Punch (51.1866)

October 13, 1866.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

157

sipping our tea of informing Mrs. Fraser how hard at work I am on
Typicck Developments. She .says, “ Oh, she should like to see it so much !
I must read it to herand adds slily, “ I’m sure it’s romantic ; I do
like anything really romantic.”

She is so enthusiastic on the subject that I don’t feel inclined to
explain that it has nothing to do with romance, but say dubiously, as
if I hadn’t quite made up my mind about it, “Well, no, not perhaps
exactly romantic, that is in the sense you mean.” She was at me in
a moment, she is so quick, “ Romantic in another sense ? I don’t quite
understand.” Being unable to put it in a clearer light, I say smiling
mysteriously, “ You shall see,” which pacifies her for the time.

Happy Thought.—I ’ll throw in a little romantic touch here and there,
beforh I read it to her. Perhaps it would improve it: on consideration,
I don’t quite see how.

Here three young ladies join us. The Misses Symperson and Miss
Florelly. I wish Mrs. Fraser wouldn’t introduce me as “ a gentle-
man of whose literary fame you’ve often heard, I’ve no doubt.” It is
so awkward when people don’t know anything about you. This was
the case with the Sympersons and Miss Florelly : rather stupid girls.
When Mrs. Fraser said this, I laughed and said, “Oh, no, no, no,”
as if their ignorance of me was just pardonable and that’s all.

Happy Thought.—I must get something published at once, because,
then, when you are introduced, as above, you can refer to some work or
other that everyone knows something about. But if you’re introduced
as a gentleman of great literary fame, and on being asked what you’ve
written are obliged to reply “nothing,” it makes one look so foolish.
I don’t say “ nothing,” I qualify it; I reply, “ I ha vs published nothing
though I have written a great deal,” and then I depreciate publication
as merely a gratification of personal vanity. This was what I said to
Miss Harding, who is another young lady at the Frasers’, supposed
to be very clever and very sharp, and asked, I find, on my account.
Miss Harding replies, “ Gratification of personal vanity! then Milton,
Ben Jonson, Shakspeare, Bacon, Chatjcer, simply gratified their
vanity ? for they all published. You surely can’t mean that ? ” I do
not mean that, or at least I didn’t expect to be taken up so quickly,
and wish to goodness she wouldn’t talk so loud, as Mrs. Fraser, and
everyone in the room is listening. I feel that I am placed on my
mettle: by a girl only eighteen, too! I reply, “ No, they were not,
vain,—and when I said that publication was a gratification of vanity,
I did not suppose for one minute you would understand it literally.”
Everyone, 1 see, ig-=—
literally,” she retu —
reply, seeing that e|=f
see, you must ana(=_r-
vation and lofty sc—
himself comes in, f =_
hands with me ap|= - rMi IV”
rupt you.” I say,zi_

Harding, “ you g< —

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Mrs. Fraser ai
boy Frasers, nin
children they have.
made faces at me fix
should have disdaii
squeak (confound
simple lawn sport
during the game, “
Mr. Fraser says ;
can think of such
author of Typical
Jumped,” who sins
be known in my]
recognised ? I thj
find myself frowni)
Here I am callei
boy Fraser says,
to be rude. Mlg

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strains me to smile. Now at Boodels one wasn’t bothered to play
at croquet with women and children. I must explain to Mrs. Fraser
that I want to have as much time as possible to myself for working,
and I can’t be playing croquet all day. Fraser himself doesn’t play,
and I’m the only man here. He looks into the ground for one minute,
and says, “ Hullo, getting on all right ? ” I reply, smilingly, “ Oh, yes,
all right,” and he disappears into the cellar again, I believe, as the
next time I see him is in the hall, with a couple of cobwebby bottles
in his hands. Bell: thank heaven: dinner time. The worst of being
the only man with five ladies is that one has to pick up all the croquet
balls, put the mallets back in the box, draw the stumps, and carry
the whole lot of things into the house. The boy Fraser refuses to
assist me, and says, “ Pick ’em up yourself.” Nice child this ! I should
like to pinch him, or box his ears ; but I’m afraid, he’d make such a
noise.

Happy Thought while Dressing for Dinner.—To tell Fraser quietly
that I don’t care about croquet, and then he ’ll get me out of it another
time. Hope there’s not a party at dinner. Hope he’s forgotten all
about asking me to sing “ The Little Pig.” * * * Lost a stud. Can’t
find it anywhere. This is annoying. ^ Hate going down hot and un-
comfortable to dinner. Ring bell. Footman after some delay answers
it. He brings up hot water (which I’ve had before) and announces that
dinner will be ready in five minutes. We both look for the stud. He
thinks his master has a set, though he don’t generally wear ’em. While
he is gone, I find that the stud is missing which fastens my collar.
Ring the bell again. This causes another bell to ring. Hate giving
trouole in a strange house. Little boy Fraser comes to the door as
the butler enters with more hot water. The horrid boy makes remarks
on my dress. I tell the domestic my difficulty. Master don’t wear
studs, it appears. The boy Fraser is overhauling the things on my
table. I ask him to leave my comb alone, and he goes to the brushes.
The footman (with more hot water, not knowing the butler was there),
says the Maid would pin it on, if that would do ? That must do. The
boy Fraser is putting hair oil on my clean pocket-handkerchief. He
thinks it’s scent. Another minute and the Maid appears. Shall she
sew on a button ? “ Is there time,” I ask. “Well, she’ll try,” she
answers, and goes for the button. I implore the boy Fraser, who is
now trying on my boots, to go away. He won’t. The dinner-bell rings.
Now I’m keeping them waiting. Boy Fraser informs me that he’s
coming down to dessert. Maid returns. What a time sewing takes.
Painful attitude it is to stand in, with your*head in the air, ana trying
all the while to see what a mischievous child is doing with your watch.
Hone at last. White tie won’t come right. Dash it, let it come
wrong. Rush down to the drawing-room. Obliged to leave horrid
boy in my room. I stop on the stairs. Forgotten my watch. Run
up again. Rescue it from boy who was going to examine the works
with the aid of my gold pin. Luckily one of his nurses appears I
leave them to fight it out, and rush down-stairs again. At drawing-
room door, standing on mat to button my waistcoat, which, in my
hurry, I had left undone. Door opens. Every one is coming out.

Happy Thought.—Always be careful to finish dressing before one
makes a public appearance. Apologies from Master and Mistress of the
| house. Large party; all paired, except myself and a youth from
school about fourteen years’ old in jackets. I don’t know him at all,
but he wants to be sportive, and says, “ I s’pose you’ll take me in.”
I snub him. I think the servants are laughing at something he’s
doing. Hate boys of this age. It was a smaller one than this who made
faces at me from the window.

Dinner.—Seated : next to the Lady of the House. Miss Harding
on the other side. 1 mentally note as not at all a happy thought, that
if there’s anything to carve I shall have to do it. I hope the old
gentleman on the other side of Mrs. Fraser will offer first. She
introduces us across. He is an American general. On being told
by Mrs. Fraser of my literary fame he only says, “ Oh! indeed.”

| and appears surprised. I wish she wouldn’t say anything about it.
I have my pocket-book ready for short-hand notes, as he’ll be full of
information. Dinner goes on.

SHAFTESBURY ON SWEEPS.

The Earl op Shaftesbury, in the address delivered by him to
the Social Science Congress at Manchester, said :—■

“ When England, a few years ago, took a high and noble tone in denouncing
American slavery, an accomplished and zealous lady, of the Southern States,
alluding, in a tale called ‘Tit for Tat,1 to the wretched chimney-sweepers, up-
braided us with our hypocrisy that, while we had so much sympathy with the
blacks, we had none whatever for our own white children.”

The remark thus quoted by the noble Lord suggests a somewhat
interesting inquiry, namely, whether our chimney-sweepers are white
or black. Perhaps they may be said to be white and black also ; thus
proving that under certain conditions black is white and white is black.
The discussion of this question might have, perhaps, not unprofitably
occupied the time and attention of the Congress for the Advancement
of Social Science.