(By permission of the Author.)
MY FRIEND TREACLE.
Watkin-Elliott.
"So Charley is going to marry 'the most charming girl in the world'!" I ejaculated, after a hearty laugh over the following epistle from my old friend:—
"Dear Bob,—
"I am going to do for myself in earnest; no humbug this time. 'For better or for worse,' and if it turns out the latter it will be a scrape no one can get me out of. Of course, you understand I am about to marry, and I need not add she is the most charming girl in the world: fair, sky-blue eyes, silk-worm—I mean spun silk hair, lovely in fact! Come and be my best man: do, old fellow! You have backed me up lots of times before, and although we have lost sight of one another since 'we were boys together,' that goes for nothing between us—does it? Write by return, and say you will support me: I have a dread that I shall marry the wrong girl, or allow some one else to marry Lucy—that's her name!—or do something unlucky, unless you look after me.
"Yours, as ever,
"Charley Boston.
"P.S.—It comes off in a fortnight."