eat success!

My father was again in his element at the Twelfth Night parties to which
I have before alluded. For many consecutive years, Miss Coutts, now the
Baroness Burdett Coutts, was in the habit of sending my brother, on this
his birthday anniversary, the most gorgeous of Twelfth-cakes, with an
accompanying box of bonbons and Twelfth Night characters. The cake was
cut, and the favors and bonbons distributed at the birthday supper, and
it was then that my father's kindly, genial nature overflowed in
merriment. He would have something droll to say to everyone, and under
his attentions the shyest child would brighten and become merry. No one
was overlooked or forgotten by him; like the young Cratchits, he was
"ubiquitous." Supper was followed by songs and recitations from the
various members of the company, my father acting always as master of
ceremonies, and calling upon first one child, then another for his or her
contribution to the festivity. I can see now the anxious faces turned
toward the beaming, laughing eyes of their host. How attentively he
would listen, with his head thrown slightly back, and a little to one
side, a happy smile on his lips. O, those merry, happy times, never to
be forgotten by any of his own children, or by any of their guests.
Those merry, happy times!

And in writing thus of these dear old holidays, when we were all so happy
in our home, and when my father was with us, let me add this little
postscript, and greet you on this Christmas of 1896, with my father's own
words: "Reflect upon your present blessings--of which every man has
many--not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some. Fill
your glass again with a merry face and contented heart. Our life on it,
but your Christmas shall be merry and your New Year a happy one.

"So may the New Year be a happy one to you, happy to many more whose
happiness depends on you! So may each year be happier than the last, and
not the meanest of our brethren or sisterhood debarred their rightful
share in what our great Creator formed them to enjoy."

[Picture: Mr. Pickwick under the Mistletoe]

CHAPTER III.

My father at his work.--Rooms in which he wrote.--Love for his child
characters.--Genius for character drawing.--Nicholas Nickleby.--His
writing hours.--His only amanuensis.--"Pickwick" and "Boz."--Death of
Mr. Thackeray.

When at work my father was almost always alone, so that, w