rious old Chizzle did, when he paid the debt of nature, and left to
me _that_ he could not take away! Not that I ever made any sacrifices
for Spohf--no, _he_ never asked it;--cheap trusty friendship is
_something_!--I must own to feeling, all the evening, as if my collar
had too much starch therein; and more out of place in my own house than
the 'white neckerchiefs' that waited at supper. I am like a fish out of
water, and that fish, a flat-fish--caught with a bit of red rag;
however, there must be a great deal in use--another element may be
delightful, when used to it. There is no doubt my old friend Wideawake's
attack upon the Captain was mere envy; and as to his insinuating that I
should never eat a peck of salt with _that_ man--to say I shall never
know _that_ man, is preposterous!--as to eating the literal peck, no
man, probably, will do that; for the Captain has an aversion to saline
food, saying it makes the bones soft. I wonder if it has the same effect
upon brains!--We shall see, Wideawake--we _shall_ see:--let this page
bear testimony! I hope the briny ocean may not swallow up the Captain's
luggage."

Victoria and Albert slumber late on the morning of the 5th:--Alphonso is
the first up--or rather down, having rolled off his uncomfortable bed,
constructed upon four chairs, in the drawing-room. Mrs. Brown, too, must
have risen on the wrong side of her teaster, so testy is she this
morning--thanking her stars that Twelfth-day has arrived, to put an end
to the Christmas miseries!--Soon, now, will that little pest, Tom,
be packed back to "Tortwhack House;" and the juvenile party, of to-day,
it is hoped may appease some rampant mammas uninvited to the grand
_reunion_--rendering any petty excuses that may be given the more
feasible.

The day rolls rapidly away, though not with half the speed Master Brown
could desire--the hands of the hall-clock appearing to creep so, that
every time Tom passed it (and that was not seldom), he stopped to see if
it was going, the day seeming most unusually long, and night as if it
never would come; but it did!--firstly, bringing the little "Merrys,"
from Hope Cottage, the Tudor lodge, next-door-but-one--Master Walter
Merry being the first to answer Tommy's nubbly note of invitation, in
intoxicated text capitals, that appeared to be making a desperate effort
to run off the paper, at the right-hand corner, leaving no room to
"remain," and scarcely any to "please turn over;" so folded w