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by Washington Irving (Author)
There is something in the very season of the year that gives a charm to the festivity of Christmas. At other times we derive a great portion of our pleasures from the mere beauties of nature.
Our feelings sally forth and dissipate themselves over the sunny landscape, and we "live abroad and everywhere."
The dreariness and desolation of the landscape, the short gloomy days and darksome nights, while they circumscribe our wanderings, shut in our feelings also from rambling abroad, and make us more keenly disposed for the pleasures of the social circle. . . .
The pitchy gloom without makes the heart dilate on entering the room filled with the glow and warmth of the evening fire.
The ruddy blaze diffuses an artificial summer and sunshine through the room, and lights up each countenance into a kindlier welcome.
Where does the honest face of hospitality expand into a broader and more cordial smile -- where is the shy glance of love more sweetly eloquent -- than by the winter fireside?
