We appreciate the humble spirit in any student: it is all too much of a rara avis. Nevertheless, where the merit of the contribution is still humbler, we cannot do otherwise than consign it to the waste-paper basket:

It is in the humble spirit of the collector of curiosities that I submit the following fragment, which had its being under rather peculiar circumstances. I awoke one morning With a sense of heaviness upon me. as if I had tasted of the forbidden fruit and had stepped over the bounds of mortality. I arose, and, enveloped in the resplendent glory of my new pyjamas, penned the following literary atrocity-which now I am at a loss to understand.

* * *

Who is the most extraordinary person who has been blessed with so peculiar a name? Is he by any chance connected with these noble piles? Is he dead-or is he merely dying? What does he do for a living—for obviously he must do something? Perhaps some reader of this most mysterious fragment could enlighten me.

Who is it, that in neatly fitting tweed,
Of placid countenance and chivalrous deed,
Prolongs the death-throes of an outworn creed
By scattering wide the barren wisdom seed
O'er drowsy heads?

—X.E.

And so our poet goes on, but we confess that, like him, we are still Puzzled.

We instance the following merely to show that we are not the only persons capable of committing atrocities: