Our child is invited to a Christmas tree and party, and Robert says he is too young to go, but I persist in sending him for half an hour with Wilson--oh, really I must--though he will be by far the youngest of the thirty children invited.

The lady of the house, Miss Fitton, an English resident in Paris, an elderly woman, shrewd and kind, said to Robert that she had a great mind to have Eugene Sue, only he was so scampish.

I think that was the word, or something alarmingly equivalent.

Now I should like to see Eugene Sue with my little innocent child in his arms; the idea of the combination pleases me somewhat.

But I sha'n't see it in any case.