EVENING STAR Xmas Supplement.

AUCKLAND, N.Z., SATURDAY DECEMBER 32, 1883

Christmas, 1883.

TWO CHRISTMAS EVES.

[BY "THE BLACK KNIGHT."J

I.—Then-.

. HOW sweet, in the homes of Old England, Are those Christmas reunions so ..right, When family and friuntls arc assembled Hound the llreside so cheerful and bright. Tho cold and the snow of December Give zest to tho sports and the ball; And one Christmas Eve 1 remember The gladdest and blithest ol all. 'Twos somewhere far back in the sixties, When I was scarce out of my teens. .And the scene is an old country mansion, All freshened witJi bright evergreens, ''Jlong which shone Ihe holly's red berry Antl glitt-i-il tbo mistletoe's leaf. Oh! that mistletoe! how wo made merry O'er the charter it fare to the thief! How gladsome tbe feast and the revel; My uunt antl my uncle how Ray— Jly cousins Jack, Alfred, and Harry, And Ellen, Louisa, and May- How they laughed anil I hey shouted and sported Or joined in tho mazy quadrille : And I—how I "spooned"and I courted With sweet little Jennie McNeill. It was love at first sight. Could 1 doubt it, As I gazed on the plump ruddy face Of young Cousin Jcanio from Scotland, Entranced by her beauty and grace ! Ah mo ! all those happy sensations Kccur to me now as I write— The dreams nnd the wild perturbations Of heart and of brain on that night! It was love at first sight ; and. oh rapture, I saw us I gazed in her eye That I too had effected a capture. And Unit she was as happy as I. While Hie o Hairs were mi-t Icioc-kissin:.. And enjoying' the fun of the fair. Little Jennie and I were n-niissing— But were kissing, I ween, otherwhere. As I felt her wee hand's gentle pressure, I knew she would ever be mine. And I dreamed of a future of pleasure, A future of bliss nigh divine. I was only a boy: bui, believe mc, 1 felt as a god anions men. Strong and hopeful—no Kate could deceive me, Nor rob mc of happiness, the. . ll.—Now. How strange, in the homes of New Zealand, Comes Christinas, with sunshine and smiles ; How sad. when we think we are severed Prom friends by twelve thousand long miles ! But why do I feel sad and lonely. And o'er life's vicissitudes grieve ? por my Jennie is mine, antl mine only, Aud is with nc; this bright Christmas Eve, Eighteen years since wc stood to be married. Then sailed for this fair, fruitful shore; And oh! what a change on this Christinas Prom that of the year sixty-four! JTor my Jennie is fat. fair, and forty. Nine children around us have grown. And I am a meek man in slippers. Who can scarce call my fireside my own. Jack, our eldest, a strapping six-footer. Rules his mother, and mother rules me; Our next, frisky Emma, is mistress— As smart as a mistress may be; Then there's Harry, Louisa, and Alfred, And Jlary, and Lucy, and Jim, And Charlie; and if there's a tyrant. Who knows it. believe me it's him! To-day we have been to the Hawaii (Eleven at live bob a-heatl), And they all want to go to the opera. But my proposition is bod! But I've no chance to carry my motion : The odds are. you sec. ten to one : *' dure, Christinas tlon't eotne round so often. And the dear tilings are needing sonic fun!" 3odi??entin~. relenting, consenting, 1 yield when resistance is vain, , Though my pocket-book's shrunken proportions Mako me think with compunction aud pain Of water-rates, gas-hill, and taxes. Of grocer antl butcher to pay. And of mortgagee, tierce anil relentless. To lace on the next quarter day. And I sit 'mid tlie mirth and the music At Abbott's, my thoughts far away. For I dream of that home in Old England And Ihe gladness of Youth's happy day, The curtain descends. Disenchanted! Clouds gather again on my brow: My vision of bliss has departed, And I'm down to reality NOW ! L'E.NVOI. Kind roador—Miss, Mister, or Madam, Let tne ask. ere 1 hiy down my pen. Have yon e'er, like this poor son of Adam, Lived in bliss in some far-away tues i Be assured that the vision will cheat you. And like mc, as I make my sad bow, You will tind stern reality greet you; Don't I wish you're enjoying it NOW I Auckland, 1883.

A CHRISTMAS SONG.

The Old Land and the New

[BY W. It. WILLS.]

.ago and Bard in tho olden time Sang loving antl sweet a mirthful rhyme, Carol, or lay, or roundelay, Or hymn divine. And say, shall we. In this happy Southern realm to-day, Be sad nnd silent, or glad and gay I Shall our hearts give forth a merry chime— A carol of love for Chrislmas time ? The roses are out in their summer garb, The tiger-lily is flaunting gay— The song of tlie lark is soft and sweet, Anil sweet tho breath of the new-mown hay. Over tho meadows the buttercups throw Their golden sheen of summer glow; And we think of happy childhood's home. When Christmas-tide was white with snow. .Vhcn oar hearts were young, our spirits light, In the dear old land so far away— When village bells rang a merry chime Of love and peace for Christmas Day; And wo think of hearts which love us yet, And beat in unison with ours, They have true hearts amid the snow, As ours are true amid tho flowers. We sit benoath the niyrtlo trees And talk, dear Motherland, of thec— And fancy views the glowing fires Old Christmas brings with revelry. They sing of peace, goodwill to men ; We sing the same dear song to-day; They kiss beneath the mistletoe ; We kiss beneath the orange spray. Wc sing the dear old English songs, And weave the chaplet now and then, And hearts will beat with love and pride In boasting we are Knglishmen I Anil so we sing this Christmas tide A song, my Motherland, to thee, And pray that God will watch and keep Our island home beyond the sea. I. Wo love tho land that gave us birth, Though her skies arc not so fair, As the dear new land that smiles and laughs In sunhc-ams bright and rare. And though our hearts to this new land Must beat both firm and true. We'll not, forget the dear old land, Although we love the new.

Old England has her woodland slopes, And helds of golden grain • IS ew Zealand glows with fern and rose On mountain, hill, nnd plain ' U c vo roamed in boyhood's happy time, 0 er England's cowslip dales ; 10-tlay we tread with love antl pride, New Zealand s flowery vales.

HI. The ocean tide may roll between The islands ot the free, But a golden chain of brotherhood Shall stretch across tho sea. Our hearts shall beat as British hearts loboth lauds ever true Por we fondly love tho old land And dearly love tho new.

S rif,-e nnd Hard in tho olden time ban« loving and swoct a joyful rhyme ; Antl wo iv these Southern realms to-day Sing peace to those who are far away. Poaco antl goodwill to one nnd all, Ihe rich and poor, the great and small : And may God's dear love and graco beside Kncomptiss all this Christmas-tide. Otahuhu, 18S3.

"Behold, He Cometh."

At; lis ago in Eastern land They watched for Him, Listening oft for His chariot wheels. As tho day grew dim ; Antl wondered if He Would come again From Olivet; With welcoming words on their lips they looked Anil ho tarries yd.

Every year across Winter's snows, With wistful eves, Kagei- disciples have watched for Him To come from the skies. Every year under Summer suns Thoy have sum.' His praise. Anil cried for Him from their yearning; heart: Hut He slill delays.

They have died at their watch on Ihe beacon hci'.-hts. And wc take their place : We Ion;:, as they longed in the ohlen rhr's, (•'or the sigh I of his face. The sad earth wants Him in her deep woe To givo her rest, lir.l the years pass on. and lie duos not como To make us blest.

Sometime, we look at the floating clouds. And in fancy trace The shining robes, and the feet of brass, Anil His glm-inu. face. \\ c hush our breath when the gleaning come Anil can almost hear The thrilling sound of His blessed worths; Hut lie is not near.

Vet courage, broth.rs, we have His woi-.l Anil He will not fail; Let us be patient, and watch nnd wait Till our prayers prevail. He will surely come, as Ho said He would In tlie light sublime: And we shall forfjet, as we see His face, This waiting time.

NEW BOOKS AND CHRISTMAS PUBLICATIONS.

[By Oi»r London Correspondent.]

Hints as to Book-buyino—Tub Book ok the Season—Troixope—His Best Novel— What Hk Thought His Best—Walter Besant's Last Stoky—"All in a Garden Fair"—"A Great Treason." axd '•Alison" —Nkw Volumes in 3s Bo Siohibs—Tpnc.K.v ii.i'i's XiniLisTicTalks—A ll:i;iii.v_rcci. >■ FI"L Story—"John Hekrinu "—'l'u kCiiriht mas Annuals—What We aw: Prommed— Christmas N'umukus ok the N h\\ si-apkii*— Caldecott's Picture Book— The "Tit- Bits " Mania.

London", October •_.(». Tun months of October and November aro

par excellence tho publishers' season. It is

atthistiniooftheyearthatallthcmo.it tempt ing works of travel, fiction, antl biography make their appearance, Juvenile boohs, too, issue from tho press in hundreds during tho late autumn, and novelties in baby literature lie thicker than ever on tho librarian's counter. The oeca-ional reader

I has so many dainties to choose from that he is puzzled where to begin, what to take up first. I can't help thinking, therefore, that a few friendly hints from an omnivorous devourer of all sorts of literature may not come amies to some of you good people in Now Zealand. One has so many opportu nities in London of learning what books ought to be read, and so few in your part of the world. I know when I lived in Auck land I should often have been glad of a word or two of advice. Books are expen sive luxuries at the antipodes, and few care to give six or seven shillings for a story on speculation. A good novel or an interest ing work of travel well repays the purchase money, but many of the volumes "spawned upon publishers" nowadays are the weariest of trash. Let me sec if 1 cannot tell you something bliat does desorve perusal. The book of the day is, of course, Anthony Trollope's most interesting autobiography. I sent a long series of extracts from this work via Brindisi, but those who enjoy the sort of "truth that is stranger than fiction" should road every Tine of the two volumes. Aftewards, some of you who are not familiar with the deceased novelist's stories may like to read one or two of them. For my part I have always thought "John Caldigate" Trollope's best novel. It is not perhaps so pathetically touching as " Tho Warden," or so clever as the " Last Chronicle of Bursel," but the plot has been well thought out and carefully pieced together, and the characters are wonder fully life-like. It seems curious, doesn't it, that the stories poor Trollopo himself considered almost his best, viz., "Linda Tressel" and "Nina Balatka," were on all hands condemned as amongst the worst things he had written

Remembering tho enjoyment I ex perienced reading those truly charming stories, "The Chaplain of the Fleet" and "All Sorts and Conditions of Mon," it was with feelings of the most pleasurable antici pation I took up Walter Besant's new novel, "All in a Garden Fair." Let mo confess candidly I was disappointed. The first volume is decidedly dull, and though the talo improves vastly as it progresses, one lays it down with a feeling that tbe author might easily have done very much better. "All in a Garden Fair" is tho "simple story of three boys and a girl." The girl of course is the heroine, and tho three boys arc her lovers. When the talc open? they are children living with their respective

parents in a suburban village near London. We trace the youth of tho throo lads, and learn how, in different woys.eaeh wooes the girl. At twenty-one they propose, but Clare's father insists on a probationary period of three years, at the end of which she shall be free to choose the one of thorn she loves best and respects most. Then the three lads set off to make thoir fortunes : ono adopts literature as a profession, and undergoes great privations in London before recognition comos ; another starts for China as the representative of a great mercantile firm : and the third becomes a speculator on the Stock Exchange. What meed of success each attains, antl which secures the beautiful Clare, I shall not in dicate. Some of the characters, notably that of the heroine's father, a French re fugee, one .1. I'hillipon, are drawn with all tho author's pristine skill; in fact, the book, though not in Besant's best style, is well worth reading. "All in a Garden Fair" forms, as I think 1 told you last mail, part of tho annual volume of "Good Words."

"A Croat Treason, n Talc of the Amori can War," by Mary M. Uoppu. (2 vols., 9s), is a capitally written story of the first re bellion, which will please old and young alike; and " -Mison," by Miss Butt (author of " Dclicia " and "Ceraldine Hawthorne ") may al*. be safely asked for.

Charles Gibbon's "Golden Shaft," and Wyntei's " Regimental Legends," are now obtainable in the .'is lid form, and McMillan antl Co. have added May Lallan's Irish stories to their calico-bound is series.

" .Tillers, Titters, and tho Counsellor," is tbo best of this lot, though "Christy Carew," "Itogan, M.1*.," and the "lion. Miss Fen-;ii'.i." are all supposed lv be moro or less clever. The.-tilling edition of Henry James's brilliant and popular novel has been promise.) for ncxl week, and will, of

Portrai! of a Ln.lv " is now recognised as a standard work, and should find a place on the shelves of all wcll-i'.ignlateil libraries, " Daisy Miller "and "The Siege of Lou don" are, however, my favourites. The Russian romances of Turgeniell' arc to bo issued immediately at Is apiece. Thoy circulate freely in the United States, but the only one I ever tried, viz., "Smoke," was terribly slill' reading.

Somo months ago a Somerset, .lire clergy man, the Itev. S. Billing (,'ould, published a novel called " Mchalnh ; a Story of tho Salt .Mar.-lies," which attracted a great deal of attention, and was most favourably re ceived everywhere. Another tale by the same author is just out, and 1 shall be much surprised if it doesn't prove one of the big successes of the season. "John Herring," as Mr Gould's second attempt has been called, deserves to bo widely read. I see the " Times " this morning praises it sky-high, and am told the " Saturday Re view " follows suit.

And now for a few words about tho Christmas annuals. "Good Cheer" (Christ mas number of " Good Words ") is already out. If consists of two novelettes, "A .Maiden fair," by Chas. Gibbon, and "Tho Ducal Diamonds," by an anonymous author. Both arc rather ordinary talcs, but will till up half-an-hour agreeably enough on Sun day afternoon. 'Walter Besant, besides contributing a short story to the Christmas " Graphic," will do the winter number of "All the Year Bound" this time, to be called "A Glorious Fortune." 11. I„ Farjeon has returned to Ihe bosom of j "Tinsley's.'and in " Mud-Blossom Flower" ! supplies a sequel to tlie popular "Bread j and Cheese and Kiss.'.-." "Grant's Annual will consist of a ono-voluine novel by Fran cillion, styled -'A Great Heiress," and "Tie.' Cent!'mail's," ~;' two stories, by Percy Fitzgerald and Mrs Alexander. The " llelgravia Annual"' is, as usual, un _.//. jindrida of short stories, and so arc . "Judy's "and •■ Diproses." The " World " calls its Christmas number "The Last Voyage of Samuel Gulliver." 'Mr Gladstone, I hear, is to represent Gulli ver. ''Truth's" Christmas number will be in much (lie -.'line style as former years, save that' Itanium plays a prominent part in the story. Justin McCarthy's "Short History of our Own Times" (six shillings) should be ordered at once by every father with a growing family. Apart from being an ad mirable text-book, it is as entertaining as many novels ; in fact, the sort of work one ought to have in the house. Mr I'helps, of

"Gates Ajar" celebrity, has supplemented that much over-rated tract with another semi-religious, semi-hysterical effusion, en titled " Beyond the < lates " (-"« lid). It sells well.

Sampsons, Low, Marston, and Co., aro adding three of -Mrs ltiddcll's later novels to their six-shillings series, vi_, "Daises and Buttercups," " Alaric Spencely," and "Tho Senior Partner." The last-named is a very good story, and much the best of the trio. The same firm have issued an illustrated edition of Jules Verne's new romance, "The Creen Bay," which, as it describes wonderful adventures in Scot land, should be popular amongst Otago folks. Children will be delighted with Randolph Caldecott's new picture books (Is each) —"A Frog He Would a Wooing Go," and " The Fox Jumped Over the Par son's Gate." They fully equal tho earlier series. " Play timo,'" a picture book issued by Chatto and Windus ; is ako highly attractive, and for older children I can heartily recommend the annual volume of "St. Nicholas," and .Mr Molesworth's new story book, a pretty tale of tho "Grand mama Dear" sort.

The success of "Tit-Bits" continues to raise up a whole host of similar journalistic ventures. Within tbe last six weeks, "Smart Bits," "Funny Bits," "Best Bits," "Warm Bits," "Big Ben," "The Taller," "Cassell's Saty Journal," "The Age," and "Scraps," all weeklies of the same sort, havo appeared. The only ones likely to last are "Scraps" and "Smart Bits," both much superior to the rest.

Playing Her Cards Well.

A VOUNn lady in haste, wrote an invitation to a clergyman to come to her Christmas dinner, on a playing card. On seeing it was the ten of hearts, ho wrote the follow ing lines on it, antl returned it :

Your compliments, lady, I pray now forbear For Old Kurdish service is much more sincere. You've sent me ten hearts, but Ihe tythe's only mine.

rrivc me one heart, and tako back _'otI„: nine.

HOW DID THEY KEEP THEIR CHRISTMASES?

[Hy V.. A. Sal.v, in ■enr. "Illustrated London- News," Christmas Numjikr, 1883], By " they "—then.-.I mean tho Slaves of the reading-lamp, the desk, and tho grey gooso pen, or its Cillottian substitute ; the "writing fellers" as the members of the military clubs call them ; tho Dictators of tho P.opublic of Letters; the poets, the dramatists, the essayists, tho novelist--, the historians, who have made the litorattire of Britain famous all over tho world. I want to know how they were accustomed to spend their Clm._u.__—whether they took their pleasure at Yule-tide jovially, or soberly, or even sadly; what they had for dinner, mostly, on Christmas Day; whether thoy (lanced, or played cards, or forfeits, or bliniliiian's bull', or the fool generally, on Christmas night.

SWIFT'S CHRISTMASES.

I turned to Swifl's "Journal to Stella ;" and there, to my qualified delight, " 1 struck He," as thoy say in I'otr.ilm. 'The lirst Christmas mentioned in the.luiirnal is in 1710; and Swill tolls Hester .loiin. Un that on Christmas _vo he wenl (.. Court before church, and that in ono of the rooms, there being but iittle roinpuny, "a fellow in a red coat and without a sword " came up and asked tho I fuel or how the ladies were.

" What ladies':" asked the Rev. lie. Swift lie said. .Mrs liiie.dcy and Mrs Johnson

" Very well, said 1 (the Doctor), when I heard from tlu-m last ; but, pray, when came you from thence (sic), Sir?" The gentleman in the mil coat replied that, ho wn._nevcrin Ireland: but just then Lord Winchel.-e.'t came up, ''and the man went off." Afterwards Swift condescended to re member that the "man" was one Vetleau an ex-shopkeeper who had left his counter and trade for the Army. After Swift had been to church ho wenl lo Court again, and t hence Lady Mount joy carried him toiler house to dinner; but he stayed not long, antl, coming home early, went to lied, to save living. On tho twenty-fifth, " Presto" has actually tho. grace to wish Stella antl Dingley a .Merry Christmas; and he pro ceeds to tell thorn that ho wont to church at eight in the morning, came home at ten, and went to Court at two. It was a collar day, allthe Knights of thcGartor wearing the insignia of tho Order, "This is likewise," adds the journalist, " collar day all over England in every houso ; at least, where there is brawn." "That is very well," he adds in admiration of his own rather thin joke. The Doctor dined with his " neigh bour Ford, because all people dine at home on this day." Thus, half contemptuously, ho dismisses Christmas in its festive aspect. On the tweiitv-.ixth ho write.- that, " by the Lord J Larry." ho shall be undone with Christmas boxes. "The fugues id the coffee house hate raised thoir tax, everyone giving a crown ; and [ gave mine forishame, besides a great many half-crowns 1.. great nun's porters, &c." Afterwards tlie Doctor went by water hi the City, to dine with Alderman Barber, the printer. Nut a very merry Christmas ; thai is why my admira tion for the description of it was "quali fied."

Let us turn to the Christmas of 1711. i Swift's letter to Stella on Christmas l.vo 1 leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. After i abusing the Whigs and Lord Somers, and alternately scolding antl potting Stella, ho I says : " Whatsorl of Christinas'; Why, I ' have had no Christmas at all : and has it j really been Christmas of lato? 1 never once I I bought of it." He dined on Christmas I Eve with Secretary St. John. They sat down at six in the afternoon aud sate talking I —St. John would never allow Swift to look I at his watch — till two ill tho-morning. What wondrous talk it must have been ! , The conversation was moistened, no doubt, I by liberal potations of burgundy, llorcnee, and (okay : and ye! I can scarcely realise the idea of its being Christmas Eve talk. The Doctor leaves the proceedings of Christmas Day a blank, save the intimation | that ho dined at Mr Stone's, in tho City, j and went to betl at ten ; and that on Boxing Day he took pills and some of the " bitter drink" which Lady Kerry had sent him. I At Christmas, 1712, Swift writes to Stella a j littlcmorohumanly. Hegavohisman-scrvant ' Patrick half-a-crown for his Christmas-box I "on condition he would bo gootl, and lie came home drunk at midnight." "I have taken a memorandum of it," adds the ' doctor, "because I design never to give him a groat more. Tis cruel cold," Yes, indeed. Cruelly cold. " I wish M. D. , (Stella) [a Merry Christmas, and many a r ono ; but mine is melancholy." Ho could ' not go to Church, it snowed so prodigiously; I but he could go in the afternoon to dine by ' invitation with Mrs Vanhomrigh, and her daughter Vanessa was of the company. Ah, poor Stella ; I don't think your Christ mas in Ireland would havo been a very merry ono had you known whore your lover was dining on Christmas Day ! Now i I turn to the last Christmas in the journal. | On Christmas Day ho "carried " Parnell to , dinner .at Lord Bolingbroke's, and " Par-' noil behaved himself very well, and Lord ' Bolingbrokc was mightily pleased with' ] him." On Boxing Day Swift went to wish , the Duke of Ormond a happy Christians, i and presented half-a-crown to his Grace's porter. Afterwards he dined with Lord Treasurer Harley, who "chid him for being I absent three days." "Less civility nnd more interest," snarls Harley s grateful | guest to Stella. In tho Juno of the same i year he arrived in Ireland ns Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin, to become more and move | famous as " Gulliver" and tho "Drapior," i but to go mad at last, and die, as ho him- I self put it, "like a poisoned rat in a hole." ;

BYRON'S "MERRY CHRISTMAS."

" A Merry Christmas to you I" So ; I find that pleasant greeting coming from over ' the sea, even from tho gloomy, antique city

of llavenna, in ItaHy, in a lettii• written by Byron to Thomas Moore on SJbeomber 25, I.SL'O. But tbe nobkr bard has nought to say either about the sanctity of the- season car its concurrent morry-nud.?_g.. life Christmas ofl'iision is mainly devoted tothe development of a proposal tliat on his re turn to London he and tho author of "The Loves of the Angels " shall conjointly start and edit a newspaper. Tho Byronie views of what a newspaper should' be, and his opinions on tho English newspaper press; in his own tiay, are highly entertaining. "Thoro must always he in it," ho writes, alluding to the projected journal, "a piece of poetry from ono or the other of us two : leaving room, however, for such dilettante rhymers as may be deemed worthy of ap pearing in the same column ; cut this must be a sine qua, non ; and also as much prose as we can compass. We will take an office —our names not announced, but suspected —anil, by the blessing of Providence, give the ago some new lights upon policy, poesy, biography, criticism, morality, theology, and all other ism, alili/, and ulotjij, whatso ever. .. . I doubt not that'we could displace the commonplace blackguards who have so long disgraced common-sense and the common reader. They have no merit but practice and impudence, both of which wo may acquire; and as for talent and culture, the devil's in it if such proofs as we have given of both can't furnish out something belter than the'funeral baked meats'which have so coldly set forth the breakfast-table of all Croat Britain for-c many years."

CHRISTMAS AT ABBOTSFORD.

Sir Waller Scott, it would appear, though! a littlo mere about Christmas ii; its he:J ..y - poet than, to judge f;.; ISyron's toilers, the author of "Childe ilaroltl " ditl. In Lockhart . "Life of Scott " are preserved some extracts from the journal of Captain Basil Hall, who was a guest at Abbot.-ford during a Christmas very grandly kept in IH_l. Captain Hall describes the state rooms at Abbots ford as " lighted with oil gas in a style of extraor dinary splendour." At the present day, "oilfeas " lends "extraordinary splendour" nliiclly to costormongors' barrows on the kerb in Coodgo-street, Tottenham Court Koad, on Saturday nights. '• The iiar.av.es, also, and the bed-rooms," continues "the gallant captain, "aro lighted in a similar mannor. The whole establishment is on Ihe same footing—l mean the attendance and entertainment -all in good order, and an air of punetuality'nnd method, without any wash or ostentation, pervades every thing." But the grandest festivities of the season wero reserved for " Hogmanay " or New-Year's Eve, when there was a constant succession of "Guisards," or boys dressed up in fantastic caps, with their shirts over their jackets, and with wooden swords in their hands. These youthful mummers paraded in the grounds of Abbotsford, and acted a rustic play, of which tho hero was one (Joloshin, who "got killed in a battle for love," but was presently brought to life again by a doctor of the party. " Supper at Abbotsford was ovei'ljust at midnight, and .is the clock was striking twelve," we all stood up, after drinking a hearty bumper to the Old '. car, and, having jr.iiny 1 hands cross-wise men -vith 1" ■ n_ii baud ssiy.ing his neigh bour's left, all joined chorus in an appro priate song sung by Sir Adam Fergus*-on, a worthy Knight possessed of infinite drol lery. Then follow. d other toasts of a loyal description, and then a song, a good, red hot Jacobite son-.', "To the lung," begin ning :- Here's to the IC ing, boys, c ken whti I mean, boys. A merry Christmas and a memorable Hog nt ii:--. md.i tl Sill, r_il'. sir-i .- i-cd'j adds Captain Hasil Hall, " it was ponderous. Not all tho humour nnd miraculous vivat ity and readme.. of our ho-t could save it— ■ long blank pauses ooctirrcd, and then , a feeble whisper—but little mere, and ! the roar of a jelly toa.-t subsided [into a hollow calm. 1 dwell upon all this i merely lo make people consider how i useless a thing it is to get up such things nowadays. If Walter Scott, with all ap pliances antl means to boot—in bis noble house, surrounded by his own choice friends full of health and njl he can wish, is unable to exempt a HtSgmanay pnrty I'rom the soporitic etl'ect proverbially attend ant upon manufactured happiness, who else need venture on the experiment. '

There are v good many people not nec cessarily cynic.--. nor hypocdondriacs who might be inclined to say "ditto" to Cap tain Basil Hell, even "in theso hilarious Christmas-keeping days. As for good Sir Walter, I must not let his Christmases at Abbotsford pass without noting what he wrote on caning home at Yuletide, 1827. "My rclloetious on entering my own gate to-day wcisof averyditterentandmorepleas ingcast than thosowith whicli Ihadleftthis placeabo_tG weeks ago. 1 was-then in doubt whether I should lly my country,, or beeomo avowedly bankrupt and surrender my library and household furniture with the life-rent of my estate, to sale. ... No doubt, had I taken this course at onco, I might have employed the money I have matte since tho Insolvency of Constable and Boli'nson's houses- in compounding ray debts. Hut I could not have slept sound, as I now can, under the comfortable impres-

sion of receiving the thanks of my creditors, And tho conscious feeling of discharging my duties as ;. man of honour and honesty.

. . . If I die in the harrows, as is very likely, 1 shall tlie with honour: if I achieve my task, I shall havo the thanks of all con cerned', and the approbation of my own conscience. And so I think I can fairly face the ..turn of Christmas Day." All honour to Walter Scott, of Al.l__s.oi-. Not wholly without reason had Captain Basil Hall moralised "on the soporirie effect attendant on manufactured happiness;" but in tho ease of Scott he had deliberately

"manufactured happiness" for himself by sotting himself to a gigantio task --the pay ment in full of his creditor.-. Un his hap piness thus manufactured there was cer tainly attendant a "soporific effect." it was I he sound sleep of an holiest man ; about tbo very best kind of si.op wo can wish for at: Christmas, or at any other sea son of iho year. A Merry Christinas to us all; antl from debt and duns, aud tho al guazil, Dominc libera nos!



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