Kareem, Clark, Washington Irving discussed on Boring Books for Bedtime
And now let's get to the reading in honor of the holidays tonight. Were continuing the work. We began last year. Old Christmas from the sketchbook of Washington Irving published by Macmillan and Co London eighteen eighty six. When we last left this book our narrator had just fallen asleep on Christmas Eve? Let's pick up where we left off Christmas Day. When I awoke the next morning wing it seemed as if all the events of the preceding evening had been Kareem and nothing but the identity of the ancient chamber? Her convinced me of their reality. While I lay musing on my pillow I heard the sound of little feat pattering outside the door and I whispering consultation presently acquire of small voices chanted forth an old old Christmas carol the burden of which was rejoice our savior. He was born on Christmas. Stay in the morning I rose softly slipped on my clothes. Open the door suddenly and be held a one of the most beautiful little fairy groups that have painter could imagine it consisted of a boy and two girls else. The eldest not more than six and a lovely as Sarah. They were going the rounds of the house And singing at every chamber door but my sudden appearance frighten them into mute bashfulness. They remained for a moment playing on their lips with their fingers and now and then stealing a shy glance from under their the browns. Until as if by one impulse they scampered away and as they turned an angle of the gallery three I heard them laughing in triumph at their escape. Everything conspire to produce kind unhappy feelings in this stronghold of old fashioned hospitality the window of my chamber looked out upon on what in summer would have been a beautiful landscape there was a sloping lawn. A fine stream winding at the foot out of it and attractive park beyond with noble clumps of trees and herds of deer at a distance distance was a neat hamlet with the smoke from the cottage chimneys hanging over it and a church with its dark spire fire in strong relief against the clear called sky. The house was surrounded by evergreens. According according to the English custom which would have given almost an appearance of summer but the morning was extremely frosty in the light favor of the preceding evening had been precipitated by the cold and covered all the trees and every a free blade of grass with it's fine crystallization. The rays of a bright morning sun had a dazzling affect effect among the glittering foliage. A Robin burst upon the top of a mountain ash that hung its clusters of Red Berries. Aries just before my window was basking himself in the sunshine and piping a few querulous notes and peacock was displaying. All the glories of his train and strutting with the pride and gravity eighty of a Spanish grandee on the terrace walk below. I had scarcely dressed myself. When a servant servant appeared to invite me to family prayers? He showed me the way to a small chapel and the old wing of the house. We're I found the principal. Part of the family already assembled in it kind of gallery furnished with cushions aspects and large prayer books. The servants were seated on benches below. The old gentlemen read prayers from a desk in front of the gallery and master. Simon acted as Clark and made the responses and I must do him the justice to say that he acquitted himself with great gravity and a corum. The service was swallowed by a Christmas. Carol which Mr Brace Bridge himself had constructed from a poem of his favourite author Herrick and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon as there were several good voices among the household the effect was it's extremely pleasing but I was particularly gratified by the exultation of heart and sudden sally of I'm grateful feeling with which the Worthy Squire delivered. One Stanza his eyes glistening and his voice rambling out out of all the bounds of time and tune. Tis Thou that crown EST my glittering hearth with guiltless mirth and gives me oiseaux bows to drink spiced to the brink Lord Tis Thi- plenty dropping. Hand that soils my land and give me for my Bushel sewn twice ten four one.