Volume 103 — CHRISTMAS NUMBERS.

(By a Comfort-loving Old Curmudgeon.)

Yes, the boys home from school are all playing the fool With the house and its fittings from garret to basement. The girls, too, are back, and continual clack Goes on all day long, to home comfort's effacement. The pudding's as sticky, the holly as pricky, The smell of sour oranges awful as ever; Stuffed hamper-unpackers, and pullers of crackers, At making of litter and noise just as clever. The stairs are all rustle, the hall's full of bustle, Cold draughts and the banging of doors are incessant. They're nailing up greenery, putting up "scenery," Ready for plays; 'tis a process unpleasant! A strong smell of size, dabs of paint in one's eyes, And "rehearsals" don't add to the charm of one's drawing-room. My pet easy-chairs are all bundled down-stairs, To leave the young idiots stage-space and more jawing-room For "Private Theatricals." Wax on my hat trickles From "Christmas Candles," that spot all the passages. Heart-cheering youthfulness? Common-sense truthfulness Tell us, at Christmas, youth's crassest of crass ages. From kitchen to attic plates polychromatic, From some "Christmas Number," make lumber. Good Heavens! Ye young Yule-tide stuffers, we know, we old buffers, The true "Christmas Numbers" are—Sixes and Sevens!

SPORTING NOTES.

Old Year.—"Over!"

New Year.—"Don't quite see my Way!"

The Friendlies in "Mars."—We are beginning to know more and more about the planet Mars every day. There are newspapers in Mars. Their journalists are going to communicate (by electric flash-light signals) news to Earth. Look out for "Pars from Mars." The Pa's probably intend having a good time of it when they get away for a Christmas holiday.

"DE MORTUIS."

Chatty Passenger. "Dead is he? Poor Chap! He used to Drive a City Atlas, and many's the time he's Driven me! He was a Good Fellow, but not much of a Whip, eh?"

Driver. "Ah, well! what d'y'expect? Why, he was a Gen'l'man's Coachman afore he took to the Road!"