Now, too, I perceive my first experience of the dreary sensation— often to return in
after–life—of being unable, next day, to get back to the dull, settled
world; of wanting to live for ever in the bright atmosphere I have
quitted; of doting on the little Fairy, with the wand like a celestial
Barber’s Pole, and pining for a Fairy immortality along with her.

This is the lingering magic of Christmas as described by Charles Dickens in this short essay inspired by a Christmas tree. I enjoyed his descriptions of the trees, both the one he sees before him and the one he remembers from his youth, but what really made this special were the ghost stories he weaves into the later part of the piece. How skilled to be able to tell all these different stories, so short and in quick succession, and to make me feel as if I were sitting around a fire with friends and trading sensational stories, waiting for the great day to arrive. ( )

I read the edition illustrated by Robert Ingpen and was disappointed.  There is no plot, just a weird list of what can be found in the tree: toys, sweets, and ghost stories, and, finally, a page alluding to the story of the Christ child.  Maybe a scholar or fan of Dickens would get more out of the text.  Maybe someone with better eyes would get more out of the pictures.  I did not enjoy this. ( )

An oddly meandering reflection, but worth a read if only for the passage on his fear of "the mask." ( )