I do. I seem to feel the general excitement
throughout the country tingling in me too; I like to see the children
eagerly delighted, and the houses decorated with evergreens, and the old
folk pleased and happy with the enthusiasm of the youngsters. If I've
got to drink an extra glass of port, I'm there; if it's Sir Roger de
Coverley, I'm there; I'll do anything to add to the general
_Schwaermerei_. What the modern _litterateur_ thinks it fine to write
about Christmas being all sham sentiment is simply insufferable bosh.
Christmas isn't in the least bit played out--though the magazinist may
be, or may pretend to be. I think it's a grand thing to have a season
for sending good wishes, for recollection of absent friends, for letting
the young folk kick up their heels. I say, Linn, I hope there's going to
be some sunlight down there. I am longing to see a holly-tree in the
open air--the green leaves and scarlet berries glittering in the
sunlight. Oh, I can tell you an autumn session of Parliament is a
sickening thing--when the interminable speeches and wranglings drag on
and on until you think they're going to tumble over into Christmas-day
itself.
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