At least she
chose to think herself so, though I now have vague suspicions that the
singing lady knew more about it all than she cared to tell. All I know
is that the doctor was sent for, and that, after a long confab in the
sick room, he came to me and ordered my immediate return home. "Your
poor Aunt requires perfect quiet," he said.
Having no choice in the matter, I packed my boxes; not exactly with
reluctance, but still with an uncomfortable feeling of being
wanted out of the way. Aunt's last words to me rather confirmed my
suspicions. "Ah! you are off, are you? Well, I may pull through this
time--I think I feel better already." Then, with a pecking kiss, and
an inaudible remark anent the ingratitude of relations, she dismissed
me. As I left the house I distinctly heard that singing creature run
up-stairs and into Aunt's room.
On the way back to town I decided that she (Aunt I mean) was
right--relations are _disgustingly_ ungrateful.
Yours, much hurt,
THE ODD GIRL OUT.
* * * * *
TO THE CHAMPION (CRICKET) COUNTY.
_"Skilful Surrey's sage commands."_
There is a cue from WALTER SCOTT!
(_Not_ Surrey's "WALTER.") _Punch_ claps hands,
And sings out, "Bravo, SHUTER'S Lot!"
* * * * *
THEATRICAL PROBABILITIES.
New pieces by HENRY AUTHOR JONES, author of _Judah, The Deacon,
&c.:--The Archbishop; The Salvationist, or Boothiful for Ever! The
Rural Dean_ (a pastoral play); _The Chorister_, a stirring drama,
showing how a Chorister struggled with his conscience.
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