Some of the "Presents for Christmas" above referred to were Chignons which looked like horses' tails. Others of the Chignons for Christmas-Boxes exhibited a remarkable resemblance to the tail of a comet, from which eccentric luminary the idea of those prodigious top-knots may possibly have been borrowed. Astronomy, along with Geography and the Use of the Globes, has long formed a branch of female education. An intelligent girl, fresh from boarding-school, if requested to describe the _Coma Berenices_ might, or might not inform her questioner that it was a celestial Chignon.
Among the names of possible candidates for the Speakership was that of MR. SAMUEL WHITBREAD, Member for Bedford. He would be an excellent Speaker, but, as matter of humanity, _Punch_ must have opposed this selection. Imagine a triumph of the Anti-Liquor League, imagine the success of a Bill for putting down Porter, and imagine a grandson of WHITBREAD having to say "That this Bill do pass!"
[Illustration: H]OME we return from otter-hunting. Tired, but expecting a "Nicht wi' RUDDOCK." He is to be at dinner, and a few very intimates are coming in the evening. The few "very intimates" have no distance to drive--merely a matter of eight miles or so.
From my window I hear carriages drawing up exactly at two minutes to seven o'clock. Punctuality in Cornwall is the soul of pleasure.
Odd: at the last moment I can't find either a collar or a white tie! "Come, Desperation, lend thy furious hold!" Rummage in the drawers, in the portmanteau. Staggered. Where can it be?--the collar, I mean. Rummage again. Getting hot and excited. Ought always to come down to dinner calm, cool, and collected. I shall be the only one late, and _I_ hadn't to come twelve miles to dinner. No excuse except the real one,--"Couldn't find my collars, or a tie." Only one thing for it. Ring the bell, and ask servant.
"O yes. Sir! We were changing the drawers from this room to Master's. I dessay, Sir, they're in there." They are. Rapture!
_Flash._--Stirring subject for operatic and descriptive music--A Gentleman's Toilet in Difficulties.
_Next Difficulty._--Drop a stud suddenly. Hear it fall close by my foot. In fact, I feel, from some peculiar sensation _in_ my foot, that it is here, on the floor, close to me. No. Hunt for it. Can't see it anywhere. [_Mem._--Never travel without duplicate studs. Won't, another time.] Still stooping: feeling about the carpet. Hands getting dirty again, hair coming unbrushed, face growing warm and red.