sugar, a ditto lump, an ounce of spice, and a quarter of a pound of peel; which was the last packet opened, when Shadrach leaped down and hurried away through the dirty street.

But it was fine now overhead, and the stars began to twinkle brightly, while the slushy roads were fast growing crisp; but not crisp enough to prevent moisture from creeping through into Shadrach’s boots.

“Because they live on the sand which—law!” cried Shadrach, “what a pity we can’t live on sand; what a lot the little ’uns do eat.” And then he stopped short for a minute to hear some street singers spoiling a carol, and heard the reference to a babe in a manger; and then somehow, as he trotted on, Shadrach could not see very clearly for thinking of two lambs lost from his humble fold: one sleeping in its little grave with the pure white snow covering its breast, and the bright stars like angels’ eyes watching it; and the other—“My poor, poor bairn!” sobbed the little man, hurrying along; and then he was elbowing his way through the throng on London Bridge, eager to get back in time.

“That’s the worst of music,” said Shadrach; “it allus upsets me. Ah! yah! where are you running to, you young dog?” he cried to a boy who, yelling out “I would I were a bird,” blundered on to the little man’s favourite corn, and made him limp the rest of the way. “Not that sort of music, confound him. Would he was a bird, indeed! Pity he ain’t got his neck wrung for him. Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Shadrach, taking a long breath; “how bracing the wind is off the river! why, I do declare if I couldn’t over posts or anything to-night.”

But there was no room for Shadrach to run or over posts, for the streets were thronged with busy, hurrying people. The roadway was crowded too; and everywhere it was plain to see that Christmas was here. It was quite a blessing that some of the laden railway-vans did not break down, for there would have been an absolute block; while, however it was possible for all the presents on the way to get to their destination in time, no one could say. Shops and people, ay, and weather too, all spoke of Christmas: people looked hearty and genial; the shops looked generous; while, though the weather felt cold, it was not a griping, nipping cold, but a warm, dry cold that made the slush hard and firm, and whispered of blazing fires and brave old English comforts.

God bless it! I love a Christmas-night; and, when I say a Christmas-night, I mean any night in that jovial, happy tide, when men sink the care and money-hunting to spread enjoyment 

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