1. When you ask if any one is at home, and the servant tells you he
don't know, but will go and see; asking your name: and then comes back
and answers in the negative?
2. When a man at an evening party says he does not waltz, "because his
head won't stand it?"
3. When you find a broken dish behind the dresser, and the cook says,
"the cat did it?"
4. When a friend presses you to "come and see him very soon—any day—he
always dines at five;" but won't state a time?
5. When a married couple are more than usually affectionate, and use
endearing terms, in public?
6. When a lady, holding out her glass for some wine at a supper, says,
"Oh, really; the least drop in the world, Mr. Smith: stop, stop?"
7. When the clown, a sweep, and a milk-pail, are all on the stage
together, in a pantomime?
8. When, at a small country party, the lemonade and negus get gradually
weaker towards the end of the evening?
9. When you see a gentleman vandyking between the area railings and the
lamp-post, addressing vague words to imaginary peeple?
[Illustration:
PISCES—Too deep!
]
THE ZODIAC.—FEBRUARY.
PISCES.—THE FISHES.
THE SONG OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL ANGLER.
I cannot tell the reason,—it is really very odd,—
My tackle is first-rate, and I've a most expensive rod,
Bought at the _Golden Perch_, the shop that's always selling off;
And yet, with all my outlay, I've got nothing but a cough.
I think the fish are altered since old Walton wrote his book;
They shun the simple gentle, and suspect it "with a hook."
I think I mayn't be deep enough: in vain I move the quill,
For fish as deeply as I choose, the fish are deeper still.
No pike I've seen; the only one was that unpleasant wicket,
Where threepence I was forced to pay, and now I've lost the ticket;
Nor yet a single perch, for which my lucky stars to thank,
Except the perch I've taken on this damp, rheumatic bank.
I can't pick up a chub, though on the lock all day I stick;
They say it is impossible a lock of Chub to pick:
A flounder would be welcome; but unfeeling wags remark,
I shall get lots of them to-night returning in the dark.
Upon that bobbing quill, all day I have done nought but gloat,
Till I've almost become one; as the song says, _I'm a float!_
Come soles, brill, flounders, fresh or salt; however flat ye be,
Be sure you will not fail to find a greater flat in me.