e Groser smart, as likewise his Green Brother,
In their best close cums with a modest ring,
And having got their orders, one and tother,
Smilingly asks for jest one other thing.

The Postman's dubbel nock cums to each door,
Whether he has a Letter got or no,
The stingy Master thinks his call a bore,
And gives his paltry shilling werry slow.

The jowial Waiter shows unwonted joy!
And hails his Crismus with becoming glee!
Knowing full well _his_ plezzurs newer cloy,
Who gets from ewery Gest a dubble fee!

Why are not all men like the jowial Waiter,
Allers content with what kind Fortune brings,
Whether it's Turtel Soop or a meer tater,
He sets a pattern to Lord Mares and Kings.

Then let us all while Crismus time we're keeping,
Whether we barsks in fortune's smile or frown,
Be thankful for the harwest we are reaping,
And give a thort to them whose luck is down.

ROBERT.

* * * * *

HISTORICAL PARALLELS.--Two Directories. The French
_Directoire_ was a short-lived stopgap of not unmixed
benefit to France, but our English Directory, yclept
KELLY'S, for 1890, directorily, or indirectorily,
supplies all our wants, comes always "as a boon and a
blessing to men," and is within a decade of becoming a
hale and hearty centenarian. _Vivat_ KELLY!

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE START]

* * * * *

UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.

"Tres volontiers," repartit le demon.

"Vous aimez les tableaux changeans: je veux vous contenter."

_Le Diable Boiteux._

[Illustration]

XV.

Down through the night we drifted slow, the rays
From London's countless gas-jets starred the haze
O'er which we darkly hovered.
Broad loomed the bulk of WREN'S colossal dome
Through the grey mist, which, like a sea of foam,
The sleeping city covered.

"The year," the Shadow murmured, "nears its close.
Lo! how they swarm in slumber, friends and foes,
Kindred and utter strangers,
The millions of this Babylon, stretched beneath
The shroud of night, and drawing peaceful breath,
Unstirred by dreads and dangers."

"But not by dreams," I answered, "Canst reveal,
O Shade, the vagrant thoughts that throng and steal
About these countless pillows?
Or are these sleeping souls as shut to thee
As is the unsounded si