to live?" And Doctor Edinburgh said
to Doctor London, "Doctor, you may last a year."

Then Doctor London came home, knowing that what Doctor Edinburgh said
was true. And he made up his accounts, with man and heaven, I trust.
And he visited his patients as usual. And he went about healing, and
cheering, and soothing and doctoring; and thousands of sick people were
benefited by him. And he said not a word to his family at home; but
lived amongst them cheerful and tender, and calm, and loving; though he
knew the night was at hand when he should see them and work no more.

And it was winter time, and they came and told him that some man at
a distance--very sick, but very rich--wanted him; and, though Doctor
London knew that he was himself at death's door, he went to the sick
man; for he knew the large fee would be good for his children after him.
And he died; and his family never knew until he was gone, that he had
been long aware of the inevitable doom.

This is a cheerful carol for Christmas, is it not? You see, in regard to
these Roundabout discourses, I never know whether they are to be merry
or dismal. My hobby has the bit in his mouth; goes his own way; and
sometimes trots through a park, and sometimes paces by a cemetery. Two
days since came the printer's little emissary, with a note saying, "We
are waiting for the Roundabout Paper!" A Roundabout Paper about what
or whom? How stale it has become, that printed jollity about Christmas!
Carols, and wassail-bowls, and holly, and mistletoe, and yule-logs de
commande--what heaps of these have we not had for years past! Well,
year after year the season comes. Come frost, come thaw, come snow, come
rain, year after year my neighbor the parson has to make his sermons.
They are getting together the bonbons, iced cakes, Christmas trees at
Fortnum and Mason's now. The genii of the theatres are composing the
Christmas pantomime, which our young folks will see and note anon in
their little diaries.

And now, brethren, may I conclude this discourse with an extract out
of that great diary, the newspaper? I read it but yesterday, and it has
mingled with all my thoughts since then. Here are the two paragraphs,
which appeared following each other:--

"Mr. R., the Advocate-General of Calcutta, has been appointed to the
post of Legislative Member of the Council of the Governor-General."

"Sir R. S., Agent to the Governor-General for Central India, died on the
29th of October, of br