had he gone-but for a clear and undoubted vision of a dark object, which has been looming suspiciously through the gloom for some weeks past. He first caught a glimpse of it, on stepping out from amongst the lights of Twelfth-night; but he turned his head, resolutely, away-and has since looked as little in that direction as he could. But there is no evading it now! There it stands-right in his way-plain, and distinct, and portentous !— the gloomy portal of this merry season-on whose face is inscribed, in characters which there is no mystifying, its own appropriate and unbeloved name— -BLACK MONDAY!

And, behold! at the gloomy gate a hackney coach (more like a mourning coach!-Black Monday visible in all its appointments -and black Friday (looking blacker than ever this black Monday) frowning from its foot-board!

And, lo! through its windows, just caught in the distance, the last flutter of the coat-tails of old Father Christmas !— Our Revels are, indeed, ended!