4

CHRISTMAS NUMBER OF HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

[Conducted by

meats, and wonderful things made of painted
sugar, and all the creatures of the earth, with
Noah's Ark in the middle, and brothers and
sisters, and playmates, the eldest of whom is
not yet " gone eight"–––spoken of, like a little
clock!–––and Mamma in a new dress, shining
with bracelets, and a chain and things; and
dear Auntie with a busy face making some-
thing nice to eat; and loud shouting and
crowding round a Christmas tree, all of green
and gold, with lights; and glittering presents
of priceless value dangling from every twig,
and hidden in deep green recesses of the
boughs. This is the true Fairy-land we have
all read so much about!

But THE MAIDEN AUNT, she who so con-
tinually sits on one side, out of the way, or in
the quiet shade of a corner she who is so
continually forgotten, except when some kind
assistance is needed shall we, too, forget her?
Far from it. We well know what Christmas
is to her. All her life is devoted to amiable
disinterested acts of practical aid to all in the
house who need it; and the period of Christ-
mas, to her, is the summing up of a year's
account of sympathies and kindly offices, of
which she herself takes no note beyond the
moment, and which have no place in her
memory except to cause a sigh of regret
when any gentle service has not effected all
the good she intended.

What Christmas is to THE OLD HOUSE-
KEEPER of a substantial family, more wealthy
than the one just described, we must all see
at once to be a very serious business indeed;–––
complicated, and full of grave cares, packages
of hope, close-covered preparations, and spicy
responsibilities. Tiere she stands, with her
tortoise-shell spectacles, and a great bunch of
keys dangling over her white apron! No
minister of State thinks more of herself
(Heaven forgive us!–––himself) than this old
lady does. Her "linen closet" is a model of
neatness and order; her " china closet " is set
out with the utmost precision, and not without
an eye to effect in the prominent display on
the highest shelves of the choice old china-
bowls, basins, tea-cups, saucers, and an im-
mensely ancient tea-pot of the ugliest shape
imaginable, and covered with very ugly faded
paintings, of great value. But most of all is
her pride and importance in the house, and in
her own self-esteem, displayed when she un-
locks and opens the door of her " store-room."
No one must enter but the Housekeeper her-
self. You may stand outside, and lean round
the sides of the open door, and peep in but
no more. There, you see large tea-canisters
of different sizes–––and coffee-canisters–––and
dark slate-blue paper bags–––and polished
wooden spice-boxes, tall, and round, and un-
screwing in several places–––and boxes of
raisins, and a fig-drum, and many packets of
different sizes, with a large white cone of loaf-
sugar standing in the midst–––(we think the
Youngest Child of this family really must be al-
lowed to come in, and look about, but not touch

anything)–––and light bundles of dry herbs
hanging from nails, and small baskets attached
to hooks, and half a German sausage, besides
three Bath chaps swinging by short strings
from nails on the edge of the top shelf; while,
ranged along the shelves, the Child sees a
beautiful array of white jarn-pots and preserve
pots, and brown pickle jars, and wide-necked
glass bottles full of deep-coloured cherries, and
preserved gooseberries, plums, apricots, and
other fruits–––with honey-jars, and tamarind-
jars; and beneath each shelf, a range of drawers
with brass handles, labelled outside with the
names of all the nicest, and some of the most
mysterious, things, in the eatable world.

What this period of the year is to THE
GARDENER, we may easily guess, from great
arms-full of mistletoe boughs, of holly-boughs
thick with berries, and of branches of laurel
which he is continually carrying into the
house, or going with as a present to neigh-
bouring houses. And now, see him coming
along with a bending back, bearing an entire
fir-tree, which gracefully nods its head as he
slowly trudges along, and shakes and rustles
all its dry brown cones, as if in dumb anti-
cipation of the peals of bells that will shortly
be rung! This fir is for the Christmas Tree–––
the green and simple foundation and super-
structure, which is shortly destined to sustain
so much brightness and romance, so many
glittering presents, and to be the medium ot
so many sweet feelings, joyous hopes, and
tender sense of childhood–––in present bright
visions around us, and in tender recollections
of the past.

As for THE NURSE, there can be no doubt
but Christmas is a very anxious time for her.
She expects so many of the young folks will
make themselves very ill with all this quantity
of plum-pudding, and plum-cake, and mince-
pies. However, she consoles herself, on the
whole, for any extra trouble she may have in
pouring out, or mixing and stirring wine-
glasses of physic, and trying to conceal
powders in honey or red-currant jelly (and
then getting them down !) by the proud
recollection that she had the lady of the house
in her arms when a child; and this conscious-
ness makes her feel of the highest import-
ance in the family.

But THE DOCTOR–––the medical attendant of
the family–––there are no mixed feelings or
misgivings in his mind. He hears of all the
preparations–––all the nice things–––and shakes
his head gravely at the lady of the house; but
the instant he is outside the door, he hurries
homeward, rubbing his knuckles. He knows!

The black coat of THE VICAR has a richer
ami more prominent tone of black, as he walks
across the broad snow of his seven-acre field,
towards the stile that leads into the lane that
runs to the vestry-door of the church. The
snow-covered hedges, with frosted twigs at top,
nod and glisten to him as he moves briskly
onward, pointing his Church-and-stately black
toe along the narrow path, beside the deep