Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for so large a family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing. At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass--two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed: "A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!" Which all the family re-echoed. "God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. * * * * * GOD BLESS US EVERY ONE JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY [From "Sketches in Prose."] "God bless us every one!" prayed Tiny Tim, Crippled, and dwarfed of body, yet so tall Of soul, we tiptoe earth to look on him, High towering over all. He loved the loveless world, nor dreamed, indeed, That it, at best, could give to him, the while, But pitying glances, when his only need Was but a cheery smile. And thus he prayed, "God bless us every one!" Enfolding all the creeds within the span Of his child-heart; and so, despising none, Was nearer saint than man. I like to fancy God, in Paradise, Lifting a finger o'er the rhythmic swing Of chiming harp and song, with eager eyes Turned earthward, listening-- The Anthem stilled--the angels leaning there Above the golden walls--the morning sun Of Christmas bursting flower-like with the prayer, "God bless us Every One!" * * * * * BELLS ACROSS THE SNOWS FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL O Christmas, merry Christmas! Is it really come again, With its memories and greetings, With its joy and with its pain? There's a minor in the carol, And a shadow in the light, And a spray of cypress twining With the holly wreath to-night. And the hush is never broken By laughter light and low, As we listen in the starlight To the "bells across the snow."