at the open shop-fronts, whilst tradesmen and costermongers
seemed to vie with each other as to which could shout the loudest to
attract customers. There were butchers urging passers-by to purchase
joints of animals hanging up in the shops, decked with rosettes and bows
of coloured ribbon in honour of Christmas; greengrocers, gay with holly
and mistletoe, interspersed with mottoes wishing every one the
"Compliments of the season." Bakers, too, were doing a thriving trade
in cakes of all sizes; whilst down the centre of the street, lining each
side of the roadway, were vendors of all sorts of things, whose stalls
were brightened either by oil-lamps or else the more humble candle stuck
in a paper lantern.

I care not to speak of gin-palaces, filled by poor wretches buying
poison for soul and body. Would to God our loved country could be free
from its curse of drunkenness!

And yet the poor denizens of this pent-up neighbourhood appeared more
cheerful and better-tempered than they usually seem to be. Jokes were
bandied freely between tradesmen and customers, and kindly greetings
exchanged in honour of Christmas. Occasionally, it is true, a shivering
creature would be seen shuffling along through the busy crowd, glancing
with furtive hungry eyes at the food exposed for sale, but unable to buy
even a loaf of bread. The generality, however, had anticipated the
coming festive season, and had saved the wherewith to keep Christmas.

It was a relief to turn from the noisy din of Drury Lane up Russell
Court, and thence to the quiet of Mrs. Turner's room. Yes; there they
were all to be seen, a happy family party, preparing, too, to keep
Christmas.

At the one end of the table, close to the candle (they could only afford
one), sat Mrs. Turner and Lizzie, busily stitching away, anxious to do
as much work as they possibly could, as it was intended to celebrate the
next day as an entire rest and holiday. On the floor was Sally Grimes
stoning some raisins into a basin for the plum-pudding, and by her side,
at Nora's feet, sat Pollie, helping her trusty friend in her important
work.

Mrs. Flanagan was standing at the other end of the table, busily mixing
the various ingredients requisite for this crowning dish of the unwonted
feast, and there also was Mrs. Grimes (Sally's mother) chopping up the
seasoning for a goose, which Mrs. Flanagan's employers had given her as
a Christmas gift, and on which they were all to dine.

Mrs. Smit