Rat-tat, again and again, at the door. “I can’t bear this suspense any longer,” said Emily Cathcart; “I must peep.” But the door was closed, and a firm hand on the outside kept it fast. “I say it’s a Punch and Judy,” said one. “No; I say it’s Christy’s Minstrels,” said another. “I believe it’s fireworks, to go off on the lawn,” said Arthur Mortram. And in the midst of the speculations the doors were thrown open, and the visitors were announced: Mr. W. H. G. KINGSTON. Mr. R. M. BALLANTYNE. Mr. EDWIN HODDER. Mrs. MONA BICKERSTAFFE. Mr. SIDNEY DARYL. Mr. R. HOPE MONCRIEFF. COUSIN CYNTHA. As each name was announced a buzz of welcome was heard, for every name was associated with bright and happy recollections, and every one in the room felt (as every child in the land feels) that the authors of the tales which had been their delight for years could not be other than their friends. So there was a great deal of hand-shaking, and many a kind and cheery word given to the youngsters, and then Old Merry said: “Let us give one good hearty cheer of welcome to our friends, and then off to supper. And when that is over we will have our chairs brought round the fire, and I may promise you, on behalf of my good friends here, that each in turn will spin you a Christmas yarn. Now, hip! hip!”—and if the visitors had not been thoroughly accustomed to youngsters they would have been stunned and staggered at the “hurrah!” which burst from every lip. The fund of conversation which the new arrivals furnished for the supper table was unlimited; but anxiety was so great to be back again in the drawing-room, that the time usually allowed on such occasions for refreshment was very much curtailed. The chandeliers glistened and the fires burnt as they only do on Christmas Eve. A large ring, with double rows of seats, was made all round the room, and then the stories commenced. We will give them in the order in which they came, and omit the occasional interruptions which attended, and the questions and criticisms which followed, every story. [2] As some of our young friends may like to guess out the word for themselves, it is withheld, but will be published in the January number of “Merry and Wise.” FROZEN UP; OR, MY POLAR EXPERIENCES. _By WILLIAM HENRY KINGSTON, Author of “Peter the Whaler,” “Washed Ashore,” &c., &c._ [Illustration: “In a few minutes an Esquimaux, with his seal spear in his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us.”—_Page 52._]