[This gentleman’s memory is also perpetuated in the charitable annals of the district by a handsome pile of buildings, in the Elizabethan style, on the Maidstone Road, called WATTS’S ALMSHOUSES—with pleasure-grounds in front, affording accommodation for ten men and ten women, who also receive twelve shillings each per week. The Institution is superintended by a matron and governed by sixteen trustees.] We are doubtless familiar with the Christmas Eve entertainment here provided by the narrator of “The Seven Poor Travellers,” as above:— “It was settled that at nine o’clock that night a Turkey and a piece of Roast Beef should smoke upon the board, and that I, faint and unworthy minister for once of Master Richard Watts, should preside as the Christmas-supper host of the six Poor Travellers.” And we must all have a vivid recollection of the processional order of supply on that festive opportunity:— “Myself with the pitcher. Ben with Beer. Inattentive Boy with hot Inattentive Boy with hot plates. plates. THE TURKEY. Female carrying sauces to be heated on the spot. THE BEEF. Man with Tray on his head, containing Vegetables and Sundries. Volunteer Hostler from Hotel, grinning, and rendering no assistance.” After hearty discussion of the orthodox plum-pudding and mince-pies which crowned the feast, the company drew round the fire, and the “brown beauty” of the host—the pitcher, carried first in the procession—was elevated to the table. It proved to be “a glorious jorum” of hot Wassail, prepared from the chairman’s special and private receipt, the materials of which, “together with their proportions and combinations,” he declines to impart. Glasses being filled therefrom, the toast of the evening was duly and reverently honoured: “CHRISTMAS! CHRISTMAS EVE, my friends; when the Shepherds, who were poor travellers too, in their way, heard the angels sing, ‘On earth peace. Goodwill toward men!’” The pen of the “Inimitable” was never in more genial feather than when inditing this Christmas story, the cheery and sympathetic humour of which is not excelled even by the “Carol” itself.