COLD CHRISTMAS TIDINGS. 421 



of orders, families, and species, believed himself, from the acqui 

 sition of these scanty chips, to have become a deacon in ento- 

 mologic craft. 



On the morrow after the disaster of the cricket, my cousin 

 and I were again the guests of Mrs. Dove, but then in her own, 

 the housekeeper's room, for my uncle spent the day. in bed, a 

 custom of no rare occurrence on that which followed his annual 

 academic commemoration. The next morning, however, being 

 that of Christmas-day, we breakfasted, as usual, in the parlour, 

 and received, each of us, a hearty kiss, and a blessing as hearty, 

 appropriate to the season. In the same overflowing spirit he 

 failed not to garnish both our plates with nicely apportioned 

 slices of the spiced beef which always, at the festive season, 

 reigned paramount over the ham and tongue of ordinary 

 breakfasts. After having himself done ample justice to 

 the ruddy round, he had just equalized its surface by a last 

 shaving, Lucy, lately promoted to the office of tea-maker, was 

 pouring out his third cup, when Caleb entered, and laid two 

 letters on the table by his master. Of the two just arrived, 

 one was a Christmas annual from my father, the vicar's bro- 

 ther, a merchant in London, the other a stiff, business-looking 

 letter with a large seal, which my uncle, after he had read 

 aloud the contents of the first, proceeded to open. Though 

 fifty years have passed since that morning, I seem to have now 

 before me the countenance of its reader under the talismanic 

 change wrought by that piece of paper. He seemed to gulp 

 down a rising exclamation, but it was more than he could do to 

 swallow with it the remainder of his breakfast. Presently he 

 put the letter in his pocket, rose, and left the room, bidding 

 Lucy prepare for church, but in a tone as altered as his looks. 



It was some time before the nature of that Christmas intel- 

 ligence by which the vicar was so sensibly affected became 

 apparent. For awhile there was no change within his house- 

 hold, save in his own dull depressed demeanour, with a shade 

 of sympathetic gloom discernible in the face of Mrs. Dove. 



