It is not everyone who can, like a certain racing nobleman, fall back on a horse to pull him through. When it got into the middle of the racing week, and Lord W—— found the bookmakers had had the best of him, he used to telegraph to his training-stable, "Send Indian Star," and that trustworthy animal almost invariably won some little race on which his lordship would plunge.

A man in the City (surely that is vague enough), not having a horse to relieve him from his monetary dilemma, was got out of the difficulty through a Christmas wine-hamper.

If what I am told be correct, his Christmas wine-hamper business was quite as legitimate as the concern known in these days as the "American Singing Bird." Not having heard the following conversation myself, you must take it as it was given to me. The scene took place in a novelty store, between the proprietor and his shopman:—

Proprietor (to shopman)—Much business this morning?

Shopman—Quiet; very quiet.

Proprietor—What! No demand for nose machines?

Shopman—None.

Proprietor—Nor cork legs?

Shopman—Not any.

Proprietor—Very sad! Something must be done. Of course you've got rid of a number of home knitters?

[Pg 11]

[Pg 11]

Shopman—No!

Proprietor—Not sold even a baby?

Shopman—There has only been one man here this morning, and he wanted a glass eye of a green colour; but I think it was only his fun.

Proprietor—Tut, tut! This is dreadful! Heavy expenses and no returns! Out with the Canary!

The canary, when wound up, can really sing not only for a minute or two, but, by a secret contrivance, its melodious voice goes on without a break for hours! So my informant tells me. It always attracts large and admiring crowds, many of 

 Prev. P 9/124 next