dropsical-looking citron stuck upon two cinnamon legs. But art has penetrated even into the domain of the grocer in the shape of bonbon cases from Paris, in which sweets to the taste are daintily wrapped up in sweets to the eye. The grocer is speedily followed by the bookseller. His window becomes a blaze of colour. By some mysterious process, every book that has failed to attract during the year is furbished up for the delectation of the laughing public at Christmas. It really is astonishing the number of articles which pushing tradesmen believe John Bull can be gulled into purchasing at Christmas time. His pocket is supposed to be like the clown’s at Astley’s, into which every conceivable thing may be poked. One burglarious Christmas, we remember seeing in a shop window, a group of life-preservers flanked with blunderbusses, with a ticket underneath, inscribed “Presents suitable for the season.” It is clear John Bull, when he has had a good dinner at this season, must go out into the streets and buy right and left, for the mere pleasure of bleeding a plethoric purse. As the great day approaches, the butcher’s shop begins to be a centre of attraction. We thought that the theory of turning good beef and mutton into so much suet had been exploded, but a walk about town during Christmas week convinces us that your jolly butcher is not going to give in to common sense quite so speedily.
But we must not pause at this season to pick holes in the “Roast Beef of Old England.” Neither must we inquire too curiously into the quality of “fine old crusty port at 2s. 9d.,” which goes to make merry the hearts of middle-class London.
Teetotalism at this season is moody, and refuses to be comforted. Towards Christmas Day the pictures of “frightful examples” exhibited in the windows grow more exaggerated than ever; the drunkard beats his wife with tenfold violence; and we observe that the anatomical plate of the spirit-drinker’s stomach is move than usually inflamed.
But we have no space for joking, nor inclination for controversy now; we have grounds of sympathy even with the toast-and-water moralist. Even he will help us to hang up the misletoe; and we wish him and all our readers a merry Christmas!