I wish you could have seen the next tableau, called the “Bridal of Tom Thumb,” where Maria, in her long tarletan dress and flowing veil, with the orange blossoms in her hair, stood for Lavinia Warren: and little Maggie Holmes, only three years old, represented Minnie,—her soft, blue eyes looking shyly out from under their long lashes at the people, who set up loud shouts of laughter at the sight of the comical-looking party. There was Wallie, as Tom Thumb, in his swallow-tailed coat, with his white vest and white cravat, just putting the ring on Maria’s finger; while beside him was Little Josey Allen, similarly attired, and making the drollest figure you ever saw, as, with his thumb in his white vest, he stood erect and still,—making a better Commodore than the Commodore himself,—while Willie Campbell, in surplice made of a sheet, was supposed to perform the ceremony. As you may imagine, Maria and Maggie, Wallie and Josey, were the stars of the evening; but the poor little girls, in their long, trailing dresses, were almost as helpless as the ladies of China are with their little feet; and they had to be carried around in gentlemen’s arms, and shown to the people who had been unable to see them distinctly. “Santa Claus” came next; and Mason, with his white hair, and beard, and furs, made a capital St. Nick, and elicited peals of laughter as he drove in his eight reindeer, each with pasteboard horns tied on his head, and his name pinned on his back in large capitals. There were DASHER and DANCER, and PRANCER and VIXEN. There were COMET and CUPID, and DUNDER and BLITZEN; and the little bells about their necks made a soft, tinkling sound, as they shook their horned heads, and pranced in imitation of deer, while waiting for their master to fill the sleeping children’s stockings with toys. Then, with a bound, St. Nick sprang into his sleigh, and the little cortege passed on through the parlor and hall and sitting-room and dining-room, and so out of sight. There was a post-office, too, and the mail was drawn by eight little boys, with red plumes on their heads, and driven again by Mason, who showed great skill in the management of his horses and reindeer. Close beside the boys ran little Sammie Field, with the words “THIS-IS-A-COLT,” pinned on his back; and I assure you that kicking colt attracted quite as much attention as the eight plumed horses did. The letters, which sold for five and ten cents each, made a great deal of fun, and added to the general hilarity of the evening.