Well, Carl came to dinner, and the baron was, not very many years after,
promoted to the dignity of a grandpapa, and a very jolly old grandpapa
he made.
Is that all you wanted to know? About Klootz? Well, Klootz got over the
kicking, but he was dismissed from the baron's service; and on
examination of his accounts it was discovered that he had been in the
habit of robbing the baron of nearly a third of his yearly income, which
he had to refund; and with the money he was thus compelled to disgorge,
the baron built new cottages for his tenants, and new-stocked their
farms. Nor was he poorer in the end, for his tenants worked with the
energy of gratitude, and he was soon many times richer than when the
goblin visited him on that Christmas eve.
And was the goblin ever explained? Certainly not. How dare you have the
impertinence to suppose such a thing?
An empty bottle, covered with cobwebs, was found the next morning in the
turret-chamber, which the baron at first imagined must be the bottle
from which the goblin produced his magic wine; but as it was found, on
examination, to be labelled "Old Jamaica Rum," of course that could not
have had anything to do with it. However it was, the baron never
thoroughly enjoyed any other wine after it, and as he did not
thenceforth get intoxicated, on an average, more than two nights a week,
or swear more than eight oaths a day, I think King Christmas may be
considered to have thoroughly reformed him.
And he always maintained, to the day of his death, that he was changed
into a fairy, and became exceedingly angry if contradicted.
Who doesn't believe in fairies after this? I only hope King Christmas
may make a few more good fairies this year, to brighten the homes of
the poor with the light of Christmas charity.
Truly, we need not look far for alms-men. Cold and hunger, disease and
death, are around us at all times; but at no time do they press more
heavily on the poor than at this jovial Christmas season.
Shall we shut out, in our mirth and jollity, the cry of the hungry poor?
or shall we not rather remember, in the midst of our happy family
circles, round our well-filled tables and before our blazing fires, that
our brothers are starving out in the cold, and that the Christmas song
of the angels was "Good-will to men"?
_The Spaniard's Episode._
"He was a pleasant-looking fellow,
with huge black whiskers
and a roguish eye. He touched
the guitar with masterly skill,
and sang little amorous ditties
with an expressive leer."
_Irving._