It was Christmas Morning.  Mr. BURROWES was still sitting in his chair before the fire-place, but the fire was out.  He woke and looked round.  Mrs. JOGGINS had just come in, and was staring at him in surprise.

“Lor, Sir,” she said, “what a turn you give me, sitting here in your keepin’-room.  I never knew you to do sech a thing before as sit up all night.”  But the Dean had fallen on his knees before her, and was babbling out prayers for pardon and vows of reform.

CHAPTER IV.—­A CHRISTMAS MORN.

In the following term the whole system of College management was changed.  Mr. BURROWES from a tyrant turned into the most amiable of men.  The Undergraduates became idyllic.  Even Dr. GORGIAS submitted to the benign influence of the Fairy JOGGINS.  But it is noticeable that Mr. BURROWES who still resides at St. Michael’s, objects to any mention of the Christmas of 1874.  This is the only exception to his universal amiability.

THE END.

* * * * *

“A TOY TOUJOURS.”—­Old French motto for Truth distribution of Toys at Christmas time.

* * * * *

THE CRY OF THE CITY CLERK.

(DISAPPOINTED OF A SATURDAY AFTERNOON’S SKATING.)

[Illustration:  A_n Ice_ Amusement.]

  I knew, I knew it would not last—­
  ’Twas hard, ’twas hopeful, but ’tis past. 
  Ah! ever thus, from boyhood’s hour,
    I’ve seen my fondest hopes decay. 
  I never trusted Jack Frost’s power,
    But Jack Frost did my trust betray. 
  I never bought a pair of skates
    On Friday—­I am in the law—­
  But, ere I started with my mates
    On Saturday, ’twas sure to thaw! 
  Now, too—­the prospect seemed divine—­
    They skated yesterday, I knew,
  And now, just as I’m going to dine,
    The sun comes out, the skies grow blue,
  Ere we at Wimbledon can meet,
    Those horrid gaps!—­that treacherous sludge! 
  I shall not get one skimmer fleet. 
    After my long and sloppy trudge. 
  No go!  One more lost Saturday! 
    To skating’s joys I’m still a stranger. 
  I sit and curse the melting ray,
  In which my hopes all melt away—­
  It means soft ice, chill slop, and—­“Danger!!!”

* * * * *

ESSENCE OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

EXTRACTED FROM THE TRANSLATION OF TOBY, M.P.

(THE THOUSAND-AND-TWOTH NIGHT.)

[Illustration:  L60/310-1:  Illuminated ‘M’]

“Mon frere” said DINARZADE JACQUES MORLEY to SCHEHERAZADE HARCOURT, “si vous ne dormiez pas, je vous supplie, en attendant le jour, qui paraitra bientot, de me raconter un de ces beaux contes que vous savez.”

“Certainly, my dear JACK,” said SCHEHERAZADE.