Punch (61.1871)

august 26, 1871.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI

83

MY HEALTH.

-—------tjstle salutes ear. Enter

|§§\ Miss Janie Steaithmeee.
11JU Yachting dress, blue serge,

p^^Pnt] sailor's collar, sailor's knot,

^ffpf] % nautically-coloured shirt,

^fw|§L very much en evidence at

-wiPitK ^e wristbands. Fair hair

-\ stacked on the top of her

1>......\<wgl$"\'"'£ \ head, relieved, artistically,

^j&tZsj^k 1 as to colour, by the ocea-
^flljPI J sional appearance of a black
! I hair-pin, and on the top of

the hair-stack, a small
thatching of straw in the
shape of an inverted cheese-
plate, with a wide blue
riband round it, with two
silver-trimmed ends flying,
the whole being labelled,
in front of the hat, Sul-
phide. I am so taken aback
by this vision of light that
I have nothing to say.
Thinking of it afterwards,
J&jy JKHffj g-,- Br*. I perceive that I missed an
.of^SSm?^ Wjm^ 1 jg] opportunity of making a

- i tttI*9 complimentary allusion to

Sylphide and Syren, all in
one. On second thoughts glad I didn't say it, as it might have
sounded like comparing her to the double-headed nightingale.

She is enthusiastic on the subject of the weather, and has some
twenty inquiries to make about all sorts of things of Wetheeby.
She is most impulsively playful, and, when in a room (unless
engaged deeply in a novel or a letter), is either rushing to the window
to look at something, patting refractory hair-pins which won't stay
in the stack, or regarding herself in the glass to see if something
or other (Heaven knows what, or where) is all right, rushing out
and up-stairs to get something, or preparing, having just come in,
to go out again immediately for something else which is apparently
of the utmost importance.

"0!" she exclaims suddenly. "I must get a pair of gloves."
Here she opens her eyes archly, and looks at me. "I've got no
gloves. Isn't it dreadful ? " She has a way of saying "Isn't it,"
which arrests my attention. It is a pretty way. [Note. Considering
this afterwards coolly, I repeat that it is a pretty way at first, but
a trifle irritating after a week of it.] She seems to take a low note
to commence with, then ascends in the scale in a sort of triple time,
intensifying the question. To put it as a versifier, I should say
that her " Isn't it dreadful," forms the last two feet of a hexameter,
dactyl and spondee, thus—

Isn'"t It dreadful ?

And then she throws her eyes gradually up and then lets them fall
on mine, as if she was adding each time, Am I not an Arch Thing ?
Don't I look you through and through ? Ain't I fascinating ?
Ain't I all your fancy painted me ? Can you resist my Archness ?

It occurs to me that if Bdnter's eye were here, wouldn't it enjoy
this ? Wouldn't it say to me, " Isn't this a game, eh ? Ain't this
here no end of a lark ? "

Mem.—I recollect a mysterious story of Loed Lytton's (I think),
where a man is pursued by Eyes, which eventually wither him up.
Bentee's eye wouldn't, but Miss Janie's—ah ! . . .

Flash [quite a lightning Flash.) Am I the fascinator ? Or are we
both Fascinators. Sympathetic Fascinators meeting for the first
time. This is a sort of experience one would not meet with while
staying merely with my Aunt and Doddeed&e.

Flashes leading to sudden impulsive resolution. Been too much of
a Hermit lately. Cultivate female society more. Thinking of Notes
for my History of Motion, and Theory of F recognisances, has made
me too much of a thinker. By comparison with Miss Janie, I find
how very grave I must have become. She appears to me to be a
trifle too volatile. Perhaps frivolous people have spoilt her with
compliments and vapid conversation. To make an impression
on her . . . (Ah! do I already detect myself wanting to make
an impression. No, I don't like this) ... I mean to try and give
more weight to her character, which I am sure is all she needs; I
will converse with her as with a sensible man. She is as flighty and
jerky as a kite; to steady her she only requires a tail. I will be,
as it were, the tail.

To myself, while getting my hat in the hall. Why all this interest ?
Bo I . . .

Miss Steaithmeee wishes to know if there is time for her to ?o
and buy some gloves? Wetheeby says there is. " Is there?"

asks Miss Janie, " really ? Is there really time?" She puts
this question so touchingly, as implying that her experience of men
has taught her to repose no confidence in them, even in the most
ordinary dealings. Wetheeby replies, "plenty," and asks me,
" Will I go with Miss Janie to the glove shop, and then see her
safely on board."

She turns at once to me, and throws the full light of her eyes on
me as she says,_'' Will you be so good ? Are you quite sure it doesn't
bore you ? " with great emphasis on ' quite,' and increased emphasis
on ' bore.' I reply, restraining my feelings, that to be her escort
will give me the greatest possible pleasure. And we go out
together. I and this fair-haired enthusiast. Note.—It comes to
me that her conversation consists chiefly of interrogatories patheti-
cally emphasised, or to put it in a more intelligible form, it consists
of sentimental conundrums.

Note.—Is she like this (I mean all eyes and emphasis) with
everyone, or is it only with me, and this for the first time. The
eyes of passers-by are upon us. On her and me. And Iter eyes.
. . . JJn regard incendiaire. . . . The passers-by, having passed by,
seem to turn, and say, "What a tine girl! ... A well-matched
pair! . . . What a happy fellow ! . . . She is going on board his
[my) yacht. . . . Who is she ? . . . Who is he ? " . . . I feel that
I could stop to punch all heads with eye-glasses. I feel that to start
a subject of conversation which shall at once lift me above the level
of all her former admirers, is not easy, but ought to be done. If I
remain silent, she '11 think me stupid, and if I don't interest her,
she '11 become interested in the young yachtsmen (puppies !) who
are lounging about in all sorts of fancy costumes. 1 feel that not
only she, but everyone else, is listening to me. Odd : 1 can't fish
up an abstruse subject; and to plunge abruptly into politics, by
asking her, suddenly, " What's your opinion on the Corn Laws?"
or, " Do you think the Ballot Bill will be passed this Session?"
might lead her to imagine that I was laughing at her. And then
she might cry. And in the street, too ! My Aunt would, I know.
While I am thinking, as we walk along, I'm almost sure I see her
catch some young man's admiring gaze (I never saw such staring,
impudent, conceited ... I believe it's the yachting dress does it),
and then half-glance at me—then look down at the pavement; the
glance at me implying, " If you don't talk, I must find some one
who will! " I must speak ! About what ? No matter. I plunge in.

Flash of Thought, siiggesting a Subject.—The Sea.

I observe, "How beautiful the sea looks this morning, doesn't
it?"

She returns, " Yes. Isn'"t it Beautiful ? "

I reply, " Yes, it is." Then, with a slight reflection of her enthu-
siasm, and having nearly exhausted the subject, that is, without
bringing poetry in, I add, " It is Lovely ! "

[Evident Continuation of Dialogue).— " You're fond of yachting,
Miss Steaithmeee ? "

" 0, I think it too charming! quite too charming ! Don't you?"
I reply, with enthusiasm slightly toned down in consequence of not
yet clearly knowing what sort of a sailor I may turn out to be, that
"I do; yes, it is—delightful," and I hope I shall find it so. She
then goes on, " My brother has a boat at Cowes."

Note.—Her Brother. This, as it were, chills my ardour. I notice
that, if you are anything of a Lover, the mention of a Brother does
chill your ardour. He immediately becomes something to be got rid
of. I feel inclined to reply, " I really don't care what your Brother
has. Don't bring in your Brother to me, as a threat, as much as to
say, 'If you go too far, Sir, there's my Brother!'" Not being
tall myself (tall enough, though, and some people I have known
have said, that they preferred—far preferred—my height to any
other)—not being tall myself, for Miss Steaithmeee to mention
her Brother at the outset, sounds as if she wished to twit me with
my stature. I don't exactly know why, except that intuitively I
feel that if he is mentioned as a warning, he must be (to have a
deterrent effect) six feet high, and strong in proportion.

I disguise my feelings, and reply, carelessly, '' Indeed! Do you
often go out with him ? "

"Ono. Though I should like to, very much. He's such a nice
fellow. He's in the Fusileers. I'm sure you'd like him very
much."

She divines my instinctive enmity to all of her race who might
come between her and me.

lean only say that " I'm sure I shall;" feeling that I should
hate the very sight of him, and rather hoping to hear of some acci-
dent to him out at sea, or that he'd been ordered off (he and his
confounded Fusileers) to the Cape of Good Hope.

Keeping up this interesting topic, I remark that "it's a pity,
as her brother's got a boat, that she can't go out oftener." She
can't, she answers, because of Grandmamma, who always wants her
to be with her. The mention of Grandmamma softens me. 1 feel
more kindly towards her relations ; because, if she has to attend to
Grandmamma, like little Red Riding Hood, only without the wolf
of course, she must be more or less an orphan. {Note. Odd, too, I
never can think of orphans without fitting them (in imagination)