In those west-country parishes where but a few years back the feast of Christmas Eve was usually prolonged with cake and cider, "crowding," and "geese dancing," till the ancient carols ushered in the day, a certain languor not seldom pervaded the services of the Church a few hours later. Red eyes and heavy, young limbs hardly rested from the _Dashing White Sergeant_ and _Sir Roger_, throats husky from a plurality of causes--all these were recognised as proper to the season, and, in fact, of a piece with the holly on the communion rails. On a dark and stormy Christmas morning as far back as the first decade of the century, this languor was neither more nor less apparent than usual inside th…
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