On Christmas morning I opened them in public with a vast flourish, and left the touching little dedications lying carelessly about where anybody could read them. From the glances of wonder and respect which flashed at me from all sides I gathered that everybody did. The sensation was both novel and pleasing. One parcel, however, there was which I had not sent myself. It had been forwarded on by the "Punch" Office, marked, "Please do not crush," and carefully tied and sealed. My heart leapt. "By Jove!" said I, "a genuine Christmas present. Somebody loves me after all. Perhaps a duchess has sent me her tiara." With trembling fingers I unlaced the strings. The household crowded about me, panting with envy and excitement. Reverently I folded the multitudinous wrappings back and revealed a very old, very dilapidated silk slipper, severely busted at the toe and stuffed with sticky sweets, a small female doll, and a note--"With all best wishes to PATLANDER for a happy Christmas, and many thanks for useful hints contained in _Punch_ issue, December 10th, 1919." I may remind you that in the issue mentioned was an epistle from me to you recommending the Post as a means of disposing of rubbish, with special reference to worn-out foot-gear. I only wish I knew who played this trick on me, Ginger; I would like to give him something in return--say an old footer-boot--with my foot inside. Thine in sorrow, PATLANDER * * * * * New Golfing Records. "Mr. ---- then holed his fourth for a three."--_Sunday Paper._ "---- played very fine golf on the outward journey and stood 5 up at the second hole." _Evening Paper._ We suppose that in each case the player's opponent wasn't looking. * * * * * From a sale catalogue:-- "Pretty Light Grey Georgette Jumper, trimmed Grey Wool and Saxe Blue. Usually 5 gns. 6-1/2 gns." No wonder they call it a jumper. * * * * * "ST. ----'S CHURCH. 6.30 p.m.--Preacher: The Vicar. 7.45 p.m.--Bach's Church Cantata, 'Sleepers, Wake.'" _Provincial Paper._ We suspect the organist of being a bit of a wag. * * * * * [Illustration: _Slightly deaf Footman (announcing each guest in character)._ "MR. JONES--THE LAST OF THE BANDIES."] * * * * * THE WHAT-NOT. "Look here," I said, "this is indeed serious. The what-not's moulting." "It's been like that for a long time," said Anna. "But I suppose it's getting worse." "I'm afraid so. And we _must_ have something reliable," I said, "to stand dishes and things on at meals. We can't pile them all on the table at once like a cairn. To tell you the truth," I added, "I've had my eye on an old oak dresser at Smalley's for a long time. It would be a good investment--at a price." "Yes," said Anna; "but I suppose the price would be the earth and the fulness thereof."