holly round
the pulpit. They do not actually swear then, but their faces express
sufficiently all they would like to say; it rather spoils the effect
of the discourse, especially if the text be on the virtue of patience.

As I said before, everybody is prickly at Christmas time, especially
one's relations. And so, to make the season as festive as possible,
we, in our sensible way, collect as many of these cheerful, sociable
beings together as we can; and, in short, make a delightful family
party. Holly? it is an insult to the tree to compare it in any way.
No, I think the whole gathering resembles a hedgehog more than
anything else. It is one _mass_ of prickles. Ah, these happy family
parties! Is there ever one member that agrees with another, I wonder?

There is the crabbed old maiden aunt, always on the defensive, never
without the idea that someone is waging war against her. Yet she has
to be treated civilly, and humored. Has she not that which some people
term "filthy lucre," but never really think so? Have these old ladies
ever had any youth? Have they ever danced and enjoyed themselves like
other people? What has made them so sour, so bitter? Is it
disappointment or regret? Poor old souls! In spite of their money,
they never seem happy. They are to be pitied, I think, though they do
try to make themselves as disagreeable as possible. They are so
independent, too, they will not be interfered with. They know
everything better than any one else. One old lady I used to know
declined altogether to have a lawyer, insisting on making her will
herself. It was found afterwards, fortunately not too late, that she
had appointed herself her own executor!

Then there is the maternal grandmother; to whom, of course, the host
is openly rude. This wears you out more than anything, for you have
always to be ready to smooth over and soften every sentence that is
said. And she never helps you at all, either. If she can possibly put
her foot in it, and unconsciously irritate her son-in-law more than
ever, she does it.

Then the uncle who spends his life in making the most villainous puns
you ever heard. Not a remark, not a word in any assembly, which this
witty specimen of humanity does not at once garnish with a pun of the
poorest description. It generally has to be repeated twice, too, for
it is never noticed the first time. The poor pun, indeed, has a most
melancholy existence, for it is greeted with no other applause than
th