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HE IS COVE.

The ¢ oli,

Siowly falls Night’s sable mantle O'er Judea’s rugged hills,

Shrouding earth in darkness dreary,

As the sob of souls all weary : For the hope which Christ fulfils.

Midnight onward steals in silence,

Lec by one great luminous star, Which, transfixed, sheds radiant splendor er the shed where earth’s Defender

From a manger wields His power.

Heavenly light beams through the darkness, An yel voices sweetly sing

** Peace to earth, to God all glory !”

And all heaven rings out the story— ** Glory to the new-born King !”

Heaven's pearly gates are opened, Ransomed souls their haven reach ; Earth's Redeemer from the manger Saves all from eternai danger— Love Divine has spanned the breach. ESPERANCE.

MERRY CHRISTIAS,

The Festival That Charles Dickens Loved so Well.

HES IMMORTAL PEN PICTURES

Of Pure, Unatected Wappiness ~ The Curisim es Diagers of the Great Author~ KRemiaiscences of Trotty Veeck, Pickwick

Tiny Tim and a Most of Other Loveable

Characters a HRISTMAS time: = That man must be Zs a misanthrope, in- LY deed, in whose Gi yreast something Sj; see “Nike a jovial feeling ilivua\ is not roused—in “whose mind sone 3 pleasant assocta-

tions are not awak- ened—by the recur- rence of Christmas.

There are people * who will tell you that Christmas 1}:

not to them what i' used to be; that each succeeding Christ- mas has found some cherished hope ©: happy prospect of the year before dimmed or passed away; that the pres ent only serves to remind them of re duced circumstances amd straitenec incomes—of the feasts they once be stowed on hollow friends, and of th+ <cold looks that meet them now, in ad versity and misfortune. Never heec such dismal reminiscences. There are few men who have lived long enough in the world who cannot call up such thoughts any day in the year. ‘Shen aa not select the merriest of the three hundred and sixty-five for your dole- ful recollections, but draw your chair nearer the blazing fire—fill the glass and sehd round the song—and if yow reom be smaller than it was a dozer: years ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch instead of spark- jing wine, put a good face on the mat- ter and empty it offhand, and fill an- ether. and troll off the old ditty you used to sing, and thank God it’s no worse. Look on the merry faces of your children (if you have any) as they sk round the fire. One little seat may be empty; one slight form that gladden- ed the father’s heart and roused the mother’s pride to look upon may not be there. Dwell not upon the past; tuink net that one short year ago the fair child now resolving into dust sat before you with the bloom of health upon its cheek and the gayety of in- fancy in its joyous eye. Reflect upon your present blessings—of which every man has many—not on your past mis- fertuges, of which all men have some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and contented heart. Our life on it, but your Christmas shall be merry and your new year a happy one!

These were the words of Charles IVickens, who more than any other man has warmed the human heart toward this most beautiful festival of the yar.

Those of us who belong to an older generation remember with what eager-

—~. 0P. o

CHARLES DICKENS,

ness and impatience we awaited the arnual Christmas story from the pen of the master. “The Christmas Carol,” ‘The Chimes,” “The Cricket on the Mearth,” the three immortals, were first published before some of us had learned to read, but “Mugby Junction,” “Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings,” “Mrs. Lir- riper’s Legacy,” “Somebody's Lug- gage,” and all that came after the sixties were hailed by you and me as the others had been hailed by our parents. A Dickens Christmas story was as much a part of our Christmas celebration as the turkey and cran- berry sauce. What, then, more fitting than to serve some of those never-to- be-equalled dinners to a new genera- tion of readers?

Christmas Day was to Dickens, says Edwin P. Whipple, both a holiday and a holy day; a day given over to festiv- ity and at the same time consecrated tc beneficence; a day in which joy was associated with the diffusion and mul- tiplication of joy, so that the pleasure of each person was increased in pro- portion to the number of persons that participated in it; a day. tn short, tn which the jollities of life joined hands with the charities, and universal good cheer stood forth as an expression of the spirit of universal love. There is @ great dea) of eating and drinking in these stories, but then, as has been raid, Dickens “Christianizes eating and 4rinking and contrives to meke the stomach in some odd way an organ of the soul.” There is a savor and flavor about a Dickens Christmas dinner that no white capped chef can give, Del- monico could not have cooked Bob Cratchit’s goose or Toby Veck’s tripe.

All of Dickens’ Christmas dinners are not in his Christmas stories. Shall you

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known to the latter. And the Cnrist- mas in “Pickwick!” Do you remember that inimitable chapter and how it opens:

“We write these words now, many miles distant from the spot at which, year after year, we met on that day, & merry and joyous circle. Many of the hearts that throbbed so gayly then have ceased to beat; many of the looks that shone so brightly then thlave ceas- ed to glow; the hands we grasped have zZrown cold; the eyes we sought have hid their lustre in thé grave; and yet

the old house, the rodm, the merry Voices and smiling faces, the jest, the laugh, the most minute and trivial cir- cumstances connected with those hap- Py meetings crowd upon our mind at each recurrence of the season, as if the last assemblage had been but yester- day! Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth; that can transport the sailor and the trav- e:ler, thousands of miléS away, back te his own fireside and his quiet homie.” Then he shakes the tears from his pen and describes the jolly Christmas at Moor Farm. They began on Christ- mas Eve, and, according to Custom, in the big’ kitchen of the farn?T house. “From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen old Wardle had just sus- pended, with his own hards, a huge branch of mistletoe, and this same branch of mistletue instantaneousty gave rise toa scene of general and most delightful struggling ara confusion, in the midst of which Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would have done honor to a descendant of Lady “ollimglower herseif, took the old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic branch, and aluted her in all courtesy and de- corum. The old lady submitted to this piece of practical ;oliteness with all tie dignity which lLeftitted important and serious a solemnity, but the young- ‘r ladies, not being co thoroughly im- vued with a superstitious veneratio for the custom, or imagining that tie

so

value of a salute is very mucia er hanced if it cost a little trouble to ol tain it, screamed and siruggled ane an into corners. and threatened an” remorstrated, and did everything bu: ‘cave the.room, until sone of the Ics

dventurous gentlemen were on t' oint of desisting,when they all at ones

round it useless tv resisi any Inge m!? cubmitted to be hisscd with goo race. Tir. Winhle hissed the youn:

SESSION AT Tilk

lady with the black eyes and Mr. Snodgrass kissed Emily, and Mr. Wei- ler, not being particular avout the form of being under the mistletoe, kiss- ed Emma and the other female ser- vants just as he caught them. As to the poor relations, they kissed every- body. not even excepting the plainer portions of the young lady visitors, who in their excessive confusion ran right und+r the mistletoe as soon as it was hung up without knowing it! Wardle stood with his bacx to the fire surveying the whole scene with the ut- most satisfaction, and the fat boy toox the opportunity of appropriating to his own use and summarily devouring a particularly fine mince pie that had been carefully put by for somebody else.

Now the screaming had subsided and faces were in a glow and curls In « tangle, and Mr. Pickwick, after kissing the old lady as before mentioned, was standing under the mistletoe, looking with a very pleased countenance on all that was passing around him, when the young lady with the black eyes, after a little whispering with the other young ladies, made a sudden dart for- ward and, putting her arm round Mr. Pickwick’s neck, saluted him affection- ately on the left cheek, and before Mr. Pickwick dis‘ inctly knew what was the matter eh was surrounded by the whole body and kissed by every one of tnem.

PMCKWIK CLUS.

THE FLOWING BOWL.

Then, after the dancing and the fun, “fl up,” cried Mr. Wardle; “it will be two hours good before you see the bot- tom of the bow] through the Geep ricn color of the wassail; fill up all rouna, and now for the song.” Thus saying, the merry old gentleman, in a goog, round, sturdy voice, sang iis Christ- mas song:

I care not for spring ; on his fickle wing Let the blossoms and buds be borne ; He woos them amain with his treacherous

rain And he scatters them ere the morn,

An ineonstant elf, he knows not himself, Nor his own changing mind an hour, He'll smile in your face, and, with wry

grimace, He’li wither your youngest flower.

Let the summer sun to his bright home return, He shall never be sought by me ; When he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugh aloud, And care not how sulky he be! For his darling child is the madness wild That sports in fierce fever's train ; And when love is tvo strong, it don't last

long,

As many tave found to their pals.

A mild harvest night, by the tranguil light

Of the modest and gentle moon, Has « far sweeter sheen, for ne, I ween, Than the troad end unblushing moon, But every leat awakens my grief, As it licth beneath the tree ; Soe let autumn air be never so fair, It by no means agrees with nie. But py song I troll out, for Christmas stout ; The herrty, the truc, anc th: A bumper | crain, and with

botd ;

misht and

main d Give three cheers for this Christmas old We'll usher him in with merry din That shall gladden his joyous heart, And we'll keep him up, while there's Lite

or sup, : And in fellowship good we li part.

In his fine konest pride he scorns to hide

One jot of his hard-weathered sears ; They're no disgrace, for there's much the

same trace

On the cheeks of our bravest tars. Then again I sing ‘till the roof doth rng,

And it echoes from wall to wali—

To the stout old wight, falr welcome to- night,

As the King of the fextons all!

A CAPITAL AULLENCE,

No wonder the song was tumultuous- ly applauded, for I'm sure it was well sung, and then, as Dickens pertinently remarks, “for friends and dependents make a capital audience.”

And then the ball at Manor Farm: Ah, what a time!

The best sitting room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark paneiied ;00m, with a high chimney piece and a c¢z- pacious chimney, up which you coulc fave driven One of the new patent” cabs, wheels and all. At the of the room, seated in a shady Hove

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and on all kinds of bracékéts, -srd massive om silver canaiesticks viiti four branches each. ‘The earpet 1a: up, the candles burnt brigit, the fire blazed and crackled on the uearth, anc merry voices and light hearted laug!:te: tang through the room. ii any of the

eld English yeomen had turned inte fairies when they died, it was just

the place in which they would have held their revels. s

If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeabie scene hi would have been the remarkable fac of Mr. Pickwick’s appearing without his gaiters for the first thue within the memory of his oldest friends.

“You mean io dance?” said Wardle.

“Of course I do,” replied Mr. P:ck- wick. “Don't you see I am dressed fo the purpose?” Mr. Pickwick called at- tention to his speckled silk stockiugr and smartly tied pumps.

“You in silk stockings!” Mr. Tupman jocosely.

“And why not, sir—why not?” said Mr. Pickwick turning warmly upon him.

“Oh, of course, why you shouldn’t wear sponded Mr. Tupman.

“I imagine not, sir; I imagine not,” said Mr. Pickwick, in a very peretnp- tory tone.

Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a serious matter, so he looked grave and said they were a pretty pattern.

“I hope they are,” said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his friend. “You see nothing extraordinary in the stock- ings as stockings, I trust, sir?”

“Certainly not, Oh, certainly not,’ re- plied Mr. Tupman. He walked avway and Mr. Pickwick’s countenance re- sumed its benign expression,

“We are all ready, I believe,’ said Mr. Pickwick, who was stationed with the old lady at the top of the dance and hed already made four false starte in his anxiety to commence.

“Then begin at once,” said Mr. War- die. “Now!”

Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and of went Mr. Pickwick into hands across, when there was a general ‘lapping of hands and a cry of “Stop, top!”

“What's the matter?” said Mr. Pick- wick, who was only brought to by the fiddies and harp desisting and could have been stopped by no other earthly power if the house had been on fire.

“Where’s Arabella Allen?” cried a dozen voices,

“And Winkle?” added Mr. Tupman

“Here we are!’ exclaimed that gen- tleman, emerging with his pretty com- panion from the corner; as he did so It would have been hard to tell which was the redder in the face—he or the young lady with the black eyes.

“What an extraordinary thing It Is, Winkle,” said Mr. Pickwick, rather pettishly, “that you couldn't have been in vour place before.” :

“Not at all extraordinary,” said Mr. Winuie. .

“Well,” said Mr. Pickwi¢k, with a very expressive smile, as his eyes rest- ed on Arabella, “well, I don’t know that it was extraordinary, either, after el” iaaiemiiaieiintaie Tlowever, there was no time to th'nk more about the matter, for the fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr, Pickwick—hands across— down the middle to the very end of the loom, and half way up the chimney, back again to the door—-poussette everywhere—loud stamp on the ground —ready for the next couple—off aggin— all the figure over. once more—another stamp to beat out the time—next cou- ple, and the next, and the next agin— never was s ing! At last, after they had the bottom of the dance and we caren | couple after the old lady had retired in an exuaust- ed state, and the clergyman’s wife had been substituted in her stead, did that gentleman, when there was no demand whatever on his exertions, keep per- petuaily dancing in his place, to keep” time to the music, smiling on his part-

blandness of

exclairaed

there is no reazon them,”’ re-

}

it; and when Mr. Pickwick awoke late the next morning he had a confused recollection of having, seferally and confidentally invited somewhere about five and forty people to dine with him at the George and Vulture the very first time they came to London, which Mr. Pickwick rightly considered a pretty certain indication of his having taken something besides exercise on the previous night.

Do you remember the dinner in “The Cricket on the Hearth:

Tackleton had brought his leg of mut-

ton, and, wonderful to relate, a tart besides—but we don’t mind a little dis- sipaticn when our brides are tn ine case; we don’t get married every day— and in addition to these dainties there were the veal and ham pie and “things,” as Mrs. Peerybingle called them; which were chiefly nuts anc or- anges and cakes and such small beer. When the repast was set forth on the board, flanked by Calef’s contribution, which was a great wooden bowl of emoking potatoes (he was «prohibited by solemn compact from producing any other viands) Tackleton led his intend- ed mother-in-law to the post of honor. For the better gracing of this place at the high festival, the majestic old soul adorned herself with a cap calculated te inspire the thoughtless with senti- ments of awe. She also wore gloves. But let us be gentec! cr die.

Caleb sat next his daughter. Dot and her old schoolfellow were side by side, the good Carrier took care of the bottom of the table. Miss Slowboy was isolated, for the time being, from every article of furniture but the chair she sat on, that she might have noth- ing else to knock the baby’s head against.

Who can forget poor Toby Veck and his tripe? Poor Toby could not be at home and needs must eat his dinner of tripe that Meg had brought him on @ doorstep along the street. I! say needs must eat it, for that was his intention if he had not been cheated out of part of his feast by the disagreeable Aller- man. No New York Alderman would be as mean as that, to cheat @ poor bell-ringer out of his dinner by .6C9- bling it all himself.

Toby took the shortest possible sniff at the edge of the basket, and cried out in a rapture:

“Why, it’s hot!”

..“It’s burning hot!” cried Meg. “Ha, ha, ha! It’s scalding hot!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” roared Toby, with @ sort of kick. It’s scalding hot!”

“But what is it, father?” said Meg “Come. You haven't guessed what it is. And you must guess what it is. [ ean’t think of taking it out, ae guess what it is. n't be in s a hurry! Wait a Sashate!- A little bit mere of the cover. Now guess!”

Meg was in a perfect fright lest he should guess right too soon; shrinking away, as she held the basket toward

‘by so doing she could keep the right word out of Toby’s lips, and laughing softly the whole time.

Meanwhile Toby, putting a hand on seek nee, bent Sewn tin mabe Jee

grin q

“Ah, It’s very nice!’ said Toby, “it ain’t—I suppose it ain’t polonies?”

“No, no, no!” cried Meg, delighted. “Nothing i.ke polonies!”

“No,” said Toby, after <nother sniff. “It's—it’s mellower than polonies. It’s very nice. It improves every moment. It’s too decided for trotters. Ain't it?”

Meg was in an ecstacy. He could not have gone wider of the mark than trot- ters—except polonies.

Liver?” satd Tobv communing with brimself. “No, There’s a mildness avout it that don’t answer to liver. Pettitoes? No. It ain’t faint enough tor pettiloes. It wants the stringiness of cock’s heads. And I know it ain‘’t sausages. I'll tell you what it is. iis chitter- lings.”

“No, it ain’t!” cried Meg, ta a burst of delight. “No, it aint!”

“Why, what am I a-thinking of?° said Toby, suddenly recovering a posi- tion as nearly the perpendicular as it was possible for him to assume. “I

THE DANCE AT TROTTY VCK’S.

shall forget my own name next. It’s

tripe!’ :

Tripe it was; and Meg, in high joy, protested he should say in half a min- ute more it was the best tripe ever stewed.

“And so,” said Meg, busying herself exultingly ‘with the basket, “I'll lay the cloth at once, father, for I have brought the tripe in a basin, and tied the basin up in a pocket handkerchief; and if I like to be proud for once, and spread that for a cloth, and call it a cloth, there’s no law to prevent me, Is there, father?”

“Not that I know of, my dear,” said Toby. “But they’re always a-bringing up some new law or other.”

“And according to what I was read- ing you in the paper the other day, fsether, what the judge said, you know; we poor people are supposed to know them all. Ha, ha! What a mistake! My goodness me, how clever they think us.”

“Yes, my dear,” cried Trotty, “and they'd be very fond of any one of us that did know ’em all. He'd grow fat vpon the work he'd get, that man, and be popular with the gentle folks in his neighborhood. Very much 20.!”

“He'd eat his dinner with an appe- tite, whoever he was, if it smelt like this,” “said Meg cheerfully. “Make haste, for there’s a hot potato besides and half a pint of fresh drawn beer in a bottle. Where will you dine, father? On the post or on the steps? Dear, dear, how grand we are! Two places to choose from.”

“The steps to-day, my pet,” sail Trotty. “Steps in dry weather, post in wet. There's a greater convenience in the steps at all times bicause of

| the sitting down, but they're rheu- matic in the damp.”

“Then here,” said Meg, clapping her hands, after a moment's bustle, “here it is all ready! And beautiful it looks! Come, father. come!”

Since his discovery of the contents of the basket, Trotty had been stand- ing looking at her, ard had been speaking, too, in an abstracted man-

Pe

neither saw nor thought about her as she was at that moment, but had before him some imaginary rough sketch cr drama of her future life. Roused now by her cheerful summons, he shook off a melancholy shake of the nead which was just coming upon him and trotted to her side. As he weg stooping to sit down the chimes rang,

“amen!” said Trotty, pulling off his hat and looking up toward them.

“Amen to the bells, father?” cried Neg.

“They broke in dear,” said Trotty,

like a grace, my taking his seat.

“They’d say a good one, I am sure, if they could. Many’s the kind thing they say to me.”

“The bells do, father,” laughed Meg, as she set the basin and a knife and fork before him. “Well!”

“Seem to my pet,” said Trotty, fall- ing to with great vigor. “And where's the difference? If I hear *em what does it matter whether they speak it or not? Why, bless, you, my dear,” said Toby, pointing at the tower with his fork anu becoming more animated under the influence of dinner, “how often have I heard them bells say, ‘Toby Veck, Toby Veck, keep a good heart, Toby! Veck, Toby Veck, jab coming son, heart, Toby!’ A million times? More,”

“Well, I never,” cried Meg.

She had, though—over and over again. For it was Toby’s constant topic.

“When things is very bad,” said Trotty; “very bad indeed, I mean; al- most at the worst; then its “Toby Veck, Toby Vevk, job coming soon, Toby! Toby Veck, Toby Veck, job com~ ing soon, Toby!’ That way.”

“And it comes—at last, father,” said Meg, with a touch of sadness in her pleasant voice.

“Always,” answered the unconscious Toby. “Never fails.”

While this discourse was holding Trotty made no pause in his attack upon the savory meat before him, but cut and eat, and cut and drank, and cut and chewed, and dodged about from tripe to hot potate, and fram hot potato back again to tripe, with an unctuous and unflagging relish. But happening now to look all round the street-~in case anybody should be beck~ oning from any door or window for a perter—his eyes, in coming back again, encountered Meg sitting opposite to him, with her arms folded, and only busy in watching his progress. with @ smile of happiness.

“Why, Lord forgive me!" said Trot- ty, dropping his knife and fork. “My dove! Meg, why didn’t you tell me what a beast I was?”

“Father!”

“Sitting here,” said Trotty, in peni- tent explanation “cramming and stuff- ing and gorging myself, and you before me there, never so rauch as breaking your precious fast, nor wanting to, when"——

“But I have broken it, father,”’ inter- posed his daughter, laughing, “all to bits. i have had my dinner.”

It took some arguing on the part of Meg to convince her father that she had dined, but she succeeded. Then Alderman Cute came out of his house, and seeing Toby eating began his in- vestigation. Filer was with him. Cute took the tripe on the fork while his aoe delivered a homily on the sub-

“This is a description of animal food, Alderman,” seid Filer, making Httle punches in it with a pencil case,” com- monly known to the laboring popula- tion of the country by the name of tripe.”

The Alderman laughed and winked, for he was a merry fellow, Alderman Cute. Oh, and a sly fellow, too. A knowing fellow. Up to everything. Not

‘I believe youu ; 8 d “But who eats * said Mr.

looking is, without ex-

ception, least economical and the

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derstood, than the hothouse pineappie. Taking into account the number of animals slaughtered yearly within the bills of mortalily alone, and forming a low estimate of the quantity of tripe which the carcasses of those animals, reasonably well butchered, would yield, I find that the waste on that amount of tripe, if boiled, would victual a gar- rison of 500 men for fie months of 31 days each and a February over. The waste, the waste!”

Trotty stood aghast, and his legs shook under him. He scemed to have starved a garrison of 500 men with his

own hand.

“Who eats tiipe?’ said Mr. Fler, warmly. “Who eats tripe?”

Trotty made a miserable bow.

“You do, do you?” said Mr. Filer. “Then YH tel you something. You gnatch your tripe, my friend, out of

the mouths of widows and orphans.”

“T hope not, sir,” said Trotty, faint- ly. “I'd sooner die of want!”

“Divide the amount of tripe b->fore mentioned, Alderman,” said Mr. Filer, “by the estimated number of existing widows and ‘orphans and the result will be one yennyweight of tripe to each. Not a grain is left for that man. Consequently he’s a robber.”

Trotty wes so shocked that it gave him no concern to see the A'derman

finish the tripe himeelf. It was a re- lief to get rid of it, anyhow.

Poor Trotty!

I am saving the best for the last—

the Christmas dinrer at Rob Cratchits, with Tiny Tim and all the rest of the little Cratchits. What a picture it is! I smeil the savory goose, I sce the steam rising from the plum pudding and yes, ah, yes, I hear the voice of Tiny Tim with its blessing for all. Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit. Cratch- it’s wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice turned gown, but brave in rib-

bons, which are cheap and make a gcodly show for sixpence; and ghe laid the cloth, as- sisted by Belinda

Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the sauee, pan of potatoes, and getting the cor- ners of his mon- strous shirt collar (Bob’s private property, conferred up- on his son and heir in honor of tie day) into h’s mouth, rejoiced t® find himself sO gallantly att-red, and yearn- ed to show his linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratch- its, boy and girl, came _ tearing in screaming that outside the baker's thy had smelt the goose and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of gage and onion, thcs- young Cratchits danced about the tabi: and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (net proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatocs bubbline up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lie to be led out and peeled. 7 > . * > *

Such a busile ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon to which a black swan was a matter 0! ccurse—and, in truth, it Wes So .me- thing very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready be- forehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the pota- toes with incredible vigor; Miss Belin- da sweetened up the apple sauce; Mar- tha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forget- ting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons in- to thcir mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratch- it, looking slowly along the carvins knife prepared to plunge it ina the breast; but when she did and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the boird, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife and feebly cried “Hverrain!”

There never was such a goose. DPob said he didn't believe there ever we: such a goose cooked. Its tendernc: and flavor, size and checopness wer: the themes of universal admiration.

Eked out by apple sauce and mash- ed potatoes it was a suffictert dinnc: for the whole family, inderd rs irs. Cratchit said with great delMghi (sur- veying one small atom of a bone upon the dish) they hadn't ate it all at ‘ast: Yet every one had had enough end th: youngest Cratchits in particuler were Steeped in sage and onion to the cye- trows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Dcl nda, Mre. Cratch't left the room alane—teag nervous to

bear witnesses—io take the pudding up and bring it in. Suppose it should not be done

enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody shou d have got over the wali of the back yard and stolen it while they were merry with the goose—a guppdosition at which the two young Cratchits be- came livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hailo! A great deal of steam! The pudding wrs out of the copper. A sme!) like a washing Cay! That was .the eloth. A smell like an eating h@use and a pastry cook’s next door to exch other, with a laundress’ next door to that! Theat was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Craichit entered—flusn- ¢d but smiling proudly—with the pud- ding, like a speck!ed cannon ball, so tard and firm, blazing in half of half a quartern of ignited brandy, and be- dight with Christmas holly stuck inte the top.

Oh, a_ wonderful pudding! Pob Cratchit said, and calmly, too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit sine their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind she woula confess she had had her douvdis about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It woula have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cioth was cleared, the hearth swept 2nd the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted and consider- ed perfect, apples and oranges Were put upon the table and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hear h, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle. meaning haif a one, and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family dis-

-play of glass—two tumblers and a cus-

tard cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblet= would have done, and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

“A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

NO. 445

CHRISTMAS GEIS.

We rejoice in the light,

And we echo the song That comes down through the night

From the heavenly throng. Ay! we shout to the lovely Evangel they bring, And we greet in His cradle our Saviour and

King, S. Af. No. 2

And ye, beneath life’s crushing load Whose forms are bending low, Whe toil along the climbing way With painful step and slow; Look now! for glad and golden hours Ceme swiftly on the wing; Oh! rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing. —E..H. Srarss G star! which leads to Him whose Sove Brought down man’s ransom free; Where art thou ? midst the hosts above, May we still gaze on thee ? In heaven thou art not set, Thy rays earth might not dim. Send them to guide us yet, O star which led to Him! —Hemans,

At Thy nativity a glorious choir

Of angels in the fields of Bethlehem sung

To shepherds watching at their folds by night,

And told them the Messiah now was born,

Where they might see Him, and to Thee

they came,

Directed to the manger where Thou lay’st,

For in the inn was left no better room. -—AMMilton,

Wherefore from His throne exalted Came He on this earth to dwell,— All His pomp a humble manger, All His court a narrow cell ?

From that world to bring to this Peace, which, of al! earthly blisses, Is the brightest, purest bliss.

. . . ‘ . . a ‘ Well, then, let us haste to Bethlehem,— Thither let us haste and rest:

For, of all Heaven’s gift the sweetest Sure, is peace,—the sweetest, best. —WViolante Dg Ceo.

*Twas to bring us endless pleasure He our suffering nature bore ; ’T was to give us heavenly treasure

He was willing to be poor. Come, ye rich, survey the stable

Where your infant Saviour lies ; From your full o’erflowing table

Send the hungry good supplies.

—Mrs. More.

The shepherds went their hasty way, And jound the lonely stable-shed Where the Virgin Moiher lay : And now they check'd their eager tread, For to the Babe that at her bosom clung, A mother’s song the Virgin Mother sung. —Coleridge,

When Christ was borm in Bethlehem *Twas night, but seemed the noon of day! The stars whose light Was pure and bright, Shore with unwavering ray 3 But one, one glorious star Guided the Eastern Magi from afar.

—Scriccé

This night , O Earth ! a Saviour germinate ¢ Drop down, ye heavens, your sweetness from above ! This night is closed the iron book of life : Opened this night the endless book of love. ~-Aubrey de Vere

AN OLD SONG.

Time—The night before Christmas. “Backward, turn buckward, O Time! in your flight; Make me a child again, just for to- night.”