Public amusements
are not wanting. The Wax-Work which made so deep an impression on
the reflective mind of the Emperor of China is to be seen by
particular desire during Christmas Week only, on the premises of
the bankrupt livery-stable-keeper up the lane; and a new grand
comic Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the Theatre: the
latter heralded by the portrait of Signor Jacksonini the clown,
saying 'How do you do to-morrow?' quite as large as life, and
almost as miserably. In short, Cloisterham is up and doing:
though from this description the High School and Miss Twinkleton's
are to be excluded. From the former establishment the scholars
have gone home, every one of them in love with one of Miss
Twinkleton's young ladies (who knows nothing about it); and only
the handmaidens flutter occasionally in the windows of the latter.
It is noticed, by the bye, that these damsels become, within the
limits of decorum, more skittish when thus intrusted with the
concrete representation of their sex, than when dividing the
representation with Miss Twinkleton's young ladies.
Three are to meet at the gatehouse to-night. How does each one of
the three get through the day?
Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the time by
Mr. Crisparkle - whose fresh nature is by no means insensible to
the charms of a holiday - reads and writes in his quiet room, with
a concentrated air, until it is two hours past noon. He then sets
himself to clearing his table, to arranging his books, and to
tearing up and burning his stray papers.
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