Thereupon the cock, flapping his wings, did not crow, but cried out, "_Christus natus est!_ Christ is born!" and the raven, instead of cawing, called "_Quando?_ When?" and the ass in a loud voice answered, "_Hac nocte!_ This night!" and the ox said "_Ubi?_ Where?" and the lamb stood up and bleated "Be-e-ethlehem." Oh, then was heard a swelling sound of great exultation, and above the shed the dark and starry skies were opened and drawn away to each side, and there were disclosed angels raised up and standing in a long row, their bright wings folded and pointing upward, while they declared the glory of the Lord. And next the two guarding angels folded back the door of the shed, and there were seen MARY and JOSEPH, "and betwixt them two"--I quote from the directions--"the Holy Child lieth on a tuft of straw in a little box which shall be called the Manger," while two diminutive angels knelt, one at each side of the open door. No more beautiful and gracious picture could be imagined. Thus might some old Italian master have painted it, but this had, not colour alone and simplicity, but life and song and jubilation and perfect harmony of movement so natural as to seem unstudied. Then the shepherds did obeisance and the Wise Men, MELCHIOR, CASPAR and BALTHASAR, came and offered their gifts, and, last, after preparations had been made for departure into Egypt, the whole company sang together the glorious and triumphant "_Adeste, Fideles_," and the curtain drew down and the beautiful masque was over. There was no applause--only a universal sigh of contentment and admiration. * * * * * "Rudyard Kipling's 'The Camelion's Hump' was very well recited by the whole school, every word being very clearly pronounced, and an encore was called for but not acceded to." _Times of Natal._ All the same there seems to have been one word which the reporter missed. * * * * * From a speech as reported in _The Morning Post_:-- "It took the Canadian continent 17 to 19 days to come 3,000 miles." This shows what faith in the British cause will do. * * * * * [Illustration: _German Sentry._ "WHO GOES THERE?" _Turk._ "A FRIEND--CURSE YOU!"] * * * * * THE ERROR. It was on Monday, January 11, 1915. He had been reading _The Daily Mail_ and suddenly he banged it down. "You can't believe what you see in the papers," he said. "Since when?" I asked. "I suppose always," he said, "but particularly to-day." He was a nice young soldier on his way back to his camp after a holiday, and I guessed him, before he enlisted in KITCHENER'S army, to have been a provincial clerk or a salesman of some kind. "Yes," he said; "and I know someone else who'll say the same when she sees it." "Sees what?" I asked. He found a paragraph in the paper--towards the foot of the Society column--and placed his thumb on it. "This," he said.