SUNDERED LIVES.
Bertie. "I thought you Two never met without Kissing. Anything the matter? The Green-eyed Monster?"
Muriel. "No, you silly! Hats!"
A DISCOVERY IN LIQUEURS.
Sir,—You remember Mr. Squeers's system of theoretical and practical teaching, "'W-i-n-d-e-r-s.' Go and clean 'em"? Of course you do; and if the quotation is not letter perfect, it is its "spirit," which is more suited to my present theme, at all events. Well, Sir, "them's my principles." Accordingly, after reading your advice as to taking a Summer Sunday trip to Calais and back by Calais-Doûvres, or one of the large boats in L. C. and D. service, I acted upon it, and went. The trajet was simply perfect! Such weather! Sea so calm! Breeze refreshing! Company distinguished! Commander Wattelbled, and First Lieutenant Carini, with all hands, waiting to give us (at a price as fair and moderate as the Channel breeze on this occasion) excellent refreshment. But to sing their praise is not my point; they do their duty, and pay it too, as we voyageurs have to do, on cigars, teas, and tobacco. I had time to refer to hotel's list of wines and liqueurs, and among the latter there appeared a name which brought tears to the eyes of the wanderer far from his English home; and that name, Sir, coming after "Kümmel, and Marasquin, and Whisky," was "Old Tom-Gim"—"Tom Gim" with an "m." How far superior to "Gin" with an "n." It brought to mind early days of catechism, "M. or N., as the case may be." This was a case of liqueurs. How preferable the soft liquid "m" to the less soft "n" in making "Gin" into "Gim"! And how much one would like to alter the spelling, and make it "Old Tom Jim." Would he not be seized upon by a French librettist as the very name, par excellence, for a typical Ancient English Mariner in an opera? Don't you see it? "Capitaine John Smith; First Mate Old Tom Jim" with song (nautical). Vive Gim! Now, with my discovery, I regain the good ship, and, once aboard the lugger ... by the way, there is an eighteen-penny tax now levied by the French on those who land at Calais. "Happy Thought. Don't land." But, Unhappy Thought, if we don't land in the pas-de-Calais, the result will be pas de déjeuner. So—"bang goes sax-pence," for "We don't kill a pig every week."
Yours,
Thomas le Vieux.
P.S.—And another one-and-sixpence extra on landing at Dover! All the "fun of the fare," eh?