Fun, and Sun, and Shade.
Frances Fauvel Gouraud, the mnemonic lecturer of 1843, gave gold pencils and other gilded trinkets to males, and reticules to females. John Innman was editor of the Commercial Advertiser, to whom he gave a massive gold pencil, and desired to give a reticule to his fair lady, who was sister of the once famous Clara Fisher, and now Mrs. Maeder. The day was warm, and the cholera diarrhœa was prevalent, and he loudly rings the bell, and dashes into the house with all the enthusiasm of a Frenchman, and screams: “Mrs. Innman: Have you got one necessaire?” She is dumb for seconds, and her lily cheeks are balls of fire, and indignant phrenzy glares in her eyes, when she proclaims: “I will call the servant,” and furiously retires. The servant darts in and balls out: “Come hither sir,” and on he tramps, behind the servant, into the basement and the yard, where he is politely escorted into the necessaire, when he savagely ejaculates: “The diable! You von tam skamp! Why for you take me in dis vile place? By gar! by dam! What is dat I smell? What you for eat so much unions in dis country? You one tam rascal! What for you bring me in dis nasty place”?
Servant—“Mrs. Innman directed mo to show you the necessaire.”
Gouraud—“Necessaire! Vat!—You call dis necessaire? By gar! You tell one tam lie. A necessaire is full of holes.”
Servant—“And is not this necessaire full of holes?”
Gouraud—“Yes—dat we admit for de argument—but they are such tam pig holes, dat de ladies’ perfume would all run out into de street. Why does for you laugh right in my face? Me will break your tam head if you laugh at me. A necessaire has very small holes in my superb French beautiful and sublime and very glorious country. Me did not mean to ask Mrs. Innman for dis kind of necessaire. Me mean one little box, or bag, or re-tickle-em, to put her sweet perfume handkerchief, and other pretty little things in. Whew! O, by gar! Me shall sneeze? How me nose do tickle! Git me out of dis one tam yard. Me be sick already. By dam—me are ruined. Ah che—Horatio! Dare—does you not see dat? Did not me say me should sneeze? By dam! How you does smell in dis nasty country. Where is Mrs. Innman? Me must explain to her that me mean de other necessaire, and not dis necessaire.”
Servant—“You perhaps had better see Mr. Innman, as it would not be proper to explain such a thing to Mrs. Innman.”
Gouraud—(Seizing the servant by the throat)—“You are one tam villain, and me tell you me must see Mrs. Innman, for to ask her pardon, or Mr. Innman will give me no more puffs of my astonishing System of Mnemotechny. Me must see Mrs. Innman. Dare—dare is one gold pencil, (it was copper plated) and now let me see Mrs. Innman.”
Servant—“Well, I will ask her if it be agreeable to see you.”
Gouraud—“Bury well—bury well—and me will wait domb stairs, until you come with Mrs. Innman.”