As hostess, Elizabeth reserved for herself the opening scene, reading the prologue, latterly added by Sir Walter Scott, as soon as the audience were seated—after many last-minute searches for pins, ribbands, lost hats, &c. “The Family Legend” was expected, alternately, to produce tears and sombre reflections on the faces of the audience. The tragedical efforts that were attempted, in spite of very earnest endeavours on the parts of the players (as well as some very doubtful attempts at Scottish speech) resulted in a near-pandemonium of hilarity, and any tears to be seen were the consequence not of affecting empathy, but rather the enjoyment of farce. Undeterred, the Pemberley Players carried on valiantly, and the scene reuniting the Earl of Argyll with his long-lost daughter would have been affecting indeed, had it not been for the muffled howlings of Mademoiselle Blanche, recently arrested and confined to a pic-nick basket to prevent her from appropriating additional scenes. By the time Mrs. Annesley had ventured onto the stage to deliver the epilogue, the entire company were exhausted from laughter, and could go about their afternoon’s business assured that, even if the livelihoods of Mr. Kean and Mrs. Siddons were not threatened, all had acquitted their parts admirably.

The halls had been hung with yew and fir boughs, mistletoe, and holly-berry, and the largest logs were in readiness for the Christmas Eve fire. Pemberley was a scene of noise and disorder such as had not been witnessed in any recent time, and possibly never at all. The grand galleries were perfect for hoop-rolling, the parlours the scene for great games of hide-and-seek, and the old Great Hall for pantomimes and carol singing. That evening, whilst the children were left to the care of servants and their dreams, the rest of the Pemberley party attended church.