow and I fell asleep.




Christmas Day

Dark and dull night, flie hence away,
And give the honour to this day
That Sees December turn'd to May.
. . . . . . . .
Why does the chilling winter's morne
Smile like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like to a meade new-shorne,
Thus on the sudden?--Come and see
The cause why things thus fragrant be.

--HERRICK.

When I awoke the next morning, it seemed as if all the events of the
preceding evening had been a dream, and nothing but the identity of the
ancient chamber convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my
pillow, I heard the sound of little feet pattering outside of the door,
and a whispering consultation. Presently a choir of small voices chanted
forth an old Christmas carol, the burden of which was: