children bade them break out in the most
joyous, least studied, and purely lyrical of all. O, we went to twenty
places that night, I suppose! We went to the grandest places in Boston,
and we went to the meanest. Everywhere they wished us a merry Christmas,
and we them. Everywhere a little crowd gathered round us, and then we
dashed away far enough to gather quite another crowd; and then back,
perhaps, not sorry to double on our steps if need were, and leaving
every crowd with a happy thought of

"The star, the manger, and the Child!"

At nine we brought up at my house, D Street, three doors from the
corner, and the children picked their very best for Polly and my six
little girls to hear, and then for the first time we let them jump out
and run in. Polly had some hot oysters for them, so that the frolic was
crowned with a treat. There was a Christmas cake cut into sixteen
pieces, which they took home to dream upon; and then hoods and muffs on
again, and by ten o'clock, or a little after, we had all the girls and
all the little ones at their homes. Four of the big boys, our two
flankers and Harry's right and left hand men, begged that they might
stay till the last moment. They could walk back from the stable, and
"rather walk than not, indeed." To which we assented, having gained
parental permission, as we left younger sisters in their respective
homes.

II.

Lycidas and I both thought, as we went into these modest houses, to
leave the children, to say they had been good and to wish a "Merry
Christmas" ourselves to fathers, mothers, and to guardian aunts, that
the welcome of those homes was perhaps the best part of it all. Here was
the great stout sailor-boy whom we had not seen since he came back from
sea. He was a mere child when he left our school years on years ago, for
the East, on board Perry's vessel, and had been round the world. Here
was brave Mrs. Masury. I had not seen her since her mother died.
"Indeed, Mr. Ingham, I got so used to watching then, that I cannot sleep
well yet o' nights; I wish you knew some poor creature that wanted me
to-night, if it were only in memory of Bethlehem." "You take a deal of
trouble for the children," said Campbell, as he crushed my hand in his;
"but you know they love you, and you know I would do as much for you and
yours,"--which I knew was true. "What can I send to your children?" said
Dalton, who was finishing sword-blades. (Ill wind was Fort Sumter, but
it b