“Capital!” cries the Captain.  “Look here, Mrs. GOSLING,—­I’ve just thought of a little joke.  I want to see if he’ll know me.  Now you go and talk to him a little, and—­presently, you know—­say there’s a man in the drawing-room, who’s come to wind the clocks, and then I’ll come in to where you are, and make believe to wind the clock there—­do you see?  I’d bet anything he won’t spot me at first!”

You are young enough to be delighted at the idea of such a pretty little comedy, and you trip away to the study, and archly keep dear WILLIAM in conversation until the Captain is ready to make his appearance.  At last, a little impatiently, you give the cue by mentioning that there is a clock-winder in the drawing-room.  WILLIAM is amusingly suspicious, and insists on seeing the man.  As the scene will be just as funny in the drawing-room, you accompany him thither—­but there is no gallant Captain there affecting to wind your charming little Sevres clock (a wedding present)—­he has gone, and—­alas! without leaving a timepiece for anybody else to wind.  And WILLIAM is most disagreeable and unpleasant about it!

* * * * *

NOTES FROM A NURSERY-GARDEN.

(BY AN AWFULLY CLEVER CHILD.)

DEAR MR. PUNCH,—­I am a Poetess.  I am told that the Age is old, and that Poetry is over. My age is ten, and my poetry is certainly not over.  My nurse (one of those horrid critics) has ventured to suggest that I am not original.  I leave you to judge.  Yours impatiently, ENFANT TERRIBLE.

N.W.

  Alack! up Northern Primrose Hill
    (Sing, oh, JACK! sing, ah, GILL!)
  They climbed, and deemed it Helicon,
  Those childish bards, GILLETTE and JOHN,
    Their pails with Hippocrene to fill.
    (Sing, oh, JACK! sing, ah, GILL!)

  Adown that Western Hill, alack!
    (Sing, ah, GILL! sing, oh, JACK!)
  Or e’er they gained the Muses’ well,
  JACK kicked his bucket frail and, fell. 
    And GILL was brought upon her back.
    (Sing, ah, GILL! sing, oh, JACK!)

TO A SCENTY PEDE.

  How doth yonder miniature featness,
    Though wingless, with gossamer wit,
  Foregather mellifluent sweetness,
    While Fates unrelenting permit—­
  Wise heir of bright hours, completeness
    Of blossoms that flicker and flit.

ON A JAPANESE SCREEN.

  In Yeddo, where long lilies weep, Bo’ Peep
  The shepherdess hath lost her sheep. 
  She recks not where the sheep have strayed, Poor maid,
  Beneath the Boodha-Temple’s shade.

Her solace is the Minstrel’s:  I’d Let slide
My flocks of verse without a guide. 
So will they best return without A doubt—­
Or tale that mortal can make out.

MISS MUFFET.

So sweet! 
Child-Innocence, with upward-curling feet
On buffet-seat,
Resolving (as we all resolve) to eat. 
So sad! 
The ravening Spider from his eyrie mad
Swoops, boldly bad,
And scares (as spiders scare) the Pure and Glad.