January.
Dear Girls: I have only been waiting for the New Year to come fairly in and shut the door, before sitting down quietly to wish you all the traditionary compliments of the season. . . . We all spent Christmas day together as usual in London Terrace. . . . The prettiest feature of the season was Mother’s Christmas tree for the children, who were in ecstasies of delight, and insisted even upon perching on the branches to get as near to it as possible. Night before last was devoted to a brilliant little party for the children Hatty and Carry,—a very handsome and successful affair. I did not go, my wardrobe presenting only the alternative of bogy or bride, either black silk or a too dressy white silk, but Robert and I feasted on some of the remains last night, on our roundabout way home from Mr. Everett’s lecture at the Academy of Music, and had a near and satisfactory view of the spun sugar beehives and candy castles surmounted by nougat cherubim, which graced the occasion.
