It might be to Squire Vernon's, but he was the last
man likely to ask a clergyman to visit him; nor would a clergyman be
likely to find himself comfortable with the swearing old fox-
hunter. The question must, then, for the present, remain
unsettled.--So I left it, and, looking out of the window once more,
buried myself in Christmas fancies.
It was now dark. We were the under half of the world. The sun was
scorching and glowing on the other side, leaving us to night and
frost. But the night and the frost wake the sunshine of a higher world
in our hearts; and who cares for winter weather at Christmas?--I
believe in the proximate correctness of the date of our Saviour's
birth. I believe he always comes in winter. And then let Winter reign
without: Love is king within; and Love is lord of the Winter.
How the happy fires were glowing everywhere! We shot past many a
lighted cottage, and now and then a brilliant mansion. Inside both
were hearts like our own, and faces like ours, with the red coming out
on them, the red of joy, because it was Christmas. And most of them
had some little feast _toward_. Is it vulgar, this feasting at
Christmas? No. It is the Christmas feast that justifies all feasts, as
the bread and wine of the Communion are the essence of all bread and
wine, of all strength and rejoicing.
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