His discourse this night (and the illustrations to it, presumably) was all of an appropriate observance of the sacred and festive occasion now upon us. He urged his audience to honour it with sobriety. “In the very teeth,” he said, “of that foreign clergyman who exhorted his English congregation to temperance in these words: ‘Myself I do not say no drink. Myself I would drink a pot of porter with you every minute,’ I must assure you that it is not excess which is the friend of festivity, nor is it sport to choose the devil for bottle holder, and let one’s self be knocked out of time at the first round. Take your share and drink fair is our motto; and put it down that you may keep it up, the ‘father of lies.’ A drunken christening is never a pleasant sight; but when Christ Himself is the baby, it is damning as well as shameful. What would you think, as honest men, of repaying the author of a feast by excluding him from a share in it, and not even, like the Model Constituency, in order to point a moral? You have never heard of the Model Constituency?” (“No, your reverence, no!”) “Well, I suppose not. But the one that came nearest to it was the one to the independent and enlightened electors of which a candidate once appealed with a free lunch and drinks on the day of the poll. And very polite and ingratiatory he came to it himself, too, to take a snack and a glass with his good friends and guests. Only his good friends and guests wouldn’t let him in On the contrary, a burly, red-faced elector barred his way as he was entering. “‘Vait a minute, sir,’ says the elector. ‘Ve likes this idea of yours,’ he says, ‘only there’s vun thing: ve doesn’t want to be disfranchised for corruption,’ says he. ‘The bony fiddles of our borough is wery dear to us,’ he says. “‘And to me,’ says the candidate. ‘Rather sacrifice twenty seats than imperil that and my good name,’ he says. “‘So ve thought, sir,’ says the elector. ‘And therefore ve’re going to eat your wittles, and drink your hale, and arterwards go down in a body and plump for the other gentleman, in order to prove,’ says he, ‘that our incorruptibility was what you stood on. And we’ll be wery much obliged,’ he says, ‘if you’ll give us your countenance by clearing out.’” The illustration went home--we were not so far from the Reform Act of ’32--and was greeted with laughter and cheers. “Now, you have not that excuse,” said the lecturer. “The author of this feast comes to save, not to corrupt you; and if you would honour Him, consider His sober innocence in your midst, or His Father will withdraw Him. Christmas without Christ! That is to play the devil’s game.” He sat down, as he spoke, to his “Seraphine,” and broke into a hymn--his own production, and very characteristic--which ran, literally, as follows-- “’Tis Christ His feast,” said Short to Long. “Let’s pass the night in drink and song.” “The liquor must not be too mild For toasting of that holy Child,”