"Gather!" he cried, and he waved his sickle.
"Oh! fortune changes, and fashion's fickle;
And youth grows mannish, and manhood old,
And red lips wither, warm hearts grow cold:
But whenever I come, midst the Yuletide snows,
'Tis not Spring's lily, or Summer's rose
Young men and maidens demand, I trow.
But old Winter's white-berried Kissing-bough."
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
"For lilies wither, and roses pale,
But the Kissing-bough keeps up the old, old tale.
And dull were the world should the old tale cease!
Be it kiss of passion, or kiss of peace,
The meaning when lip unto lip is laid
Is goodwill on earth to man, and maid.
That's Yule's best lesson, good friends I vow,
So reck ye the rede of the Mistletoe Bough!"
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
So they gather around him with laugh and joke,
'Neath the spreading boughs of that brave old oak,
Which hath shelter for all, from the English rose
To the whitest snow-bell from Canada's snows,
Or hot India's lotus-bud dainty and sweet.
But the cry of them all, as in mirth they meet
Old Father Christmas, as ever, so now,
Is "Hands all round 'neath the Mistletoe Bough!"
Oh! the Mistletoe Bough!!
Our brave, bonny Mistletoe Bough!!!
"OH, THE MISTLETOE BOUGH!"
Father Christmas. "HA! HA! WITH ALL THEIR NEW-FANGLED NOTIONS, HERE'S ONE OLD CUSTOM ALL AGREE IN KEEPING UP!"
CURIOUS ACCIDENT TO MRS. RAMSBOTHAM.
Strolling through Pimlico the other day Mrs. R. was attracted by evidence of a sale by auction going forward in one of the residences in that desirable quarter. Having half an hour to spare she thought she would look in. "I was quite surprised," she writes to her son, "when I entered the room to see a gentleman standing in a pulpit which I knew was Mr. Pipchose, leastway, his whiskers were not so mutton-choppy; but I could not mistake him, though meeting him only once at tea at Mrs. Brown's where he was very pressing with the muffins. He looked at me in just the same meaning way as when he said, 'Mrs. Ram. won't you take another piece of sugar, though as I know it's carrying coals to Newcastle?' I'm not above recognising my friends, wherever I meet them, and gave him a friendly nod, and before I knew where I was, I found I had bought for £3 9s. 6d. a wool mattress; a pair of tongs (rather bent); a barometer (with the quicksilver missing); a small iron bedstead; a set of tea-things (mostly cracked); an armchair, and a sofa warranted hair-stuffed, but certainly having only three legs. It wasn't Mr. Pipchose at all, as I might have known if I had taken another look at his whiskers, but only a forward auctioneer."