'
Clarence was in my room before I was drest, full of our father's
'wonderful goodness' to him. He had never experienced anything like
it, he said. 'Why! he really seemed hopeful about me,' were words
uttered with a gladness enough to go to one's heart. 'O Edward, I
feel as if there was some chance of "steadfastly purposing" this
time.'
It was not the way of the family to say much of religious feeling,
and this was much for Clarence to utter. He looked white and tired,
but there was an air of rest and peace about him, above all when my
mother met him with a very real kiss. Moreover, Mr. Castleford had
taken care to brighten our Christmas with a letter expressive of
great satisfaction with Clarence for steadiness and intelligence.
Even Mr. Frith allowed that he was the most punctual of all those
young dogs.
'I do believe,' said my father, 'that his piety is doing him some
good after all.'
So our mutual wishes of a happy Christmas were verified, though not
much according to the notions of this half of the century. People
made their Christmas day either mere merriment, or something little
different from the grave Sunday of that date. And ours, except for
the Admiral's dining with us, had always been of the latter
description, all the more that when celebrations of the Holy
Communion were so rare they were treated with an awe and reverence
which frequency has perhaps diminished, and a feeling (possibly
Puritanical) prevailed which made it appear incongruous to end with
festivity a day so begun.
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