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 attentive to her--could he do as much? But Mr. Latimer de Camp is heedless of other good things flying about him; for, upon the walk home after service, among the savoury Christmas dinners that are hurrying in every direction, he is so abstracted as to find a sucking-pig in his stomach, and not a little gravy spilt upon his trowsers, compelling him to change them, upon his arrival at home, for a neat pair of young Brown's. [Illustration: Good living at least once a year]