play with, there is no reason why Tom
should not have it, and James, and Edward, and William, and Benjamin,
and Jack. And then there are your sisters. Twice the amount of the
Browns' mince-meat would not serve you. The Christmas bills, too, are
very heavy, and I have a great many calls on my purse; and you must be
reasonable. Don't you see?"

"Well, father----" began the boy; but his father interrupted him. He
knew the unvarying beginning of a long grumble, and dreading the
argument, cut it short.

"I have decided. You must amuse yourself some other way. And just
remember that young Brown's is quite another case. He is an only son."

Whereupon Paterfamilias went off to his study and his sermon; and his
son, like the Princess in Andersen's story of the swineherd, was left
outside to sing,--

_"O dearest Augustine,
All's clean gone away!"_

Not that he did say that--that was the princess's song--what he said
was,--

"_I wish I were an only son!_"

This was rather a vain wish, for round the dining-room fire (where he
soon joined them) were gathered his nine brothers and sisters, who, to
say the truth, were not looking much more lively and cheerful than he.
And yet (of all days in the year on which to be doleful and
dissatisfied!) this was Christmas Eve.

Now I know that the idea of dulness or discomfort at Christmas is a very
improper one, particularly in a story. We all know how every little boy
in a story-book spends the Christmas holidays. First, there is the large
hamper of good things sent by grandpapa, which is as inexhaustible as
Fortunatus's purse, and contains everything, from a Norfolk turkey to
grapes from the grandpaternal vinery. There is the friend who gives a
guinea to each member of the family, and sees who will spend it best.
There are the godpapas and godmammas, who might almost be fairy sponsors
from the number of expensive gifts that they bring upon the scene. The
uncles and aunts are also liberal.

One night is devoted to a magic-lantern (which has a perfect focus),
another to the pantomime, a third to a celebrated conjurer, a fourth to
a Christmas tree and juvenile ball.

The happy youth makes himself sufficiently ill with plum-pudding, to
testify to the reader how good it was, and how much there was of it; but
recovers in time to fall a victim to the negus and trifle at supper for
the same reason. He is neither fatigued with late hours, nor surfeited
with sweets; or if he is, we