wise myself, and had been even known at a pinch to keep others so,
although I was decorated with no badge or medal, and was not a Brother,
Orator, Apostle, Saint, or Prophet of any denomination whatever. In the
end I prevailed, to my great joy. It was settled that at nine o'clock
that night a Turkey and a piece of Roast Beef should smoke upon the
board; and that I, faint and unworthy minister for once of Master Richard
Watts, should preside as the Christmas-supper host of the six Poor
Travellers.

I went back to my inn to give the necessary directions for the Turkey and
Roast Beef, and, during the remainder of the day, could settle to nothing
for thinking of the Poor Travellers. When the wind blew hard against the
windows,--it was a cold day, with dark gusts of sleet alternating with
periods of wild brightness, as if the year were dying fitfully,--I
pictured them advancing towards their resting-place along various cold
roads, and felt delighted to think how little they foresaw the supper
that awaited them. I painted their portraits in my mind, and indulged in
little heightening touches. I made them footsore; I made them weary; I
made them carry packs and bundles; I made them stop by finger-posts and
milestones, leaning on their bent sticks, and looking wistfully at what
was written there; I made them lose their way; and filled their five wits
with apprehensions of lying out all night, and being frozen to death. I
took up my hat, and went out, climbed to the top of the Old Castle, and
looked over the windy hills that slope down to the Medway, almost
believing that I could descry some of my Travellers in the distance.
After it fell dark, and the Cathedral bell was heard in the invisible
steeple--quite a bower of frosty rime when I had last seen it--striking
five, six, seven, I became so full of my Travellers that I could eat no
dinner, and felt constrained to watch them still in the red coals of my
fire. They were all arrived by this time, I thought, had got their