The library is uninhabitable for several days before and after, as it is there that we have the trees and presents. All down one side are the trees, and the other three sides are lined with tables, a separate one for each person in the house. When trees are lighted, and stand in their radiance shining down on the happy faces, I forget all the trouble it has been, and the number of times I have had to run up and down stairs, and the various aches in head and feet, and enjoy myself as much as anybody. First the June baby is ushered in, then the others and ourselves according to age, then the servants, then come the head inspector and his family, and other inspectors from the different farms, the mamsells, the bookkeepers and secretaries, and then all the children, troops and troops of them—the big ones leading the little ones by the hand and carrying the babies in their arms, and the mothers peeping round the door. As many as can get in stand in front of the trees, and sing two or three carols; then they are given their presents, and go off triumphantly, making room for the next batch. My three babies sung lustily, too, whether they happened to know what was being sung or not.... When they came to say good night they were all very pale and subdued. The April baby had an exhausted-looking Japanese doll with her, which she said she was taking to bed, not because she liked him, but she was so sorry for him, he seemed so very tired. They kissed me absently, and went away, only the April baby glancing at the trees as she passed and making them a courtesy. “Good-by, trees,” I heard her say; and then she made the Japanese doll bow to them, which he did, in a very languid and blase fashion. “You’ll never see such trees again,” she told him, giving him a vindictive shake, “for you’ll be brokened long before next time.” She went out, but came back as though she had forgotten something. “Thank the Christkind so much, Mummy, won’t you, for all the lovely things He brought us. I suppose you’re writing to Him now, isn’t you?” Crowded Out Nobody ain’t Christmas shoppin’ Fur his stockin’, Nobody ain’t cotch no turkey, Nobody ain’t bake no pie. Nobody’s laid nuthin’ by; Santa Claus don’t cut no figger Fur his mammy’s little nigger. Seems lak everybody’s rushin’ An’ er crushin’; Crowdin’ shops an’ jammin’ trolleys, Buyin’ shoes an’ shirts an’ toys Fur de white folks’ girls an’ boys; But no hobby-horse ain’t rockin’ Fur his little wore-out stockin’. He ain’t quar’lin’, recollec’, He don’t spec Nuthin’—it’s his not expectin’ Makes his mammy wish—O Laws!— Fur er nigger Santy Claus, Totin’ jus’ er toy balloon Fur his mammy’s little coon. An English “Adoration”