* * * * *
"G.B.R.L."
G.B.R.L.'s are an old-established convention in my family. Joan and
Pauline ("Porgie" _libentius audit_) are exceptional authorities on
the animal world in general; exceptional, at any rate, for their
years, which respectively total four-spot-six and two-spot-five. They
confound their parents daily with questions relating to the habits of
marmots or the language of kiwis. But they never talk about
"lions," _tout court_. A lion is, _ex-officio_ and _ipso facto_, a
Great-Big-Roarin'-Lion--always has been: in short, a G.B.R.L.
It reminds me of a man I know who was made a G.B.E.; but that's
another story, and Joan wouldn't see the joke of it anyhow, though I
know she would smile politely.
But in this matter of lions, from which I am tending to digress, the
old G.B.R. convention has just been weighed in the balance and found
wanting. It came about in this wise. Joan's and Porgie's Uncle Barney
(his nose is _retroussé_, if anything, only he had the misfortune to
be born on St. Barnabas' Day) departed the other day for Afric's sunny
shores--for Algiers, in fact--to nurse a tedious trench legacy. This,
of course, was a matter of great concern to his nieces, in whose eyes
he is distinctly _persona grata_, owing to his command of persiflage
and taste in confectionery.
I went into the nursery on the fateful morning to break the sad news.
My daughters were at breakfast and I was just in time to hear Joan's
grace, "Thank God for our b'ekfas'--and _do_ make us good." The
extremely sanctimonious tone in which this was delivered, combined
with the melodramatic scowl which marred the usual serenity of
Porgie's countenance, convinced me that the morning had commenced
inauspiciously and that it would be well to gild the pill which I had
to administer.
"Hallo, stout women," I said cheerfully. Joan looked politely bored
but made no reply.
"Not 'tout wimmin," said Porgie heavily and uncompromisingly.
Obviously it was too early in the day for any of that sparkling
back-chat for which my daughters are so justly famed. So I got down to
hard tacks at once.
"Your Uncle Barney," I said, "is going to Algiers to-day."
I explained that Algiers was in Africa, where the black men come from.
Joan was mildly intrigued. She opined that her Uncle Barney would
follow the local customs (as she understood them) and wear no clothes.
I said I doubted if his medical adviser would approve of his
carrying international courtesy to such an extreme. Joan was frankly
disappointed. So I tried again.
"I expect he'll see some lions in Africa," I suggested.
Joan's interest revived. "Great-big-roarin'-lions," she corrected me.
Porgie expressed herself, as usual, in precisely similar terms.
"Yes," I said feelingly, "great big roarers. I expect they'll eat him
up quite soon."
Joan looked deeply concerned at this callous prediction, and the
corners of Porgie's mouth drooped ominously.
"I don't like roarin' lions," said Joan.
"Don't nike roarin' nions," said Porgie.
"Are they in cages?" suggested Joan hopefully. This was an excellent
idea.
"Of course they are," I said with great heartiness.
Joan was not satisfied. "Will they roar when they see Uncle Barney?"
she inquired.
This gave me my chance most unexpectedly. "I should just think they
will," I said. "If they see him dressed like your black men, they'll
roar till the tears pour down their cheeks."
"I 'spect they'd be laughing at him," said Joan, gracefully helping me
out.
"I 'spect so," I replied.
"_I_ see," said Joan comfortably.
"_I_ see," said Porgie.
* * * * *
So G.B.R.L. has come to have a new and a more genial significance,
thanks to Uncle Barney.
* * * * *
"Vacant Possession, through sickness.--Capital Chop, with good
living accommodation, in best business position."--_Daily Paper._
Purchaser will acquire a steak in the country.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =ANOTHER CHILD ACTRESS.=
_Mrs. Bluff_ (_a popular pauper_). "NOW, FANNY, WHAT'LL YER SAY WHEN I
TAKES YER INTO THE KIND LADY'S DRORIN'-ROOM?"
_Fanny_ (_thoroughly proficient_). "OH, THAT'S AN EASY ONE. I'LL PUT
ON A BEWTIFUL LORST LOOK AN' SAY, 'MUVVER, THIS IS 'EAVEN!'"]
* * * * *
=Mr. Punch's Misquotations.=
Of a prima donna who sang in a private drawing-room: "At a party she
gave what was meant for mankind." (GOLDSMITH).
* * * * *
"FAR-FETCHED HERRING.
"The steam drifter Bruces landed at Buckie to-day the
furthest-fetched catch of herrings on record. The herrings were
caught on the Yarmouth grounds, over 4000 miles distant."
_Scotch Paper._
The last detail seems as far-fetched as the fish.
* * * * *
"Lost, in Paragon Street or Station, Black Dog with purse, money,
eyeglass and papers; name and address inside.--Reward returning
same."--_Daily Paper._
But suppose the finder is an anti-vivisectionist?
* * * * *
There was a young lady named Janet,
Who committed high treason in Thanet;
She dressed up her cat
In a _D**ly M**l_ hat,
And was promptly fired out of this planet.
* * * * *