In the Yule-Log Glow, Book II | Page 4

quietly, making strange
faces to itself, and building fantastic castles in the depths of its red
recesses, and then the castles would come down with a crash, and the
faces disappear, and a bright flame spring up and lick lovingly the sides
of the old chimney; and the carved heads of improbable men and
impossible women, hewn so deftly round the panels of the old oak
wardrobe opposite, in which the baron's choicest vintages were
deposited, were lit up by the flickering light, and seemed to nod and
wink at the fire in return, with the familiarity of old acquaintances.
Some such fancy as this was disporting itself in the baron's brain; and
he was gazing at the old oak carving accordingly, and emitting huge
volumes of smoke with reflective slowness, when a clatter among the

bottles on the table caused him to turn his head to ascertain the cause.
The baron was by no means a nervous man; however, the sight that met
his eyes when he turned round did take away his presence of mind a
little; and he was obliged to take four distinct puffs before he had
sufficiently regained his equilibrium to inquire, "Who
the--Pickwick--are you?" (The baron said "Dickens," but, as that is a
naughty word, we will substitute "Pickwick," which is equally
expressive, and not so wrong.) Let me see; where was I? Oh, yes!
"Who the Pickwick are you?"
Now, before I allow the baron's visitor to answer the question, perhaps
I had better give a slight description of his personal appearance.
If this was not a true story, I should have liked to have made him a
model of manly beauty; but a regard for veracity compels me to confess
that he was not what would be generally considered handsome; that is,
not in figure, for his face was by no means unpleasing.
His body was, in size and shape, not very unlike a huge plum-pudding,
and was clothed in a bright-green, tightly-fitting doublet, with red
holly-berries for buttons.
His limbs were long and slender in proportion to his stature, which was
not more than three feet or so.
His head was encircled by a crown of holly and mistletoe.
The round red berries sparkled amid his hair which was silver-white,
and shone out in cheerful harmony with his rosy, jovial face. And that
face! it would have done one good to look at it.
In spite of the silver hair, and an occasional wrinkle beneath the merry,
laughing eyes, it seemed brimming over with perpetual youth. The
mouth, well garnished with teeth, white and sound, which seemed as if
they could do ample justice to holiday cheer, was ever open with a
beaming, genial smile, expanding now and then into hearty laughter.
Fun and good-fellowship were in every feature.

The owner of the face was, at the moment when the baron first
perceived him, comfortably seated upon the top of the large tobacco-jar
on the table, nursing his left leg.
The baron's somewhat abrupt inquiry did not appear to irritate him; on
the contrary, he seemed rather amused than otherwise.
"You don't ask prettily, old gentleman," he replied; "but I don't mind
telling you, for all that. I'm King Christmas."
"Eh?" said the baron.
"Ah!" said the goblin. Of course, you have guessed he was a goblin?
"And pray what's your business here?" said the baron.
"Don't be crusty with a fellow," replied the goblin. "I merely looked in
to wish you the compliments of the season. Talking of crust, by the
way, what sort of a tap is it you're drinking?" So saying, he took up a
flask of the baron's very best and poured out about half a glass. Having
held the glass first on one side and then on the other, winked at it twice,
sniffed it, and gone through the remainder of the pantomime in which
connoisseurs indulge, he drank it with great deliberation, and smacked
his lips scientifically. "Hum! Johannisberg! and not so very bad--for
you. But I tell you what it is, baron, you'll have to bring out better stuff
than this when I put my legs on your mahogany."
"Well, you are a cool fish," said the baron. "However, you're rather a
joke, so, now you're here, we may as well enjoy ourselves. Smoke?"
"Not anything you're likely to offer me!"
"Confound your impudence!" roared the baron, with a horribly
complicated oath. "That tobacco is as good as any in all Rhineland."
"That's a nasty cough you've got, baron. Don't excite yourself, my dear
boy; I dare say you speak according to your lights. I don't mean
Vesuvians, you know, but your opportunities for knowing anything

about it. Try a weed out of my case, and I expect you'll alter your
opinion."
The baron took the proffered