Dicker] WHAT CHRISTMAS IS TO A BUNCH OF PEOPLE.

Gods, but be those remembrances admitted
with tender encouragement! They are of
the time and all its comforting and peaceful
reassurances; and of the history that re-
united even upon earth the living and the
dead; and of the broad beneficence and good-
ness that too many men have tried to tear to
narrow shreds.

WHAT CHRISTMAS IS TO A BUNCH
OF PEOPLE.

THE FATHER OF A FAMILY rubs his hands
with a genial smile when Christmas comes;
and yet he now and then raises one finger to
the calculating " organ " of his cranium with
rather a thoughtful air, suggestive of certain
bills and taxes, which he is resolved shall not
weigh upon his mind. Why should they?
He will get through his Christmas bills some-
how or other, as he has done before. He has
no doubt of being able to muster the money
to " article " his eldest son to a highly respect-
able solicitor; he has already laid up a small
portion for his eldest daughter, and makes
pretty sure of doing as much for the others by
the time they are old enough to be married.
He has a good business; his wife is a clever
manager; they live happily together; the
holly-berries smile at him with the well-
remembered sparkle of early days; he there-
fore determines to enjoy the merry season as
of old. What if he does see half-a-dozen more
grey hairs displaying themselves, as though to
remind him that another year has passed, and
a certain line or two in his face does look a
trifle deeper than when he had last observed
it? What have such small matters to do
with the real age of a man? A man is as
old as he feels, and no more. The fact is,
the Father of a Family is as young as he was
twenty years ago; so he gives his hair an
additional and rather flourishing touch with a
comb, puts on a new waistcoat, brushes the
collar of his coat, and, looking down with
complacency on his boots as he sets his hat
lightly upon his head, sallies out upon the land-
ing-place, and shouts a jaunty inquiry as to
when his wife and daughter will be ready to
go to church. The boys are gone on before.
Meanwhile he stands thrumming a pleased,
but impatient, tattoo with his fingers upon the
banisters, and inhaling every now and then a
savoury whiff of sweet herbs rising up from
the kitchen.

THE MOTHER OF A FAMILY has a world of
anxious thoughts about her. She likes Christ-
mas; it is, no doubt, a pleasant time; there
are many sweet memories and hopes attend-
ing it, and altogether it must be considered as
happy: but the butcher's bill, she knows, must
be heavy–––the baker's too–––and as for the
grocer's, she is almost afraid to think of it.
Besides this, there is a new dress-maker's bill,
which she has not yet told Mr. Broadback
about. But how was all this to be avoided?

As to herself, she could not do with less, nor
her eldest daughter, especially on the eve
of her marriage–––a happy marriage she most
devoutly hopes it will be. Then there are the
growing girls, all of whose dresses have got
so shockingly short, that she could almost
wish the follies of Bloomerism had been
softened and translated, and entered England
under another character–––as a Persian,
Turkish, or Polish ladies' " fashions," just
imported from Paris–––so that something
economically elegant might have gradually
been introduced, inch by inch, as it were, to
the great saving of the Mothers of large families
of daughters. As for the bonnet-maker, she
must wait. It is unknown what sums have been
paid that bonnet-maker in the course of the
last six years. Perhaps it would be best not to
think any more of these matters just at present.
At any rate, Mr. Broadback shall have a good
Christmas dinner; she will take care of that;
and all their relations and friends who are
invited shall be made as happy as possible.

THE ELDEST SON has a mixed feeling
about Christmas. He has no very romantic
impressions of the study of the Law; but he
wishes to begin life, and to take the first step
towards making his way in the world; and as
he is to be articled to Mr. Benjamin Sheep-
skin early in January, he looks upon the
intermediate time rather impatiently. At
least he would do so, but that his cousin Ellen
is to dine with them on Christmas-day, and
stay on a visit for a week afterwards, during
which there will be round games and forfeits,
and he will "go partners" with his cousin,
and dance with her, and show her all his law-
books, and decoy her under the mistletoe-
bough; and so he expects to pass a very
merry time before he goes to the office of Mr.
Sheepskin.

What Christmas is to THE ELDEST DAUGHTER.
we may pretty well infer from the increased
brightness in her eyes, the frequent blush that
suffuses her soft cheeks, the occasional pensive
air suddenly awakening up with a smile, the
tender sigh, and the additional pains she takes
with her beautiful hair, which is never out of
order, and yet she thinks it continually needs
to be brushed and smoothed, and set to rights.
To her, Christmas evidently comes with a wed-
ding-ring concealed in a wreath of evergreen.

Besides the eldest son, there are "THE BOYS;"
and these rollicking young chaps are home
for the holidays; and Christmas to them is
(weather permitting) an endless succession of
sliding and snow-balls, and hoops, and going
on the ice; and plum-puddings, and mince- pies,
and games at blind-man's-buff, and other romps
in the evening, with snap-dragon after supper.

To THE YOUNGEST CHILD a little bright-eyed
fairy of five years old, in a white and sky-
blue frock, purple sash, and red shoes
Christmas is a season of romance. It is a
whirl of shining hours, in which there are
new toys of mysterious beauty, and dances,
and kisses, and cakes of all sorts, and sweet-