d enclosed Mr. Carnifex's review of
the quarter's meat; Mr. Sartor's compliments, and little statement for
self and the young gentlemen; and Madame de Sainte-Crinoline's respects
to the young ladies, who encloses her account, and will send on
Saturday, please; or we stretch our hand out to the educational branch
of the Christmas tree, and there find a lively and amusing article
from the Rev. Henry Holyshade, containing our dear Tommy's exceedingly
moderate account for the last term's school expenses.

The tree yet sparkles, I say. I am writing on the day before Twelfth
Day, if you must know; but already ever so many of the fruits have been
pulled, and the Christmas lights have gone out. Bobby Miseltow, who has
been staying with us for a week (and who has been sleeping mysteriously
in the bathroom), comes to say he is going away to spend the rest of the
holidays with his grandmother--and I brush away the manly tear of regret
as I part with the dear child. "Well, Bob, good-by, since you WILL go.
Compliments to grandmamma. Thank her for the turkey. Here's--" (A slight
pecuniary transaction takes place at this juncture, and Bob nods and
winks, and puts his hand in his waistcoat pocket.). "You have had a
pleasant week?"

BOB.--"Haven't I!" (And exit, anxious to know the amount of the coin
which has just changed hands.)

He is gone, and as the dear boy vanishes through the door (behind
which I see him perfectly), I too cast up a little account of our past
Christmas week. When Bob's holidays are over, and the printer has sent
me back this manuscript, I know Christmas will be an old story. All
the fruit will be off the Christmas tree then; the crackers will have
cracked off; the almonds will have been crunched; and the sweet-bitter
riddles will have been read; the lights will have perished off the
dark green boughs; the toys growing on them will have been distributed,
fought for, cherished, neglected, broken. Ferdinand and Fidelia will
each keep out of it (be still, my gushing heart!) the remembrance of
a riddle read together, of a double-almond munched together, and the
moiety of an exploded cracker. . . . The maids, I say, will have taken
down all that holly stuff and nonsense about the clocks, lamps, and
looking-glasses, the dear boys will be back at school, fondly thinking
of the pantomime-fairies whom they have seen; whose gaudy gossamer wings
are battered by this time; and whose pink cotton (or silk is it?) lower
extre