mp to a "brick," a "downey card,"
a "sharp file," and several other inanimate poetical images.

Of our mild friend, Spohf, he is sleeping soundly upon a light
supper--obtained from "St. Stiff's dairy"--some very thin milk, divested
of all unctuous quality--that having gone to an epicure Captain, at the
Albert Villa. Poor Spohf's talent has not put many _talents_ in his
purse--these real racing times run over genius!--they would tunnel
Helicon, turn Hippocrene to flush a city's drains,--make Pegasus serve
letters by carrying a post-boy, and, in the end, sell the noble beast
for feline food:--everything now must be tangible. The little organist,
who had spent so many a Merry Christmas with the Browns--he has no
pleasure to anticipate on the morrow, except the performance of his new
hymn, "The Star of Bethlehem," a composition of which the little tailor
in the attic thought small things, for it did not _compose_ him to
sleep.

[Illustration: "SAFE BIND--SAFE FIND."]

The 25th of December arrives.--The festival of the year has come.
Christmas-day commences with the rising of the cook, who finished the
evening, kneading and gaping over pies and puddings; and wakes with the
same operation, gaping and kneading her eyes, which do not fairly open
until she comes to look after her first care--the pudding:--the fire,
having been made up over night, is discovered a "beauty;" but,
behold,--within the copper, the pudding has dissolved!--there is nothing
to be found but a cloth, which must have been boiling all night in a
rich plum-soup,--the string having come untied; or rather, never been
tied at all, but popped in by Mrs. B. without attending to that
operation:--a piece of neglect, for which the cook gets "warning," and
all the servants rated--until the bells of St. Stiff's remind Mrs. B.
that it is time to depart, for the duties of a Christian, to eschew all
the vanities of this wicked world, in a rich purple Genoa velvet paletot
and duck of a plum bonnet. That day Mr. Churchwarden Brown's pue would
not hold all, so Mrs. Strap, the pue-opener, had to manoeuvre by
appropriating part of another to their use, losing her Christmas-box for
the offence against its owner, Mr. Din, the copper-smith.

Mr. Spohf's Christmas hymn is much liked, and is really so fine as to
make that essence of gentleness, himself, temporarily egotistical; he
wonders what impression it has made upon Miss Jemima, and the strange
gentleman who is so attent