Nor is the one particular item of expense,' to employ Mr. Swiveller's phraseology, the only respect in which the toys of the present generation differ from those of the past. The old order of toys has changed and given place to a new. We miss sadly the toys of our own childhood. We suppose the present race of children has developed so surprisingly that it would find no charm in the simple but ingenious 'hop-frog,' or the more complex and equally pleasing 'monkey and stick.' Instead of articles so simple as these we have elaborate structures of houses,

engines, and so forth. Modern toys are like a certain species of modern recreations-they attempt to combine instruction and amusement. A child is taught the principle of the locomotive by being told to pull a string, and learning something of the art of communication by the electric telegraph in much the same pleasing manner. As the world gets older it gets more expensive and more knowing. Children participate in the tendency, and we suppose it is only natural that toys which are intended for children should illustrate it.

TH

She

HERE was a very pretty girl dancing with a young fellow at a Christmas ball. He had rather a long face, helped by his style of whisker, but this evening he looked preternaturally elongated. For once he did not at all appreciate his pretty partner, who consequently found him very uninteresting. said afterwards to a great chum of hers whom she met on the staircase, 'Charley, what's the matter with Tom Bobus? He looks very glum, and he won't talk.' 'Oh,' said Charley, 'I'll tell you what it's all about. He's got his Christmas bills in, and he can't pay them. That is what makes him so glum.' The young lady laughed, as at an exquisite joke, and afterwards told me. She was not unkind, and the words conveyed no meaning to her mind. Her people were rich, and she has had no practical acquaintance with the subject. But I confess I sympathised greatly with Mr. Thomas Bobus. As you saw the young swell, faultlessly dressed, step into his hansom, you would hardly think that Black Care was getting up behind that licensed driver, badge 7111. I pity Mr. Bobus, when he finds that during his absence at the ball some more bills have come in by the last post. I dare say he will make some acute distinction between Christmas balls and bills, with a decided preference for the former. I could not joke about it, like the young lady. The subject is one that comes home to the hearts and bosoms of us all.

I confess that this postal card system bears very hard upon my friend Mr. Thomas Bobus. He certainly owes a good many bills, rather unconscientiously, and pays no attention to his promises to pay unless they are on stamped paper-and not always then. Bobus, like myself, lives in what we consider is a fashionable suburban village, within the twelve mile postal delivery. Offensive cards come to Bubus sometimes; as, from a bootmaker, Sir, if you don't pay me I shall county-court you;' 'Sir, you're no gentleman, not to keep your word; or, Dr. to C. Simpkins: To bill delivered, 97. 198. 9d.' It is bad enough to have those vexatious blue envelopes which discompose one. I wonder why they always put up their bills in those thin blue envelopes. I expect it is pure malice and aggravation, like showing white to an elephant, or red to a bull. They have the solitary advantage that

they can be thrown aside, without any danger of loss to one's real correspondents. Still, they are not so bad as these postal cards. Bobus declares that since they came in Charley has manufactured several of an awful kind against him, but I believe Charley denies that soft impeachment. I am happy to hear that there is a sensible man of science who is bringing out a sympathetic ink exactly to meet the difficulty of these postal cards. I have no doubt but in London and large towns, at least in the busy parts of them, the postmen do not care for letters, and could make nothing out of them. But in more curious localities these postal cards are really putting you, whether you like it or not, into the Temple of Truth. Take the case of Bobus. The postman there adds to his official duties the keeping of a grocery shop, where of course these offensive missives have materially deteriorated Tom's credit. Nor is this all. The postman, when his labours are done, retires to the bar of the popular public to recruit upon gin and water. Those postal cards have given him a further opportunity of ventilating his conversational powers. Even a nod or a wink may do a great deal; but the postman will probably go pretty fully into matters with his cronies. I believe there will be a great demand for that sympathetic ink.

I can very well sympathise with Bobus under his shower of Christmas bills. Christmas is a great disillusionator. It brings its payments, but also its liabilities, and the fat kine swallow up the lean kine. There is not much pleasure in drawing your quarterly payments when you know that, with all your ingenuity, they will not spread over half the surface which you want them to cover. Christmas has the merit of showing a man pretty clearly how he stands in financial matters, and frequently the knowledge is not of the very pleasantest kind. I must say that our unfortunate French neighbours show to great advantage compared with us in this respect. At no time did they come near that tremendous ramification of credit which extends throughout all English society. If a Frenchman wants anything, he simply waits till he can pay for it, and then he buys it. If an Englishman wants anything, he gets it at once, and is content to run in debt

for it. When he pays for it, the article is probably worn out, and he takes credit for a new one. I think our Gallic neighbours are the wiser; that their étrennes are a shade more cheerful than our Christmas-boxes.

But let me not underrate Christmas. If it brings its bills, it also brings its balls. That impecunious fellow, Bobus, will go with the greatest alacrity to any Christmas ball. The young wretch appears to be quite oblivious of the fact that, in a monetary point of view, he ought to be overwhelmed with his pecuniary liabilities. As a rule, the bills don't come in till after Christmas; and so at Christmas Bobus is very merry, albeit about Twelfth Night he becomes exceedingly glum. Take it altogether, that heavy party with a few plums in the funds does not enjoy life as doth Bobus with a minus fatally less than nothing. I don't much care for dancing now. Like the heavy party, I should hardly appear to much advantage thereat. Time was when what would I not have done for a dance? I remember taking a journey of a hundred and sixty miles for that purpose alone. But that was to see Laura -Laura, who has now a Laura of her own o'ertopping her. People seem now to arrogate to themselves an immense lot of credit for going a score of miles, in or out of town, to attend a ball. Across country, a score of miles may be a very serious matter; or, if the party is pleasantly arranged, a very pleasant matter. There ought to be no trouble in going down to Richmond, for instance, for a ball; and if you go by rail, it is simply a trifle. Tom Bobus and Charley will dance as vigorously as King David, and are a vast assistance to any party. I twine myself, as elegantly as I can, close to the door, as a wallflower. I don't think that I am so very much worse off than Tom Bobus, although he is dancing with that pretty girl who laughed so about his bills, and towards whom honest or dishonest Tom has long been concentrating his vagrant affections. For while Tom can only see the merits of one girl, I can do justice to the merits of all. While she is a shadowy, illogical, ethereal divinity in his eyes, I can sum her up in the course of a few minutes. I know that I am only an old fogy, and I confess to my fogyism. But some very nice girls come and chat with me; and though they would rather dance with the young fellows, some of them would have the sense to prefer talking with me. If not, I can talk with their mothers-or, indeed, on such an occa

sion as a Christmas ball, with their grandmothers. Very stately, and indeed, at times, very pretty are some of the grandmothers. I really do not know where the wonderful grandmothers of the future are to come from; I am afraid that few of the young ladies of the present day will grow into anything so stately and good. Some of these old ladies are simply delightful. They indoctrinate me with the diplomacy and inner life of the ball, and recount all the ins and outs of family history. There is no more brilliant sight than a crowded ball-room; it is pleasant to watch the convolutions of the dance; no ballet can be better. Only I am free to say, in my character of a fogy, that if I were engaged to one of those girls, I should not like to see her clasped round the waist by an obnoxious stranger. Read Byron's poem, The Waltz,' and then confess that it is very odd how entirely society has accommodated itself to the state of things that he condemns. It is all very well, however, at the Christmas balls, where they dance the old country dances, not only with duennas and chaperones, but in the presence of all one's friends and belongings. The least dancing people might dance at Christmas; the parsons themselves turn out in great force, and the servants get their dancing parties, which are sometimes livelier and longer than those of their betters.

·

Now I must say a word or two about our church bells. We have a peal that for its musical carillon is known far and wide. Our church is an ancient, a picturesque church, which modern innovation has touched lightly, and really only in a helpful way. We are going to have another big church here, and in the mean time an ugly iron structure is perpetrated, and of course there are tabernacles and things of that sort belonging to our worthy dissenting brethren.' Our church is smothered with ivy, and it has much stained glass, a fine organ, with a finely trained choir, and has some good monuments. I promise you that it is well decorated at Christmasnot with mere sprigs of holly, stuck about at the will of a homely sexton, but after a scientific and beautiful order, of course by the young ladies of the place. Our bells are very fine; but their Christmas aspect is at times nearly a nuisance. A worthy citizen and cordwainer, who had retired from business, and vegetated his remaining years down here, left some fields at the end of his garden, the annual rent of which was to be given to the bellringers. If he had left them ten shillings a year, which