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 of
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 extremities are all dingy and
dusty. Yet but a few days, Bob, and flakes of paint will have
cracked off the fairy flower-bowers, and the revolving temples of
adamantine lustre will be as shabby as the city of Pekin. When
you read this, will Clown still be going on lolling his tongue
out of his mouth, and saying, "How are you to-morrow?" To-
morrow, indeed! He must be almost ashamed of himself (if that
cheek is still capable of the blush of shame) for asking the
absurd question. To-morrow, indeed! To-morrow the diffugient
snows will give place to spring; the snowdrops will lift their
heads; Ladyday may be expected, and the pecuniary duties
peculiar to that feast; in place of bonbons, trees will have an
eruption of light green knobs; the whitebait season will
bloom ... as if one need go on describing these vernal phenomena,
when Christmas is still here, though ending, and the subject of
my discourse!

We have all admired the illustrated papers, and noted how
boisterously jolly they become at Christmas time. What wassail-