A STIRRING TIME.
Puddings, as well as people, begin to go to pot; cooks, as well as drunkards, get their coppers hot. Lemons excel hypocrites in getting candid: currants, from house to house, like crooked legs, are bandied. At moist sugar, instead of white, the busy servants jump; and wisely begin to like that which they cannot lump. Mothers who beat their children, whenever the whim comes in their head, now actively betake themselves to beating eggs instead. The family assemble, but it's no longer "my lovely Rose," or my sweet William, with his pretty stock, the flour of the Christmas pudding is now the flower of the flock! Father, the only one who never would to their low obscurity demur, is now just as anxious as any to join in a general stir. Ambition, alive in his breast, awakens a mighty surprise, to think that he, who was always mincing matters, should begin to mince pies! and they prophesy, as he rakes the plums, in the bowl of China or delf, that he'll live to a Christmas-day that shall see him worth a plum himself. "How fond he is on 'em all," says nurse, meaning to be clever; "I declare he's a mixing with his family more than ever!" "Yes, nurse," responds his spouse, who thought she could do no less, "your master's acting the part of president of the family mess!" and so on—nothing whatever their placid temper a-spoiling, until the pudding's made, and tied up, and shut down, and in the copper a-boiling!
Clock after Sun.
21. St. Thomas, the shortest day.
He who is short of tin, with rent to pay,
'S a great deal shorter than the shortest day;
Rent is heart-rending, when it's over due,
Four quarters, and no quarter but to sue:
You strain your nerves for cash, with great and small,
Only to be distrained on after all;
And meet, when in the worst of mortal messes,
A fresh distress to crown your old distresses!
25. Christmas Bills:—
Alarming accounts for China.
A British Settlement.
DECEMBER—"A Swallow at Christmas" (Rara avis in terris)