course--oh," disappointedly, "but that's
vulgar--I can't put it in."

"What is vulgar?" I asked.

"She thinks sage and onions is vulgar," said Irais languidly; "but
it isn't, it is very good." She got up and walked to the piano, and,
sitting down, began, after a little wandering over the keys, to sing.

"Do you play?" I asked Minora.

"Yes, but I am afraid I am rather out of practice."

I said no more. I know what that sort of playing is.

When we were lighting our bedroom candles Minora began suddenly to
speak in an unknown tongue. We stared. "What is the matter with her?"
murmured Irais.

"I thought, perhaps," said Minora in English, "you might prefer to talk
German, and as it is all the same to me what I talk--" "Oh, pray don't
trouble," said Irais. "We like airing our English--don't we, Elizabeth?"

"I don't want my German to get rusty though," said Minora; "I shouldn't
like to forget it."

"Oh, but isn't there an English song," said Irais, twisting round her
neck as she preceded us upstairs, "''Tis folly to remember, 'tis wisdom
to forget'?"

"You are not nervous sleeping alone, I hope," I said hastily.

"What room is she in?" asked Irais.

"No. 12."

"Oh!--do you believe in ghosts?"

Minora turned pale.

"What nonsense," said I; "we have no ghosts here. Good-night. If you
want anything, mind you ring."

"And if you see anything curious in that room," called Irais from her
bedroom door, "mind you jot it down."

December 27th--It is the fashion, I believe, to regard Christmas as a
bore of rather a gross description, and as a time when you are invited
to over-eat yourself, and pretend to be merry without just cause. As a
matter of fact, it is one of the prettiest and most poetic institutions
possible, if observed in the proper manner, and after having been more
or less unpleasant to everybody for a whole year, it is a blessing to be
forced on that one day to be amiable, and it is certainly delightful to
be able to give presents without being haunted by the conviction that
you are spoiling the recipient, and will suffer for it afterward.
Servants are only big children, and are made just as happy as children
by little presents and nice things to eat, and, for days beforehand,
every time the three babies go into the garden they expect to meet the
Christ Child with His arms full of gifts. They firmly believe that it
is thus their presents are brought, and it is such a charming idea that
Christmas