“I don’t know, Aunt Christian,” hesitated Halbert, “I don’t know whether it’s right or not, but shouldn’t we be rather sorry when the new year comes, than glad that the old year has ended?” “And why sorry, Halbert?” said his father, who had hitherto been listening in silence, “why do you think we should be sorry?” “Because, father,” said Halbert, quickly, raising his eyes, “because you said in your sermon last Sabbath, that when once a year was gone, if we had not spent it well, it was entirely lost for ever, for we could never bring a minute back again.” “And therefore you think we should be sorry, do you, Halbert?” rejoined his father. “Yes, father,” was the answer, and again young Halbert’s face was cast down, “for you say often that nobody spends their time well, or as right as they should do.” The elder Halbert did not answer, but he took little Christian, who had been gazing with her large eloquent eyes at every one that spoke in turn, and had attended diligently and earnestly to the unusual conversation, upon her aunt’s knees. “Well, little one, do you think we should be sorry when the new year comes?” “I think we should be both sorry and glad, papa,” was the prompt answer. “Well, Christian, Halbert has told us why we should be sorry; now do you tell us what it is we should be glad for.” There was a murmur among a little knot at a corner of the table, and a half-suppressed laugh before Christian had time to answer her father’s question. “Who is that? what is it that makes you so merry?” said Halbert, smiling and shaking his head at the merry urchins, who were congregated in a group. “It’s only our Halbert, uncle, it’s only our Halbert,” whispered little Mary Hamilton, deprecatingly. “Well, Mary, we are impartial to-night, so we must hear what our Halbert has to say; come here, sir.” And Halbert Hamilton, the wildest little rogue that ever kept nursery in an uproar, or overcame nurse’s patience, or conquered her heart by his feats of merry mischief, half hid himself below the table in pretended fear and dismay at his uncle’s summons, and did not stir. “Come, Halbert,” said Mary, his mother, as Charles drew his incorrigible son into the middle of the little circle, “what did you say over there?” Halbert the third looked down and blushed, and then laughed outright. “He only said we should be glad when the new year comes, because we have plenty of _fun_,” interposed Mary Melville, her wild cousin’s constant defender and apologist. “Quite right, my boy,” said the elder Halbert, laying his hand kindly on the boy’s head, “the coming of plenty of fun is a very good and proper thing to be glad for; but sit you down now, and let us hear what little Christian has to say.” And Halbert sat down at his uncle’s feet to listen. “Well now, Christian, what should we be glad for? Is it because there is plenty of fun, as Halbert says?”