6

CHRISTMAS NUMBER OF HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

these festive processions. We speak only of
the young and middle-aged turkey and goose;
but while we give the degree of difficulty in
their safe-conduct very much to the side of
the latter, we are almost disposed to agree
with the eminent poet, who has sung its
praises in another sense, finely combining with
that praise a kind of hint at a moral justifi-
cation for its death:

     "Of all the fowls that stock the farm,
         The Goose must be preferred;
     There is so much of nutriment
         In that weak-minded bird."

Christmas to THE BUTCHER is nothing less
than a bazaar of fine meat, displayed with all
the elegancies (they are not numerous) of
which his craft is susceptible. With a smil-
ing countenance and ruddy cheek he walks
backwards and forwards, through his shop
all hung with choice specimens of last year's
"grass "–––the sun gleaming across them
by day, and the gas shining at night upon
the polished surfaces, and delicate white
fat, and sparkling amidst the branches of
holly, stuck about in all directions. He very
much approves of the vigorous way in which
one of his men continues to bawl in a sharp
quick tone " now then, t' buy! t' buy! " when
the most unlikely people, or when no people
at all, are passing. It all looks like business
and bustle.

THE BAKER stands amidst his walls of loaves,
built up, shelf upon shelf,–––with other shelves
packed close with quartern and half-quartern
paper-bags of flour,–––and he glances from the
topmost tier down to the flour-whitened trap-
door in one corner of his shop-floor, where-
from appears an ascending tray, heaped up
with long French rolls, cottage-loaves, twists,
rusks, and hot-spiced gingerbread-nuts. This
loaded tray continues to rise upon a man's
head, which is gradually followed by his body,
and the whole structure approaching the
counter is speedily unloaded. In less than
half an hour, all that was thus brought from
below has disappeared; the walls of loaves
have diminished in great gaps; more loaves
come smoking in, to supply their places, and
more trays of rolls, twists, gingerbread-nuts,
and fancy bread, with piles of biscuits, ascend
through the trap-door. The Baker has a
nice-looking daughter (as most bakers in
England have), and she now comes in
smiling, and displaying a row of pearly teeth,
and assists in taking money. They both agree
that although summer has its advantages,
there is no time of the year so pleasant as
Christmas.

THE GROCER is one of the most flourishing
men in all the world at this season. His
shop is a small and over-crowded epitome of
the produce of the East. He is evidently in
constant correspondence with China, has the
most "friendly relations" in India, is on
familial- terms with the Spice Islands, has
confidential friends in Egypt, Barbary, and

on " Candy's shore; " while, as to Jamaica,
and other West India Islands, he has a box,
a cask, or a case, by every post, to say nothing
of Arabia, France, Greece, Spain, Italy, and,
in fine, all the trading ports of the Mediter-
ranean Sea. To the Grocer we may fairly say
that Christmas is a general shaking by the
hand, with fingers extremely sticky, of foreign
relations and agents in every country, whence
something good to eat, in the shape of dried
fruits, spices, teas, coffees, sugars, preserves
and condiments, are possible to be procured.
If he has a newly-arrived Chinese picture,
inlaid caddy, monster idol, or tea-pot, now is
his time to make a feature of it in his window!

THE GREEN-GROCER is a genuine English-
man; he cannot boast of the foreign com-
modities of the tea-and-sugar mountebank
over the way. He has no wish to do it. He
deals entirely in home produce. All that he
sells, is the natural result of the cultivation,
of the soil of his native country: from celery,
beetroot, sea-kale, and cabbage-sprouts, to
Jerusalem artichokes and sage and onions.
All of English growth! He could very easily
hollow out a turnip; cut eyes, nose, and mouth
in it; stick a bit of candle inside; and then
set it up for a " show," all among the endive
and parsley, in the middle of his window on
Christmas Eve; but he scorns all such at-
tempts to attract public attention. It may be
very well for the Grocer over the way; but
that sort of thing won't do for a man who
deals in natural greens!

Christmas, to THE PASTRYCOOK, is the season
when the human mind, if well regulated, is
chiefly occupied in the contemplation of mince-
pies. Also in eating them, and decidedly in pay-
ing for them. But a very large consumption
of holiday plum-cakes is not the less expected
by the patriotic pastrycook. There is another
yet greater event in his mind, though he does
not break ground with this till after Christmas
Day; and that is, the advance of Twelfth
Night. While, therefore, he expects the public
to be solely occupied with mince-pies and
other seasonable matters, he is secretly at
work in the production of a full set (we forget
how many he told us made a set) of the
richest and most elaborately decorated and
"dramatised" Twelfth Cakes which the juve-
nile world of England has ever yet beheld.
The man's half crazy. His wife says he gets
no sleep with thinking of his cakes. The other
night he started up in bed, and cried out
'"Sugar-frost and whitening!" till his night-
cap stood on end. Though why on earth–––as
the good lady remarked, on second thoughts,
"he should talk of whitening, she couldn't
form the remotest idea in life!"

No doubt Christmas is the season which
calls forth the most unmitigated hatred of
poachers in the breast of the patriotic
POULTERER. He says they are pests of society,
and the wickedest men going. There is no
excuse for strong fellows leading an idle life,
as most of the poachers do. It is worse than