his fine young sailor-son, a passed midshipman, lately come home from
sea.

"No, thank you, since I could not, if I took it, pay due respect to the
mince-pies and plum-pudding; but Willy here can manage another slice, I
daresay. He has a notion, that he will have to feed for the future on
`salt junk' and `hard tack.'"

Willy Dicey was going to sea, and had just been appointed to Harry
Shafto's ship, the "Ranger."

Among the large party of family friends collected at Major Shafto's
house on that Christmas Day not many years ago, was Lieutenant Dicey, a
friend and neighbour of the Major's, who had served with him in the same
regiment for many years. The Lieutenant had lost a leg, and, unable to
purchase his company, had retired from the army. His eldest son,
Charles, and two of his daughters, Emily and May, had arranged to go out
and settle in New Zealand; and they expected shortly to sail. The
Lieutenant would gladly have gone with them, but he had a delicate wife
and several other children, and thought it wiser, therefore, to remain
at home. The party was a happy and cheerful one. The fire burned
brightly, showing that there was a hard frost outside. The lamp shed a
brilliant light over the well-covered table, and the Major did his best
to entertain his guests. The first course was removed, and then came a
wonderful plum-pudding, and such dishes of mince-pies! And then the
brandy was brought and poured over them, and set on fire; and Harry
Shafto and Willy Dicey tried if they could not eat them while still
blazing, and, of course, burned their mouths, eliciting shouts of
laughter; and the whole party soon thought no more of the future, and
were happy in the present. How Mrs Clagget's tongue did wag! She was
a tall, old lady, going out to a nephew in New Zealand; and, as she was
to be the companion of the young Diceys on the voyage, she had been
asked to join the Christmas party.

Dinner was just over when voices were heard in the hall singing a
Christmas carol, and all the guests went out to listen to the words
which told of the glorious event which had, upwards of eighteen hundred
years before, occurred in the distant East, and yet was of as much
importance to all the human race, and will be to the end of time, as
then. Ringers came next, and lastly mummers played their parts,
according to an ancient custom, which some might consider "more honoured
in the breach than in the observance." After this ther