CHRISTMAS had come round again--merry old Christmas, with his
smiling face and wealth of good cheer; and every preparation had
been made by the Arlingtons for their annual Christmas party, which
was always a gay time for the young friends of the family.

Some hundreds of miles away, in a quiet New-England village, lived
Mr. Archer, an uncle of Mr. Arlington. He was a good man; but being
a minister of the old school, and well advanced in years, he was
strongly prejudiced against all "fashionable follies," as he called
nearly every form of social recreation. Life was, in his eyes, too
solemn a thing to be wasted in any kind of trifling. In preaching
and praying, in pious meditation, and in going about to do good,
much of his time was passed; and another portion of it was spent in
reflecting upon and mourning over the thoughtless follies of the
world. He had no time for pleasure-taking; no heart to smile at the
passing foibles or merry humours of his fellow-men.

Such was the Rev. Mr. Jason Archer--a good man, but with his mind
sadly warped through early prejudices, long confirmed. For years he
had talked of a journey to the city where his niece, to whom he was
much attached, resided. This purpose was finally carried out. It was
the day before Christmas, when Mrs. Arlington received a letter from
the old gentleman, announcing the fact that she might expect to see
him in a few hours, as he was about starting to pay her and her
family the long-intended visit.

"Uncle Archer will be here to-morrow," said Mrs. Arlington to her
husband, as soon as she met him after receiving her letter.