An "Indignant One" writes:—"Sir—our house is infested with mice. Seeing a gentleman's name in the Times with the words 'Mus. Doc.' after it, I sent to him. If I had wanted to have a horse cured, and had seen 'equus doc.' after somebody's name, I should have acted in the same manner. I have sent three times and obtained no answer. If I do not hear from him by to-night's post, informing me why he does not come and give me a prescription for curing this plague of mice, I shall publish his name and address as an impostor, and the sooner he drops the 'Mus. Doc.' the better." [We publish the grievance. Our Correspondent is too learned. Let him call at the Royal Academy of Music.—Ed.]
THE TRIVIAL ROUND.
Being the Utterances of Mrs. Jabberly Jones on Show Sunday.
[Not Intended for Publication.]
Well, there, my dear child, it's no use making a fuss about it—one must do it, and there's an end of it! People in our position ought to be ready to make some sacrifice for Art. I ordered luncheon half-an-hour earlier on purpose. Last year I only did thirty studios, and I want to do much more than that this afternoon, if I can. Of course, I know I shall be a perfect wreck to-morrow, but one expects that. I do wish Artists wouldn't live in such out-of-the-way places. I'm sure Chandler is out of temper already—I can tell by the way he is driving. Yes, this will do nicely, Chandler; we will walk the rest. Quite a string of carriages, you see. It would never have done to have left Mr. Melbury out! No, he didn't exactly send me a card, but I've met him somewhere, and that does quite as well. Oh, my dear, it will be all right; keep close to me, and you needn't even open your lips. Very tastefully decorated, isn't it? Eccentric, of course, but they're all like that. Such a mass of azaleas. I daresay they're only hired for the Sunday, you know, but a very charming effect. Straight on to the studio? Thank you, I know the way perfectly. How are you, dear Mr. Melbury? I couldn't dream of leaving you out, you know. My daughter. Thanks; but I can see beautifully where I am. Oh, of course I recollect the subject. How clever of you to choose it, and how originally you've treated it, too! Not for the Academy? Why, surely they'd never reject that! Oh, because of the glass? I see. Well, I think all pictures ought to be glazed, myself—such an improvement. Good-bye, such a pleasure to have seen it; so many thanks. Eugenia, dear, you must really tear yourself away. So many places to go to; good-bye, good-bye!... Well, to tell you the truth, my dear, the glass got in the way, and I've no more idea what the picture was about than you have. Still, I'm very glad we went in, all the same. Now where shall we go next? Most of the people seem going into that studio across the road, so there's sure to be something worth seeing there. No, I don't know whose it is, but what does that matter? they're always glad to see you on Show Sunday....
Eugenia, my dear, I don't like to see you putting yourself forward so much at your age. Of course I knew as well as you did that it wasn't James the First that Monmouth rebelled against, though I'm not in the school-room. It's not at all pretty of you to correct your mother in that ostentatious manner, and don't let it occur again. There, you needn't say another word. We'll just pop in here for a minute, and then we must drive on somewhere else. I wish I could see you taking more interest in Art, Eugenia. I thought you would enjoy being taken out like this!... Well, yes, I think we will have just a cup.... Good-bye—thank you so much—quite the pictures of the year. Such a treat—oh, not at all—I never flatter.... By the way, Eugenia, did we go up and see his pictures? I thought not. I was dying for a cup of tea, and so,—and then, meeting Mr. Holland Park in the hall like that, I naturally congratulated him. Oh, nonsense—we can't go back now—we shall see them some time, I daresay. I wish I could get Cullender to send me up some of that pretty pinky-coloured cake for my afternoons—it was really quite nice. If I had only thought of it, I would have asked Mr. Park how it was made. And what becoming caps those maids had on! Models, no doubt. Drive as fast as you can, Chandler, it's getting so late. Quite the other side of London—the poor horses, and on Sunday, too!—but it's a little education for you, my dear ...
Look at the carriages—such grand ones, too, most of them; but I've always heard he's a man of extraordinary talent ... Mrs. and Miss Jabberly Jones.... How do you do?...