turn the whole nation into a great paper-money shop, and take no
thought of the day of reckoning. But the dinner is coming. I
think you, who are so fond of paper promises, should dine on the
bill of fare.

The harper at the head of the hall struck up an ancient march, and
the dishes were brought in, in grand procession.

The boar's head, garnished with rosemary, with a citron in its
mouth, led the van. Then came tureens of plum-porridge; then a
series of turkeys, and in the midst of them an enormous sausage,
which it required two men to carry. Then came geese and capons,
tongues and hams, the ancient glory of the Christmas pie, a
gigantic plum pudding, a pyramid of mince pies, and a baron of beef
bringing up the rear.

"It is something new under the sun," said the divine, as he sat
down, "to see a great dinner without fish."

MR. CHAINMAIL. Fish was for fasts in the twelfth century.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. Well, sir, I prefer our reformed system of
putting fasts and feasts together. Not but here is ample
indemnity.

Ale and wine flowed in abundance. The dinner passed off merrily:
the old harper playing all the while the oldest music in his
repertory. The tables being cleared, he indemnified himself for
lost time at the lower end of the hall, in company with the old
butler and the other domestics, whose attendance on the banquet had