So says the
Proctor, a don of Jesus; and the pseudo Jones wishes that he had not
been born.
Twelve o'clock now strikes, and our nightly vigil draws to a close.
Still we move forward, amid the jangling rivalry of a thousand bells.
Soon the Proctor adds yet another to the list of victims. This one leads
us a pretty dance from Carfax to Summertown, and then declares he is not
a member of the University. The Proctor smiles as a vision of Theodore
Hook flashes across his mind; but, alas! the "bull-dog" recognises the
prisoner as an old offender.
Unhappy man! Your dodge does not "go down," although beyond a doubt you
will; for the Proctor will visit your double offence with summary
rustication.
F.D.H.
UNEXPLAINED.
BY LETITA MCCLINTOCK.
"All ghost stories may be explained," said Mrs. Marchmont, smiling
rather scornfully, and addressing a large circle of friends and
neighbours who, one Christmas evening, were seated round her hospitable
hearth.
"Ah! you think so? Pardon me, if I cannot agree with you," said Mr.
Henniker, a well-known Dublin barrister, of burly frame and jovial
countenance, famed for his wit and flow of anecdote.
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