st, innocent, artless prattle--not of the wisest, perhaps,
nor redolent of the very highest culture (which by the way can mar as
well as make), nor leading to any very practical result; but quite
pathetically sweet from the sincerity and fervor of its convictions, a
profound belief in their importance, and a proud trust in their
lifelong immutability.

Oh happy days and happy nights, sacred to art and friendship! oh happy
times of careless impecuniosity, and youth and hope and health and
strength and freedom--with all Paris for a playground, and its dear
old unregenerate Latin Quarter for a workshop and a home!

CHRISTMAS IN THE LATIN QUARTER

From 'Trilby.' Copyright, 1894, by Harper & Brothers

Christmas was drawing near.

There were days when the whole Quartier Latin would veil its
iniquities under fogs almost worthy of the Thames Valley between
London Bridge and Westminster, and out of the studio window the
prospect was a dreary blank. No Morgue! no towers of Notre Dame! not
even the chimney-pots over the way--not even the little mediaeval toy
turret at the corner of the Rue Vieille des Mauvais Ladres, Little
Billee's delight!

The stove had to be crammed till its sides grew a dull deep red,
before one's fingers could hold a brush or squeeze a bladder; one had
to box or fence at nine in the morning, that one might recover from
the cold bath and get warm for the rest of the day!

Taffy and the Laird grew pensive and dreamy, childlike and bland; and
when they talked, it was generally about Christmas at home in merry
England and the distant land of cakes, and how good it was to be there
at such a time--hunting, shooting, curling, and endless carouse!

It was Ho! for the jolly West Riding, and Hey! for the bonnets of
Bonnie Dundee, till they grew quite homesick, and wanted to start by
the very next train.

They didn't do anything so foolish. They wrote over to friends in
London for the biggest turkey, the biggest plum-pudding, that could be
got for love or money, with mince-pies, and holly and mistletoe, and
sturdy, short, thick English sausages, half a Stilton cheese, and a
sirloin of beef--two sirloins, in case one should not be enough.

For they meant to have a Homeric feast in the studio on Christmas
Day--Taffy, the Laird, and Little Billee--and invite all the
delightful chums I have been trying to describe; and that is just why
I tried to describe them--Durien, Vincent, Antony, Lorrimer, Carnegie,