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Updated: May 29, 2025
Master Bobby was standing on his stomach, Miss Chiffy was seated nearly on his head, and baby was crowing in its cradle. Happy New Years and kisses were exchanged. "O, dear papa and mamma!" cried Bobby, "what a beautiful horse I found in my stocking!" "And what a beautiful wax doll, with eyes that move, in mine," said Chiffy, "and such a splendid rattle and coral in baby's.
He trod, too, gingerly and lightly, very like a sparrow or a tomtit; and, to complete the analogy, his head being almost always surmounted by a pen, he had a sort of crested, blue-jayish aspect, that was rather comical. Quillpen had a very little wife and three very little children, Bob, Chiffy, and the baby; the last the ultimate specimen of the diminuendo.
He paused, with reminiscence in his eye, at the Southern Gate of Notting Hill, one of those nine great gates of bronze and steel, wrought with reliefs of the old battles, by the hand of Chiffy himself. "Ah!" he said, shaking his head and assuming an unnecessary air of age, and a provincialism of accent "Ah! I mind when there warn't none of this here."
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