since been afloat. Sir Hugh was very much attached to him, and had great confidence in his judgment and rectitude; so that he tried to keep him at Foxholme as much as he could. He might have lived there and been welcome all the year round.
I have said nothing yet about Cousin Julia. She was about twenty-two, but looked younger, except when she was about any serious matter. I thought her then the most lovely creature I had ever seen, and I was not far wrong. There was a sweet, gentle, and yet firm expression in her face, and a look – I cannot describe it – which would have prevented even the most impudent from talking nonsense or saying anything to offend her ear.
Our uncle, Sir Hugh, was tall and stout, with a commanding and dignified manner. No one would have ventured to take liberties with him, though he was as kind and gentle as could be. He had been in the army when he was young, and seen service, but had given it up when he succeeded to Foxholme, and the duties attached to its possession. “I should have been ill serving my country if I had remained abroad and left my tenants and poor neighbours to the care of agents and hirelings,” I heard him once observe. He was very fond of the army, and it was a great trial to him to leave it.
Our aunt was a very pretty, lively, kind, amiable woman, and devotedly attached to our uncle. She was small, and slight, and young-looking, though I don’t think that she was so very young after all.
Hugh was a regular fine little chap, manly, independent, and yet very amiable. He might have been rather spoilt, because it was a hard matter not to make a good deal of him. People couldn’t help thinking of him as the long-wished-for heir of the old place and the old title, and what joy he had brought to Sir Hugh’s heart and what pride and satisfaction to that of his mother, and that he would some day be the master of Foxholme (all hoped that day might be far distant); and they prayed that he might worthily represent his honoured father.
After all, however, there was no one we thought so much about as Cousin Peter. How full of life and spirits and fun he was! A shade, however, of gravity or melancholy occasionally stole over him. He had an inner deeper life of which we boys knew nothing. We used to be surprised, after he had been playing all sorts of pranks with us, to go and see him sit down as grave as a judge along with Sir Hugh, and talk as seriously as anybody else. Then he would jump up and say something quiet and confidential to some young lady, and crack a joke with some old one; and again he would be back among us, baiting the bear, standing on his head, or doing some other wonderful out-of-the-way thing. I remember that even then I more than once remarked that whenever he drew near our Cousin Julia, there was a greater sobriety and a wonderful gentleness and tenderness in his manner; and often, when she was not looking, and he thought no one else was looking, his eyes were turned towards her with a look which older people would easily have interpreted. I thought myself, “He must be very fond of her; but that is but natural – everybody is.”
Story 1-Chapter II
I should like to give a full description of the events of those never-to-be-forgotten Christmas holidays. Besides ourselves, we had two cousins and the sons of some of Sir Hugh’s friends, and no end of grown-up guests, young ladies and their mammas and papas, and several gentlemen who were in no ways stiff or distant, and we didn’t mind saying what we liked to them. I remember that Christmas-day – how happily it began – how, on a fine frosty morning, we all walked to the village church – how we found it decked with hollies, reminding us that, even in mid-winter, our merciful God never withdraws His blessings from the earth – how we could not help listening with attention to the sermon of the good vicar, who reminded us that we were assembled to commemorate the greatest event that has occurred since the creation of the world. He bid us reflect that the Christ who was on that day born into the world, a weak helpless infant, prepared to endure a life of toil, of poverty, and of suffering, and at the same time of active unwearied usefulness, was our Lord the Son of God himself; that He took our sins upon Him, shed His blood on the Cross, suffering agony and shame, which we had merited, that He might wash our sins away; died and was buried, that He might, though sinless himself, for our sakes endure the curse sin brought on mankind, and thus accomplish the whole of the work He had undertaken to fulfil; how He rose again, ascending into Heaven triumphant over death, that He might then, having lived and suffered as a man on earth, feeling for our infirmities, plead effectually for us; that He had suffered the punishment due to us, before the throne of the Almighty, an offended but a just and merciful God, full of love to mankind.
I never before understood so clearly that the whole work of redemption is complete – that Christ has suffered for us, and that, therefore, no more suffering is required. All we have to do is to take advantage of what He has done, and put our whole faith and trust in Him. The vicar then described most beautifully to us how Christ lived on earth, and that He did so that. He might set us an example, which we are bound in ordinary love and gratitude to imitate, by showing good-will, love, kindness, charity in thought, word, and deed, towards our fellow-men. How beautiful and glorious sounded that Christmas hymn, sung not only by all the school-children, but by all the congregation. Sir Hugh’s rich voice, old as he was, sounding clearly among the basses of the others. He did his best, and he knew and felt that his voice was not more acceptable at the throne of Heaven than that of the youngest child present. Then, when service was over, Sir Hugh came out arm-in-arm with our aunt, followed by Julia and little Hugh, and talked so friendly and kindly to all the people, and they all smiled and looked so pleased, and replied to him in a way which showed that they were not a bit afraid of him, but knew that he loved them and was interested in their welfare; and Lady Worsley and Cousin Julia talked in the same kind way, and knew everybody and how many children there were in each family, and asked after those who were absent – some at service, and some apprentices, and some in the army or at sea. Master Peter also went about among them all, and seemed so glad to see them, and shook hands with the old men, and joked in his quiet way with the old women. He contrived to have a word with everybody as he moved in and out among them. Then the vicar came out, and a few friendly loving words were exchanged with him too.
“We shall see you and Miss Becky at dinner as usual, Mr Upton,” said Sir Hugh, as they parted.
“I should be sorry to be absent, Sir Hugh. On twenty-nine Christmas-days have we taken our dinner with you, and this will make the thirtieth, if I mistake not,” answered the vicar.
“Ah, time flies along, and yet Miss Becky does not, at all events, remind us of it,” said Sir Hugh. Whereat Miss Becky, who was very fair and somewhat fat, laughed and shook hands heartily with Sir Hugh and Lady Worsley, and smiled affectionately at Julia and little Hugh, and we commenced our homeward walk. How enjoyable it was – how pleasant was, our light luncheon! for we dined at five that we might have a long evening. We all looked forward to the evening with great delight. Scarcely was dinner over than a sound was heard – a bell in the hall striking sweetly. We all jumped up, led by Master Peter, and arranging ourselves, some on the great oak staircase and others in a circle at its foot, we stood listening to the Christmas chimes and other tunes struck up by a dozen or more men with different-toned bells – one in each hand. Scarcely had they ceased and received their accustomed largesse from Sir Hugh’s liberal hands, than some young voices were heard coming up the avenue. They, as were the rest, were admitted at a side-door, through the servants’ hall, where tea and ale, and bread-and-cheese, and cakes, and other good things, were ready to regale them. The young singers came trooping into the hall, one pushing the other forward; shy and diffident, though they well knew that they had no reason to fear the lord of that mansion nor any one present. At length they arranged themselves, and the leader of the band beginning, they all chimed in, and sang, if not in a way to suit a fastidious taste, at all events, with feeling and enthusiasm, a beautiful Christmas carol. The words are simple, but often as I have heard them I have never failed to feel my heart lifted up to that just and merciful God who formed and carried out that great and glorious work, the scheme of the Redemption, thus wonderfully reconciling the demands of justice with love and mercy towards the fallen race of man. Surely this is a theme on which angels must delight to dwell, and to which they must ever with joy attune their voices and their harps; so I used to think then and so I think now, and hope
