: Christmas stories by Holmes Mary Jane - American fiction 19th century; Christmas stories American

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Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Wright American Fiction Project of the Library Electronic Text Service of Indiana University.

THE ACTRESS IN HIGH LIFE:

An Episode in Winter Quarters.

"Grim-Visag'd War hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds, To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute."

New York: Derby & Jackson.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of South Carolina. C.A. Alvord, Printer, New York.

THE ACTRESS IN HIGH LIFE;

AN EPISODE IN WINTER QUARTERS.

I was a traveler, then, upon the moor, I saw the hare that raced about with joy, I heard the woods and distant waters roar, Or heard them not, as happy as a boy; The pleasant season did my heart employ. My old remembrances went from me wholly, And all the ways of men so vain and melancholy.

Wordsworth.

Gentle Reader: Wherever you may be, in bodily presence, when you cast your eyes on this page, let it for a few hours transport your complying spirit to a remote region and a bygone day. We may alter names without injury to our story; but every real character, or event, has its own time, place, and accidents; to tear it from them is like transplanting a tree from its native spot; it must be trimmed and pruned, and robbed of its due proportions and its natural grace.

You need not pause to gaze on many a wild scene, some beautiful, and even here and there a fertile spot; nor loiter in this provincial town--rich, perhaps, in Moorish ruins, but in nothing else--but hasten onward till you reach that elevated point, where the road, one hundred miles from Lisbon, winds over the ridge of yonder hill. The chilly night winds of the peninsula have gone to sleep. Here, even in midwinter, the sun at this hour shoots down scorching rays upon your head. Seat yourself by the road-side, on this ledge of slate-rock, at the foot of the cork-oak, which so invitingly spreads out its sheltering arms. Here while you take breath, cast your eyes around you.

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