We may smile at such people, but they can never excite our anger. They
are usually on the best terms with themselves, and it follows almost as a
matter of course, in good humour with every one about them. Besides,
they are always the faint reflection of higher lights; and, if they do
display a little occasional foolery in their own proper persons, it is
surely more tolerable than precocious puppyism in the Quadrant, whiskered
dandyism in Regent-street and Pall-mall, or gallantry in its dotage
anywhere.

CHAPTER II--A CHRISTMAS DINNER

Christmas time! That man must be a misanthrope indeed, in whose breast
something like a jovial feeling is not roused--in whose mind some
pleasant associations are not awakened--by the recurrence of Christmas.
There are people who will tell you that Christmas is not to them what it
used to be; that each succeeding Christmas has found some cherished hope,
or happy prospect, of the year before, dimmed or passed away; that the
present only serves to remind them of reduced circumstances and
straitened incomes--of the feasts they once bestowed on hollow friends,
and of the cold looks that meet them now, in adversity and misfortune.
Never heed 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. Then do not select the merriest of the three hundred and
sixty-five for your doleful recollections, but draw your chair nearer the
blazing fire--fill the glass and send round the song--and if your room be
smaller than it was a dozen years ago, or if your glass be filled with
reeking punch, instead of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter,
and empty it off-hand, and fill another, 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 sit round the fire. One little
seat may be empty; one slight form that gladdened the father's heart, and
roused the mother's pride to look upon, may not be there. Dwell not upon
the past; think not 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 gaiety of infancy in its joyous eye. Reflect upon your present
blessings--of which every man has many--not on your past misfortunes, of
which all men have some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and
contented heart. Our life on it, but your Christmas s