CHAPTER III.

or"

Yawning and Yarning-The Butterfly at Niagara-Russian introductions-The Archdeacon's epitaph-Comin Thro' the Rye-Un-Canny-Lee-Dock and its Counsel-Difference between "or" and “and” in a will—The Nemesis of Law -Sir Joseph Paxton's rise-The start in life of Joseph Hume, M.P.-The difference between "and" and " in a way-Bishop Samuel Wilberforce-How he liked turtle soup-What he said when he got too little-What he said when he got too much-An Episcopal Presbyterian Service-An Archiepiscopal Presbyterian Service-Bishops' joy at the Primate's recovery-The unpresentable present -Catching crabs and nearly being caught doing it-The Criminal Chairman of Quarter Sessions-Does Providence work in rhythmic periods?—Helston Corporators and the Argyle Rooms-One's chance comes at unknown times— “D—d if I didn't think so”—Messrs. Coutts' shabby customer-Overend and Gurney's "bullion" drawer-Matthew Marshall a Malmesbury-Taking a lion by the maneHammering a bear's muzzle-The Rarey-fied zebra-Lord Overstone's mistake-Archbishop Thomson's great sorrow in life-Professor Freeman preaching to the Parson-How to evict a trespasser-Our Vicar lessening his work in the lessons-The two shortest epitaphs-Scenes in a village church-Always "Crosse' "He's tored his breeches"Dartmoor Prison and our "innocent man"-Our haunt in the "fifties"-The end of the old College Fellow-“ Kissing my sisters "Look who your neighbours are before you settle down at the Derby"-Photophone carries naughty words-The Genesis of the Unionist Party-Courtesy in Clubs, how to create it-Marquis and saveloy-Ducal gets-up.

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AWNING and Yarning are the most catching of all human ailments. The microbes are communicated by mere sight-pass in, in fact, by photophone; they incubate directly on contact-diffuse with alarming rapidity-are neither checked nor subjugated by any known remedies, and end their career only by dying out from pure exhaustion.

Let any one, for instance, possessing that little list towards mischief which, if not original sin itself, is at all events congenital, go to the Church of St. Wapshot-with-the-Wooden-Leg when the eloquent Canon Nearrer is to fill the pulpit, and place himself well forward in the church. In due course the clear melodious voice will, with well-modulated tones, approach the long-led-up-to pathetic part of the oration. This shall be, for instance, the Butterfly at Niagara-the joyous, heedless flight of that universally accepted type of the Human Soul towards the black chasm over which in thundering surges dash down the overflow waters of half a continent-the toy-like insect's unthinking flight over the "Hell of Waters where they howl and hiss "-its onward course enfeebled, nay, arrested, by dampened wings-the spectator's fear for its safety-his heart-thrilling doubt as to whether struggles so faint and puny can avail aught against the maddening swirl of the tempests raging round it-then

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the lull! the pause!! the sudden break in the cloud, the dawn of hope, the gladdening spread of the glorious sun-glint-the last struggle for life-and "Oh, joy, joy! my friends! the never hoped for deliverance ! " At this moment let the listener, who has heard it all before, indulge himself with a good yawn. Ere his mouth is closed, a young lady's hand is attempting to conceal that she is following suit ; at the other end of the bench portly papa, who wants his lunch, has gaped terribly; in no time at all it has reached the schoolchildren, with whom it is always dormant; and the sorely pained preacher, his sweet smile converted into a sickly one, has marked with chokeddown fury the distorted features of the meekest of all his curates, trying not only not to yawn, but also not to let the Rector see him stifling it.

Equally catching is story-telling. Adam in Paradise could not have half got through his first story to Eve, or Ayesha, or Zöe, for all three names are hers, before the gentle newborn intellect was pondering how she could best cap it. Assyrian tablets record for us the yarns of five thousand years before our era— the Turin Book of the Dead at 2000 B.C. keeps alive for us a pretty little novel-Homer and Herodotus kept the ball of tittle-tattle going and so on to the present day of penny novels and society journals.

In our Temple dinners, one idea naturally arises when the head porter hands round to each Mess a form on which each Member signs his name, for the purpose of making up the attendance books of the Students, who keep their term in this way. Now a man's name is

a matter on which he is "jealous." He never utters it for any purpose without a mental wrench; he can catch its sound, even when pronounced in a whisper, a long way off. Here, however, it is shyly written down and shame - facedly handed back- Englishmen having not yet recognised the value of the Russian system under which, when two strangers meet, they mutually introduce themselves. "I am Stepan Buritzoff, Ruski, and I am Orthodox"; "I am Ruffin Pitrouski, Noble, Catholic, and I am a Pole"; and so on until a new-comer arrives, and the process is again repeated by the three. This is at present confined to the land where strawberry jam is put into tea— both constituents damaged according to our notions, alike, though the natives think otherwise.

But in our Messes each man knows the name of his messmates, and though he says nothing, probably he, like the parrot, thinks the more-it may be as to what joke or jingle is crackable upon one of them.

I was long under the impression that my

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own name was unhittable but a correspondent has corrected me. It is in connection with an Archdeacon of Bristol, who, some thirty years since, informed a Committee of the House of Lords that "he could not tell how it came to pass, but he always thought a Churchman was honester than a Dissenter." Vials of wrath were his portion for this, and it might be a Liberationist who wrote his epitaph :

"In preach and speech he vexed us sore,
And slanders at his hands we bore;
Beneath this stone there lies a corpse,

Which we're not sorry's Tommy Thorpe's."

I once knew a gentleman who owned to me that his name was a positive pain to him. He was an accomplished man, had written a book on butterflies, was Librarian of the Royal Geographical Society, and his name was Rye-a name apparently as blameless as Flower, Oates, or Rice, but not so in its owner's eyes.

My son is Maste-ry, my daughter Mise-ry, my mother Mumme-ry; I myself am Myste-ry; surrounding me are Begga-ry, Snobbe-ry, Foole-ry, Poltroone-ry; lying in wait on me are Knave-ry, Robbe-ry, and Burgla-ry. Lee is bad enough, where, by varying the incidence of an accent, its owner may come in without torturing undu-ly the form of speech, for the appellatives Rash-ly, Ug-ly, Noisi-ly, Clumsi-ly, Greedi-ly, Beggar-ly, Scoundrel-ly, and so forth