“That it is desirable to lock the cupboard in which the gas metre is kept, and hide the key, as on a previous occasion much inconvenience was sustained in consequence of one of the visitors having turned off the gas.” Moved by Mr. Merry, and seconded by Rebecca— “That this meeting stands pledged to do its best to make the party thoroughly pleasant and successful, and that all further arrangements be left to a sub-committee, to consist of Mr. Merry”—Carried unanimously. A vote of thanks having been passed to the Chairman for his manly and impartial conduct in the chair, the meeting broke up amid a general feeling of satisfaction. [Illustration] THE PARTY. The clock was yet warm with its vigorous efforts to strike the eventful hour of six on merry Christmas Eve, when a carriage containing the first arrivals came rattling down the street. There was no mistaking the energetic rat-tat-tat at the door; or, if there had been, the buzz of voices was sufficient to inform those inside that Charlie Stanley and his party were there. As soon as the door was open there was a rush and a scramble, for those mad young people had made many rash stakes as to who should be the first to wish Old Merry the compliments of the season. All stakes, however, were drawn, for the object of their search was discovered simultaneously by all the party; discovered, too, in the act of coming down the stairs, with his frill shirt, bald head, and pumps, glistening in the light of the hall lamps, and a chorus of voices rang out the welcome old salutation—“A merry Christmas and a happy New Year!” Charlie and Walter Stanley, and Alec Boyce—the lads who went one summer with Old Merry to Switzerland—had been entrusted with the preparation of part of the evening’s amusement. They were constituted masters of the ceremonies, and had been charged to bottle up all their fun for at least two days before the party, in order that it might explode and scintillate for the benefit of the company. So, as a host of packages were put down in the hall, Charlie said— “Here are our properties, Mr. Merry—wigs, crinolines, whiskers, royal robes, banners from the camp of King John, feathers from the chief of the Mohawks, diamonds lent privately by the secretary of Sinbad the Sailor, the shield of Achilles, kindly contributed by Mr. Barnum; and here—” But here he stopped, for the rattle of horses’ feet outside, and a sharp rap at the door, announced fresh arrivals. Charlie was in a dramatic humour, so, striking an attitude, he cried— “By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes; Open, locks, whoever knocks. And, guards, what ho! bear hence our treasures to some secret place.” “Such a getting up-stairs you never did see,” as in a twinkling the impromptu guards obeyed the mandate of their chief.