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Rh moment, if you were to step into the nursery and tell Tom and Bessie that Santa Claus is in the next room, and wishes to see them, they would not believe you. If you were to repeat the assertion, it is probable that Bessie would reprove you for telling a story, and Tom might go so far as to enter into a logical disquisition on the subject, informing you that nobody ever sees Santa Claus, for the reason that there is no such person; who ever heard of an old man's driving up the side of a house, over the roof, and down the chimney! Such things can't be done; he knows it very well. Nevertheless, next year Tom and Bessie will be just as eager as ever for a visit from Santa Claus, and they will continue to think his sugar-plums the sweetest, and his toys the most delightful of all that are given to them, until they have quite done with toys and sugar-plums—with those of the nursery, at least. Happy will it be for the little people if they never have a worse enemy, a worse friend either, among their acquaintances, whether real or fictitious. In fact, there is no more danger that the children should believe in the positive existence of Santa Claus, than there is a probability of their believing the Christmas-tree to grow out of the tea-table. We should be careful, however, to make them understand every Christmas, that the good things they now receive as children are intended to remind them of far better gifts bestowed on them and on us.

But most of the wisest people in the land know little more about Santa Claus than the children. There is a sort of vague, moonlight mystery still surrounding the real identity of the old worthy. Most of us are satisfied with the authority of pure unalloyed tradition going back to the burghers of New Amsterdam, more especially now that we have the portrait by Mr. Weir,