Publisher's Synopsis
It is the waning of the year. As the twilight, often hastened by the soft blur of falling snow, encroaches more and more upon the brief day, we gather closely about our firesides, and there, heart to heart, are wont to listen as at no other period of this prosaic nineteenth century life, to tales of olden time. More than ever are we drawn together at the season of our Saviour's birth, when the yule log glows amain and the sweet spirit of Christmas kindles within us a warmth and gladness that responds to the cheerful blaze upon the hearth. Christmas day! Does it not grow dearer to us every year? The summers come and go; we rush to and fro on our little errands of business and pleasure; great joys dawn in our lives, dark shadows of bitter disappointment creep over them; we are glad, sorrowful, eager, weary, well, ill; Life's heart beats strongly, and Death is busy in its midst; we strive for the Beautiful, the True, and the Good; we hide our faces in helpless agony of shame and remorse; yet again comes the dear Day of days, with its blessed associations, memories, hopes.
