of our Christmas joy. There was the actual substitution for these horrors, of pastime, actual pleasure, substantial happiness, both animal and intellectual. Among the first may be named the luxury of lying in bed in the morning until the sun's rays had somewhat warmed the earth. Then the breakfast. What a contrast to the water-and-milk affair just referred to, the delicious cup of tea, with its necessary accompaniments, the slice of ham, or the frizzing rasher of bacon, or the savoury sausage! Then the full freedom to spend the whole morning, nay, the whole day, in such pursuits as best harmonised with our own individual tastessliding on the pond (the members of the S. H. C. well know to what pond I allude), or the manufacturing of the snow man, or the pursuit of small birds with the cross-bow, charged with a couple of inches of tobacco-pipe, or with gun, and powder, and peas, as we grew old enough to be intrusted with the more advanced weapons.

Then with what eagerness did we anticipate the special joys of Christmas Eve! There was a tea-party unlike any other tea-party in the year—a family gathering such as Christmas only can insure: happy faces, happy hearts, young and old blending in a common effort to please and to be pleased-determined that in their own circle at least, and for the nonce, all should be in harmony with the text, 'Peace on earth,' &c. There was a further speciality in this Christmas Eve tea-party-the introduction of what, even at this distance of time, causes the writer's mouth to water, the 'Chrislyn.'

'And pray, sir, what may a "Chrislyn" be?'

Madam, a 'Chrislyn' is a 'Chrislyn;' but why so called I am unable to inform you. I have failed, after much research, to ascertain the etymology of the word, and am thrown upon conjecture. Probably the primal syllable, 'Chris,' has some reference to the festival itself, as the

zones.

But regarding the subject in what may be called its material aspect, he has often thought how much the outward celebration must vary according to the geographical position of the place in which we may chance to be living. His own recollections of Christmas festivities carry him back in thought, some half century or more, to dear Ottery, the place of his birth; and to one particular spot, associated in his mind with much that is pleasing in the retrospect, and especially with reference to the subject on hand. A certain brick house at the upper end of the town, approached by a flight of stone steps and flanked by a couple of lime-trees, with an ornamental garden and shrubbery opposite, barely intercepted by the road leading to Honiton, lives in his mind fresh and unfading. This was the house (so well known to the members of the S. H. C.) in which his Christmas holidays were spent. Christmas holidays! What a mockery to some, what a joyful reality to others! What an actual reality (if he may be allowed the term) was it to him!

The return from school! What does not this imply? Six weeks' freedom from Latin and Greek grammar; six weeks' freedom from getting up in the dark, and sitting shivering in the cold, gas-lit school-room two hours before breakfast; six weeks' freedom from going to bed with your repetition unlearnt, or your copy of verses unfinished; six weeks' freedom from the necessity of swallowing with your dinner a vile compound which passed for beer, and for your breakfast a collection of stale crusts soaked in a basin of water slightly diluted with milk. These and other abominations, or rather the suspension of them for awhile, are included in the idea of Christmas holidays.

But the absence of pain is not veritable pleasure, or at least not the only ingredient of pleasure; and the suspension of the above-named abominations was not the only source

of our Christmas joy. There was the actual substitution for these horrors, of pastime, actual pleasure, substantial happiness, both animal and intellectual. Among the first may be named the luxury of lying in bed in the morning until the sun's rays had somewhat warmed the earth. Then the breakfast. What a contrast to the water-and-milk affair just referred to, the delicious cup of tea, with its necessary accompaniments, the slice of ham, or the frizzing rasher of bacon, or the savoury sausage! Then the full freedom to spend the whole morning, nay, the whole day, in such pursuits as best harmonised with our own individual tastessliding on the pond (the members of the S. H. C. well know to what pond I allude), or the manufacturing of the snow man, or the pursuit of small birds with the cross-bow, charged with a couple of inches of tobacco-pipe, or with gun, and powder, and peas, as we grew old enough to be intrusted with the more advanced weapons.

Then with what eagerness did we anticipate the special joys of Christmas Eve! There was a tea-party unlike any other tea-party in the year-a family gathering such as Christmas only can insure: happy faces, happy hearts, young and old blending in a common effort to please and to be pleased-determined that in their own circle at least, and for the nonce, all should be in harmony with the text, 'Peace on earth,' &c. There was a further speciality in this Christmas Eve tea-party-the introduction of what, even at this distance of time, causes the writer's mouth to water, the 'Chrislyn.'

'And pray, sir, what may a "Chrislyn" be ?'

Madam, a ‘Chrislyn' is a 'Chrislyn ;' but why so called I am unable to inform you. I have failed, after much research, to ascertain the etymology of the word, and am thrown upon conjecture. Probably the primal syllable, 'Chris,' has some reference to the festival itself, as the

hot-cross buns mark the Church's great fast; but the termination, 'lyn,' 'ling,' leaves me in the dark. The thing itself I can describe, for I see it even now in my mind's eye. It was (I say was, for doubtless it has long ceased to be) a huge cake, composed of flour, eggs, saffron, and raisins, and, for aught I know, of many other ingredients. The circumference was about that of a large-sized dinnerplate, and the depth or thickness about three inches. The raisins were not like the tufts of a well-cushioned chair, or like angels' visits, few and far between, but dotted about in lavish profusion, tempting to the eye and sweet to the taste. This marvellous piece of confectionery was no simple product of home labour, but the work of a great artiste, of one

'In whom it might in truth be said,

In pastry none could lick her,
Nor hope to imitate the bread

Of far-famed Sally Wicker.'

But I must pass on from these animal enjoyments to others of a higher caste. In the course of the evening, we all, young and old, adjourned to the kitchen to see the 'mummers.' O the mummers! How did our young hearts beat with joy, as that motley group of Thespians marched in one by one, to exhibit their tragic or comic powers! I grieve to say that the particulars of the drama have faded from my memory. I can't recall any special reference to Christmas, except the personification of the festival in the form of an old man,

'Whose beard descending swept his aged breast,'

and who was careful to remind us that the season of which he was the exponent

but that

came but once a year,'

'When it came it brought good cheer;'

from which, doubtless, the inference was intended that the cheer, which was dispensed once only in the year, should be of the most generous kind.

I have said that the particulars of the drama of which these youngsters were the personæ have faded from my mind; but I have a confused and indistinct remembrance of a personal engagement between two great historical characters, George the Third (for I am writing of bygone days when George the Third was king') and the first Napoleon. Indeed, we were left in no doubt as to the personation of one of those illustrious men, for the opening words, uttered 'ore rotundo' by the chief of the staff, a youth bedizened with ribbons, wearing a paper cocked hat, and wielding a lath sword, were in the true 'in medias res style,—

'Here comes I, King George, King George!'

the repetition of the royal name being, as may be presumed, intended to signify that his pretensions were not such as to admit of being questioned, and that he was ready then and there to do battle in support of them. The opportunity was not far distant, for soon there ensued a terrible duel. King George, of course, was victorious-his foe lay prostrate at his feet, and the great struggle which had recently culminated in the crowning triumph of Waterloo was brought vividly before us, before our very eyes, fixing for ever in our minds the notion which we all love to cherish, that English valour is invincible.

Two other lines I remember, and only two; but they