22

CHRISTMAS NUMBER OF HOUSEHOLD WORDS

[Conducted by

Moreover, his father could scarcely under-
stand the necessity of his reading in a bright-
coloured chintz gown, lined with bright red
silk, although his sisters thought it very
pretty. His mother was afraid that his set of
studs, representing little bunches of jewelled
grapes, must have been rather expensive–––
"But then, he had always been a quiet boy at
home, and would not do so again." He also
drank more wine, and once laughed about
"boys taking two glasses of port after dinner;"
he ordered some pale ale up from London;
and abused tea as ditch-water, alleging that it
hurt his nerves, and prevented him from read-
ing. He called his pony a "mere hack," and
showed discrimination in matters relating to
horseflesh.

But all these were minor difficulties, and
Horace had too much real goodness of heart
to ask his father for more money, or to
obtrude his artificial wants except in fits of
occasional peevishness. Besides, the Bishop
of St. Epps was so pleased with his début at
St. Agnus Dei, that he had obtained for him
an " exhibition," which put another thirty
pounds a-year into his pocket. This comforted
him on the score of his present experiments
with TICK.

Christmas passed away, merrily. The house
was a perfect bower of holly; good, whole-
some dinners, and lively hearty parties in
the evening, " kept" the St. Maurice Christ-
mas in genuine, downright style. And then
came more junketing. Laura, thinking that
there was no particular occasion to run away
to the Lakes, as if marriage were a wicked
action, said " yes " one evening to a curious
question of Jack Harrington's, and absolutely
got married next week. You may fancy what
everybody said and did upon that occasion!

And now came the time for Horace to go
back. Despite the domesticity of home,
despite the absence of cold ducks at break-
fast, of claret after dinner, and of lobster salad
for supper –– despite the rough Avant of
etiquette, which led Jack Harrington to dance
with his own wife, to prefer the ale of the
St. Maurice and the Goat to Bass or All-
sopp, and to drink healths at his own dinner
parties,–––Horace had not found so sincere, or
so soundly rational a companion at college.
He went back and with some regrets.
*******

It is a full three years, perhaps a trifle more,
since Horace spent Christmas at his parental
home. Many changes have taken place in
that time. Laura is getting matronly on the
strength of baby Number Two. Jack is get-
ting additionally serious; looks more sharply
after business; and gives fewer (though not
less sociable) parties. The Reverend the Vicar
of St. Maurice has got a small prebend, with
the profits of which, he has insured his life in
favour of three yet unmarried daughters. This
Christinas at St. Maurice bids fair to rival
all past Christmases in jollity, merriment,
and social delight. Jack has just cleared

a few hundreds by a lucky hit of judicious
speculation, and declares he will spare no
'se in celebrating baby Number One's
second birth-day, which falls on " boxing"
day.

But where is Horace? Will he be as sociable
as he used to be? Will he come up a prodigy
of scholarship and good-nature, half a don,
yet with a whole, and a sound heart? The
train is expected; crowds are waiting ou th
platform, just as they waited this time three
years since, and–––Horace is among them.

But which is Horace? It cannot be that
young gentleman with haughty looks, a de-
licately-robust or robustly-delicate figure, a
bundle of whips in his hand, and two Scotch
terriers held in with a string! It cannot be.
that white-over-coated, crushed-hatted, striped-
shirted individual! And yet it is he too. With
whom is he talking? It cannot be yes! it is,
it must be the Honourable Charley Cracker.
Where are they going? Surely Horace will
go direct home? We doubt it.

Arrived in London–––a little dinner at some
West End house–––beat up Sprigs, now in the
12th. Two or three fellows that the Honour-
able Charley Cracker knows–––Horace must
know them. " De Lisle, of St. Agnus Dei."
"Permit me to introduce you to my friend
Sprigs, formerly of St. Walnuts De Grove
capital fellow only sent away for smashing
the college pump (this in an aside). Adjourn
to the Lyceum–––farce getting slow–––so on to
the Claret Cup, to hear Mr. Pope sing the
"Cross Bones " and " O, Mrs. Manning! " Get
tired, so on again to the Parthenon Saloon
–––no dancing–––only look on–––feel seedy–––
soda-water and brandy too light; pale ale,
squeamish; porter, too heavy; and so to bed
at Jarrett's Hotel. Headache–––late hours in
the morning fish breakfast at Greenwich–––
rather better–––" may as well go home in a day
or two as now," &c., &c.

A day or two is soon gone. Horace thinks
he may as well go and "look in at the
governor;" and so he leaves the Honourable
Charley Cracker. Honourable Charley Cracker
is not a rogue or a sharper. He is merely an
ass. He is a pupil of Horace De Lisle besides,
who has taken to " coaching," and is open to
any eligible offer with which ten or seventeen
pounds a term is connected. He quits London
witli a sigh, takes out his purse with another,
and a deeper sigh.

Laura is as pretty a young mamma as you
will meet in a long summer-day's walk, and
Horace cannot help thinking so. But he
don't like babies; and baby Number One
has taken alarm at his handsomest terrier,
and is squalling energetically. Jack's old-
fashioned house, with the window-door open-
ing into a little snuggery of flowers and
vegetables, is very different to Lady De Mont-
faucon's conservatory, where he used to play
chess, smoke cigars, and sometimes read, with
his last long vacation pupil, the future Earl
of Spitalfields. At home it is much the