Chapter LXVII

The fair girl stepped lightly into the room, and, having daintily removed the dust from her feet by wiping them on one of BIGLOW AND SONS' Patent Crocodile Matting Rugs (delivered carriage free within a radius of twelve miles of their establishment at Ludgate Circus) that was placed before the door, gave a hasty glance round the apartment. She saw at ones from the octagonal ebonised table three feet six, by two feet five inches, the afternoon lounge couch (as advertised), the gent's easy shake-down chair, ladies ditto, and half dozen occasional chairs, all upholstered in rich material in Messrs. MULGRAVE & Co. of 170, Walbrook, City, E.C.'s best style, that a refined taste inspired by a wholesome economy had been exercised in the furnishing of the apartment, and she turned to the old Duke with a grateful nod of recognition.

"What," he asked, in a feeble voice, "is it my own ANGELICA? Surely it is! Come, my child, let me look at you?" He turned up the burner of a BOYCOTLE's Patent Incandescent Gas Lamp (price 13s. 9d. with full paper of instructions complete), and as he stood erect in his rich calico-lined fox-fur dressing-gown (supplied in three qualities by BROHAM & Co, with a discount of 15 per cent. for cash), he looked, every foot of him, a worthy scion of that ancient family of which he was the last living representative. "Let me look at you," he again repeated, drawing his neatly-dressed granddaughter more fully into the light before him. As it fell upon the graceful curves of her lissom figure, it was easy to perceive that she was wearing one of Madame BEAUMONT's celebrated Porcupine Quill Corsets, which lent a wonderful finish to a two-guinea tailor-made gingham cloth "Gem" costume, braided with best silk (horn buttons included), which showed off her young form to such advantage.

He would have added more, but a sudden pallor stole over his complexion, and he reeled towards a chair.

In an instant the bright girl was on her knees at his side. "Dear Grandfather, you are faint!" she cried, an expression of alarm suffusing her beautiful features.

The Duke pointed to a small table--"My Liquid Pork!" he gasped. "Ah! of course!" was her quick response, as she bounded across the room, and returned with an eleven-and-sixpenny bottle of "BOLKIN's Liquid Pork, or, the Emaciated Invalid's Hog-wash"--a stimulating, flesh-creating, life-sustaining food; sold in bottles at 1s. 1½d., 2s. 9d., 5s. 7d., and 11s. 6d.,--of which she quickly poured out half a tumbler, and raised it to the quivering lips of the staggering old nobleman by her side. "How foolish of me not to have thought of this before!" she continued, replenishing the glass, which he emptied in feverish haste.

"I save threepence-halfpenny in a sovereign," he went on, a wicked twinkle kindling in his eye as he spoke, "by taking the eleven-and-sixpenny size--and that _is_ a consideration, my dear. If you don't think so now, with all your young life before you, you will when you come to be my age!"

He sank back in his arm-chair as he spoke, apparently about to deliver himself to the calm delights of a retrospective _rêverie_. But he was not destined to enjoy it. At that moment a whiff of stifling smoke, quite choking in its intensity, forced itself under the door. In another moment the matter was soon explained. With a wild rush the butler burst into the room.

"Fly, your Grace, for your life!" he cried; "the place is on fire!"

A blaze of flame that followed the terrified menial into the room, only too truly corroborated his statement. In a another moment the fire had seized hold of the new furniture, and in greedy fury, as if it were some demon spirit, licked the walls with great tongues of flame.

"In the cupboard, my dear," said the Duke, the proud blood of his race coming to his aid in a perfect and commanding coolness in the face of the terrible danger that faced him, "you will find three cans of JOBSON's Patent Fire Annihilating Essence. It is advertised as infallible. Give one to the butler, take one yourself, and give the third to me. This appears to be a good opportunity for testing its efficacy."

The quick bright girl instantly obeyed his injunction. The cans were distributed, and opened. A colourless gas was liberated. In a few seconds the flames were entirely quenched.

"Ah!" said the old Duke, flinging himself back into his armchair with a sigh of relief. "And now, ANGELICA, my dear, you can tell me why you came to see me!"

* * * * *

"DADDY, I WANT YOU TO GIVE ME FIVE SHILLINGS A WEEK POCKET-MONEY!"

"I COULDN'T DO IT, MY LITTLE CHAP. IT'S TOO MUCH!"

"WELL, I MUST HAVE IT. IF YOU WON'T, I SHALL GO AND BET!']

* * * * *

THEORY AND PRACTICE.

(_TO BE REPRESENTED DURING THE PERFORMANCE OF THE CHRISTMAS PANTOMIME._)

SCENE--_Interior of Private Box. Grandfather and Grandchildren
discovered listening to the Overture. Father and Mother in
attendance._

_Grandfather_. Yes, my dears, I am glad to say that the afterpart is _not_ to be discontinued. You are to see the Clown, and the Pantaloon, and the Columbine, and the Harlequin.

_Chorus of Grandchildren_. Oh! Oh, won't that be delicious!

_Grandfather_. Yes, my dears, you will see the regular old-fashioned comic business that used to delight _me_ when _I_ was a boy. I remember when I was about your age, my dears, seeing TOM MATHEWS, and it was _so_ amusing. He used to sing a song--

_Chorus_ (_interrupting as the Curtain rises_). Hush, Grandpa! it's going to begin! (_The party subside, and direct their attention to twenty sets or so of the most magnificent scenery, illustrated by gorgeous Processions. The hands of the clock revolve, leaving Eight and reaching Eleven, when Grand Transformation takes place, amidst various coloured fires. Then enter_ Old Christmas Clown.)

_Old Christmas Clown_. Here we are again! How are you to-morrow?

_Chorus of Children_. Oh, we are _so_ tired! And we have heard that before!

_Mother_. And I am afraid we shall miss our train.

_Father_. And the roads are _so_ bad!

_Grandfather_. Well, well, perhaps we had better go; but in my time we all used to enjoy it _so_ much. (_Aside._) And perhaps, after all, the red-hot poker business _is_ rather stale at the end of the Nineteenth Century!

[_Exeunt the Party, plus five-sixths of the Audience._

* * * * *

VOCES POPULI.

A CHRISTMAS ROMP.

SCENE--_Mrs. CHIPPERFIELD's Drawing-room. It is after the
Christmas dinner, and the Gentlemen have not yet appeared.
Mrs. C. is laboriously attempting to be gracious to her
Brother's Fiancée, whose acquaintance she has made for the
first time, and with whom she is disappointed. Married Sisters
and Maiden Aunts confer in corners with a sleepy acidity._

_First Married Sister_ (_to Second_). I felt quite sorry for FRED, to see him sitting there, looking--and no wonder--so ashamed of himself--but I always will say, and I always _must_ say, CAROLINE, that if you and ROBERT had been _firmer_ with him when he was younger, he would never have turned out so badly! Now, there's my GEORGE--&c., &c.

_Mrs. C._ (_to the Fiancée_). Well, my dear, I don't approve of young men getting engaged until they have some prospects of being able to marry, and dear ALGY was always my favourite brother, and I've seen so much misery from long engagements. However, we must hope for the best, that's all!

_A Maiden Aunt_ (_to Second Ditto_). Exactly what struck _me_, MARTHA. _One_ waiter would have been quite sufficient, and if JAMES _must_ be grand and give champagne, he might have given us a little _more_ of it; I'm sure I'd little more than foam in _my_ glass! And every plate as cold as a stone, and you and I the only people who were not considered worthy of silver forks, and the children encouraged to behave as they please, and JOSEPH PODMORE made such a fuss with, because he's well off--and not enough sweetbread to go the round. Ah, well, thank goodness, we needn't dine here for another year!

_Mr. Chipperfield_ (_at the door_). Sorry to cut you short in your cigar, Uncle, and you LIMPETT; but fact is, being Christmas night, I thought we'd come up a little sooner and all have a bit of a romp.... Well, EMILY, my dear, here we are, all of us--ready for anything in the way of a frolic--what's it to be? Forfeits, games, Puss in the Corner, something to cheer us all up, eh? Won't anyone make a suggestion? [_General expression of gloomy blankness._

_Algernon_ (_to his Fiancée--whom he wants to see shine_). ZEFFIE, you know no end of games--what's that one you played at home, with potatoes and a salt-spoon, _you_ know?

_Zeffie_ (_blushing_). No, _please_, ALGY! I don't know _any_ games, indeed, I couldn't, _really_!

_Mr. C._ Uncle JOSEPH will set us going, I'm sure--what do _you_ say, Uncle?

_Uncle Joseph_. Well, I won't say "no" to a quiet rubber.

_Mrs. C._ But, you see, we can't _all_ play in that, and there _is_ a pack of cards in the house somewhere; but I know two of the aces are gone, and I don't think all the court cards were there the last time we played. Still, if you can manage with what is left, we might get up a game for you.

_Uncle J._ (_grimly_). Thank you, my dear, but, on the whole, I think I would almost rather romp--

_Mr. C._ Uncle JOSEPH votes for romping! What do you say to Dumb Crambo? Great fun--half of us go out, and come in on all-fours, to rhyme to "cat," or "bat," or something--_you_ can play that, LIMPETT?

_Mr. Limpett_. If I _must_ find a rhyme to cat, I prefer, so soon after dinner, not to go on all-fours for it, I confess.

_Mr. C._ Well, let's have something quieter, then--only _do_ settle. Musical Chairs, eh?

_Algy_. ZEFFIE will play the piano for you--she plays beautifully.

_Zeffie_. Not without notes, ALGY, and I forgot to bring my music with me. Shall we play "Consequences"? It's a very quiet game--you play it sitting down, with paper and pencil, you know!

_Mr. Limpett_ (_sardonically, and sotto voce_). Ah, this is something _like_ a rollick now. "Consequences," eh?

_Algy_ (_who has overheard--in a savage undertone_). If that isn't good enough for you, suggest something better--or shut up!

[_Mr. L. prefers the latter alternative._

_Mr. C._ Now, then, have you given everybody a piece of paper, EMILY? CAROLINE, you're going to play--we can't leave _you_ out of it.

_Aunt Caroline_. No, JAMES, I'd rather look on, and see you all enjoying yourselves--I've _no_ animal spirits now!

_Mr. C._ Oh, nonsense! Christmas-time, you know. Let's be jolly while we can--give her a pencil, EMILY!

_Aunt C._ No, I can't, really. You must excuse me. I know I'm a wet blanket; but, when I think that I mayn't be with you another Christmas, we may _most_ of us be dead by then, why--(_sobs_).

_Fred_ (_the Family Failure_). That's right, Mater--trust you to see a humorous side to everything!

_Another Aunt_. For shame, FRED! If you don't know who is responsible for your poor mother's low spirits, others do!

[_The Family Failure collapses._

_Mr. Limpett_. Well, as we've all got pencils, is there any reason why the revelry should not commence?

_Mr. C._ No--don't let's waste any more time. Miss ZEFFIE says she will write down on the top of her paper "Who met whom" (must be a Lady and Gentleman in the party, you know), then she folds it down, and passes it on to the next, who writes, "What he said to her"--the next, "What she said to him"--next, "What the consequences were," and the last, "What the world said." Capital game--first-rate. Now, then!

[_The whole party pass papers in silence from one to another,
and scribble industriously with knitted brows._

_Mr. C._ Time's up, all of you. I'll read the first paper aloud. (_Glances at it, and explodes._) He-he!--this is really very funny. (_Reads._) "Uncle JOSEPH met Aunt CAROLINE at the--ho--ho!--the Empire! He said to her, '_What are the wild waves saying?_' and she said to him, 'It's time you were taken away!' The consequences were that they both went and had their hair out, and the world said they had always suspected there was something between them!"

_Uncle J._ I consider that a piece of confounded impertinence!

[_Puffs._

_Aunt C._ It's not true. I _never_ met JOSEPH at the Empire. I don't go to such places. I _didn't_ think I should be insulted like this--(_Weeps._)--on Christmas too!

_Aunts' Chorus_. FRED _again_!

[_They regard Family Failure indignantly._

_Mr. C._ There, then, it was all fun--no harm meant. I'll read the next. "Mr. LIMPETT met Miss ZEFFIE in the Burlington Arcade. He said to her, 'O, you little duck!' She said to him, 'Fowls are cheap to-day!' The consequences were that they never smiled again, and the world said, 'What price hot potatoes?'" (_Everybody looks depressed._) H'm--not bad--but I think we'll play something else now. [_ZEFFIE perceives that ALGY is not pleased with her._

_Tommy_. (_To Uncle JOSEPH_). Uncle, why didn't _you_ carve at dinner?

_Uncle J._ Well, TOMMY, because the carving was done at a side table--and uncommon badly done, too. Why do you want to know?

_Tommy_. Parpar thought you _would_ carve, I know. He told Mummy she must ask you, because--

_Mrs. C._ (_With a prophetic instinct._) Now, TOMMY, you mustn't tease your Uncle. Come away, and tell your new Aunt ZEFFIE what you're going to do with your Christmas boxes.

_Tommy_. But mayn't I tell him what Parpar said, first?

_Mrs. C._ No, no; by and by--not now! [_She averts the danger._

[_Later; the Company are playing "Hide the Thimble;" i.e.,
someone has planted that article in a place so conspicuous
that few would expect to find it there. As each person catches
sight of it, he or she sits down. Uncle JOSEPH is still,
to the general merriment, wandering about and getting angrier
every moment._

_Mr. C._ That's it, Uncle, you're _warm_--you're _getting_ warm!

_Uncle J._ (_Boiling over._) _Warm_, Sir? _I am_ warm--and something more. I can tell you! [_Sits down with a bump._

_Mr. C._ You haven't _seen_ it! I'm sure you haven't seen it. Come now, Uncle!

_Uncle J._ Never mind whether I have or have not. Perhaps I don't _want_ to see it, Sir!

_The Children_. Then do you give it up? Do you want to be told? Why, it's staring you in the face all the time!

_Uncle J._ I don't care whether it's staring or not--I don't want to be told anything more about it.

_The Children_. Then you're _cheating_, Uncle--you must go on walking till you _do_ see it!

_Uncle J._ Oh, that's it, eh? Very well, then--I'll walk!

[_Walks out, leaving the company paralysed._

_Mrs. C._ Run after him, TOMMY, and tell him--quick! [_Exit TOMMY._

_Mr. C._ (_feebly_). I think when Uncle JOSEPH does come back, we'd better try to think of some game he _can't_ lose his temper at. Ah, here's TOMMY!

_Tommy_. I _told_ him--but he went all the same, and slammed the door. He said I was to go back and tell you that you would find he _was_ cut up--and cut up rough, too!

_Mrs. C._ But what did you tell _him_?

_Tommy_. Why, only that Parpar asked him to come to-night because he was sure to cut up well. You said I might!

[_Sensation; Prompt departure of TOMMY for bed; moralising
by Aunts; a spirit of perfect candour prevails; names are
called--also cabs; further hostilities postponed till next
Christmas._

* * * * *

NOTE-PAPER CURRENCY AT CHRISTMAS.--We see that a "Riparian" note-paper has been brought out by Messrs. GOODALL AND SON. This "Riparian Paper"--rather suggestive of "Rupee Paper"--ought to be as safe as the Bank. "G. AND SON" (this suggests G.O.M. and Master HERBERT) should bring out The Loyers' Note-paper, and call it "Papier Mashy."

* * * * *

BLACK AND WHITE; OR, THE PHANTOM STEED!

(_A TYPICAL GHOST STORY FOR CHRISTMAS, BY A WITNESS OF THE TRUTH._)

I was walking in one of the slums in the neighbourhood of Oxford Street, some years ago, and always fond of horse-flesh (I had driven--as a boy--a bathing-machine for my pleasure along the wild coast line of the great Congo Continent) was greatly attracted by a hack standing within the shafts of a cart belonging to a funeral furnisher. Like many of its class, the horse was jet black, with a long flowing tail and a mane to match. As I gazed upon the creature the driver came out of the shop (to which doleful establishment the equipage belonged) and drove slowly away. I felt forced to follow, and soon found myself outside a knacker's yard. Guessing the intention of the driver to treat his steed as only fit for canine food, I offered to purchase the seemingly doomed animal. To my surprise, the man expressed his willingness to treat with me, and suggested that I might have the carcase at the rate of 4s. 11¾d. a pound. Considering the price not excessive, I agreed, and, having weighed the horse at an automatic weighing machine, I handed over £100--in notes. Then the first strange thing happened. Before I could replace my pocket-book in its receptacle in my coat, the driver had absolutely vanished! I could not see him anywhere. I was the more annoyed at this, as I found that (by mistake) I had given him notes on the Bank of Elegance, which everyone knows are of less value than notes on the Bank of England. However, it was too late to search for the vendor, and I walked away as I could, leading by the bridle the steed I had so recently acquired.

It was now necessary to get quarters for the night, but I found, at that advanced hour, that many of the leading hotels were either full or unwilling to supply me with a bedroom-and-stable-combined until the morning. I was refused firmly but civilly at the Grand, the Métropole, the Grosvenor, and the Pig and Whistle Tavern, South East Hackney. At the latter caravanserai, the night-porter (who was busying himself cleaning the pewter pots) suggested that I should go to Bath. Adopting this idea, I mounted my steed (which answered, after a little practice, to the name of _Cats'-meat_), and took the Old Kent Road until I reached St. Albans.

It was now morning, and the old abbey stood out in grand outline against the glorious scarlet of the setting sun. Entering an inn, I called for refreshment for man and beast, and, having authority for considering myself qualified to act as representative of both, consumed the double portion. Thinking about the whiskey I had just discussed, as I rode along, I came to a milestone, standing on its head, and a sign-post in the last stage of hopeless intoxication. It was here that a police constable turned his lantern upon me with a pertinacity that apparently was calculated to challenge observation. Annoyed, but not altogether surprised, I declared my opinion that it was "all right," and fell asleep. When I awoke, I found that I had travelled some hundreds of miles, and, strange to say, my horse was as good as when it had started. From what I could gather from the signs on the road (I have been accustomed to Forestry from my earliest childhood), it seemed to me that, while I was slumbering, I must have passed Macclesfield, Ramsgate, Richmond (both in Surrey and in Yorkshire), and was now close to the weirdest spot in all phantom-populated Wiltshire--a place in its rugged desolation suggestive of the Boundless Prairies and BUFFALO BILL--Wild-Westbury! Greatly fatigued, I entered a second inn, and enjoyed a hearty meal, which was also a simple one. I am a liquidarian, and take no animal or vegetable food, and have not tasted fish for nearly a quarter of a century.

When I wished to continue my journey to Bath, I found _Cats'-meat_ so disinclined to move, that I thought the best thing to do in the interest of progress, was to carry him myself. He was very light--so light that I imagined the automatic weighing-machine must have been out of order when I tested it. Almost in a trance I walked along, until, stumbling, I fell, and dropped _Cats'-meat_ into a well. And then another strange thing happened. The horse with its jet-black tail and mane, emerged from the water as white as snow! Apparently annoyed at the treatment to which it had been accidentally subjected, it fled away, and I lost sight of it amongst the hills that overlook Wild-Westbury. And then the strangest thing of all happened, and has been happening ever since!

In clear weather, on the side of one of these hills, _Cat's-meat_, in the habit as he stood when he left the well on that fatal day, may be seen patiently waiting until the time shall arrive when he shall receive a coat of blacking, a companion steed to share with him his labours, and a hearse! I am not the only person who has seen him thus. The spectre (if it be a spectre) is known for miles around, and has been watched by thousands. Nay, more. On occasions of great rejoicing, when merry-making has been the order of the day or night, several _Cats'-meats_ have appeared to the carousing watchers strangely blended together. Speaking for myself, if I have seen one I have seen half-a-dozen--nay, more--with hills to match! And those who do not believe me can continue the journey I once commenced, and (after I have wished them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year) proceed to--Bath!

* * * * *

CHRISTMAS "CRACKERS."

Plum-pudding never disagrees with me, _however much I take of it_. No more do mince-pies, _no matter how many I eat_. Steaming hot-and-strong gin-punch is _the most wholesome beverage_; so, also, is brandy-punch. It can't harm anybody who, on the Pickwickian principle, "takes enough of it." Both beverages go admirably with cigars and pipes. If you have anything like a headache on Boxing-day morning, depend upon it, it comes from abstemiousness in drinking, eating, and smoking.

* * * * *

"Hide Pa Corner."

Eatin' Plaice.]

* * * * *

LITERARY AND DRAMATIC.--It is now generally known, and, if not, it is high time it should be, that _A Million of Money_, advertised as original, is only an instance of genuine "translation" from Old Drury Lane to Covent Garden, where it ought to continue its previous success.

* * * * *

SHAKSPEARE AT YULETIDE.--Excellent arrangements at the Lyceum for Christmas. Genial _Ravenswood_ is to be performed only on a Friday. For the rest,--no not "the rest" where so much work is involved,--for "the remainder" of the week, the Master of the Shakespearian Revels gives us _Much Ado About Nothing_, with our ELLEN and HENRY as _Beatrice_ and _Benedick_, and with all its memorable glory of costume and scenery,--a Shakspearian revival well worthy to be reckoned as among the foremost of all the attractions offered by the theatres this Christmas.

* * * * *

_Emily_ (_in the midst of Aunt Marianna's blood-curdling Ghost Story_). "HUSH! LISTEN! THERE'S A DOOR BANGING SOMEWHERE DOWNSTAIRS!--AND YET THE SERVANTS HAVE GONE TO BED. GEORGE, DO JUST RUN DOWN AND SEE WHAT IT CAN BE!"

[_George wishes himself back at Charterhouse._]]

* * * * *

"KEEP THE POT A-BOILING!"

(_A SEASONABLE SUGGESTION._)

Christmas comes once more,
Well-beloved Old Father!
Though the season's hoar,
Warm his welcome--rather!
Parties come and go,
True to _him_ our heart is,
With his beard of snow,
Best of (Christmas) Parties!
Say the day is chill,
Say the weather's windy,
He brings warm good-will,
Not heart-freezing shindy.
"Union!" is his cry,--
Hearts and hands and voices.
Confraternity
His kind soul rejoices.
When the youngsters slide
On the frozen river.
As they glow and glide,
Do they shrink or shiver?
Nay; nor dread nor doubt
Their brisk sport is spoiling,
Gleefully they shout,
"Keep the Pot a-boiling!"

Keep it? Ay, by Jove!
We are on our mettle.
'Tis a game we love
More than Pot and Kettle.
Poorish sport that same,
Angry mutual blackening.
Here's a merrier game.
Pull up there! Who's slackening?
Not the leader, _Punch_!
On he goes, amazing,
To the rest his hunch
Like a beacon blazing.
Not Old Father X!
How the Ancient goes it!
'Tis a sight to vex
Malice, and he knows it;
Not young Master BULL!
At the game _he_'s handy,
Nor has much the pull
Of his pal, young SANDY;
Not that dark-eyed girl
With her cloak a-flying,
She can swing and swirl
With the boys. She's trying
Everything she knows.
As for Master PADDY,
Whoop there! Down he goes!
Bumped a bit, poor laddy!
What then? At this game
Who would be a stopper
Just because he came
Now and then a cropper?
Up and on once more,
Chance by courage foiling!
Hark the jovial roar!
"Keep the Pot a-boiling!"

Father Christmas, hail!
Sure 'tis flagrant folly
Now to rave and rail.
Truce--beneath your holly!
Darkest England waits
Care Co-operative;
Mood that moat elates
Is to-day--the dative!
You need not doubt,
You're no "Grecian" giver.
Many "cold without,"
Foodless, hopeless, shiver;
Many a poor man's pot,
Even at your season,
With no pudding hot
Bubbles. Is't not treason
Unto more than kings
To waste time in fighting
Whilst such crooked things
Stand in need of righting?
In the name of those
Starving, suffering, toiling,
Let our quarrels close--
"Keep the Pot a-boiling!"

* * * * *

FIGHTING THE FOG.

(_A SEASONABLE HINT._)

Sir,--I have read several letters in the papers complaining of the fog, and asking not only how one is to protect the system from its injurious effects, but also soliciting information as to how one is to safeguard oneself against street accident, if obliged to quit the premises during its prevalence. The first is simple enough. Get a complete diver's suit, put it on, and let an attendant follow you with a pumping apparatus, for the purpose of supplying you with the fumes of hydro-bi-carbon (DAFFY's solution) in a state of suspension. This will considerably assist the breathing. To avoid street accident, wear an electric (SWANN) light, five hundred candle power, on the top of your hat, round the brim of which, in case of accident, you have arranged a dozen lighted night-lights. Strap a Duplex Reflector on to your back, and fasten a Hansom cab-lamp on to each knee. Let a couple of boys, bearing flaming links, and beating dinner-gongs, clear the way for you, while you yourself shout "_Here comes the Bogie Man!_" or any other appropriate ditty, through a fog-horn, which you carry in one hand, while you spring a policeman's ancient rattle vigorously with the other. You will, if thus provided, get along capitally. Be careful at crossings, for your sudden appearance might possibly frighten an omnibus horse or two, and cause trouble.

I haven't tried all this _yet_ myself, but a friend of mine at Colney Hatch assures me he has, and found it a great success. As I think, therefore, it may prove a boon to your numerous readers, I place it at your disposal with much pleasure, and have the honour to be, Sir,

Your obedient servant, A CAUTIOUS CARD.

* * * * *

* * * * *
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THE CHRISTMAS COLLEGE FAIRY.