Going on to D—­Dickens, in a description of a street row, represents one of the lady disputants as saying to her adversary, “You go home, and, when you are quite sober, mend your stockings”; and he adds that these allusions, not only to her intemperate habits but to the state of her wardrobe, were so exasperating to the accused party that she proceeded to comply, not with the suggestion of her accuser, but with the request of the bystanders, and to “pitch in” with considerable alacrity.  Assuming that her hose was as reported, let us hope that she had the worst of the combat, for there is something in the idea of a dowdy which is hateful to the manly mind.  How life-like the portrait which the word paints for us! a coarse, fat female, her dingy cap, with its faded ribbons, awry upon her unkempt hair; eyes hookless, holes buttonless, upon her shabby gown; a boot-lace trailing on the ground.  When we clergy visit Mrs. Dowdy’s home, or the residence of her sister, Mrs. Slattern, and find that, though it is towards evening, they have not tidied either self or house, we know why the children are unhealthy and untaught, and why the husband prefers the warmth and cleanliness of “The Manor Arms” to his own miserable hut.  As a house-keeper, Mrs. Dowdy could only “please the pigs”; and this reminds me what an apt word we have in dunky for a rotund, obese, little porket.  I do not find the latter in Johnson, but dowdy in Shakespeare, and slattern is from the Swedish.

No word suggests itself as I stand at E’s, and I therefore proceed with a sonata in F, composed, not by Beethoven, but by a horse-breaker, with certain amplifications of my own:  “The young horse was in famous fettle, and framed splendidly over the flakes; but he seemed all of a flabber-gaster when he caught sight of the water, put himself into a regular fandango, and the more I flanked him the more he funked, till in he went with a flop.”

I come now to a gem of purest ray serene.  To me the monosyllable gorp is a thing of beauty and a joy for ever.  Take a youth, who has passed his life as an underling on some secluded farm, to an exhibition of wax figures, gorgeously attired, rolling their eyes and lifting up their arms to slow music, and you shall see him gorp.  Or go with that young man to a display of fireworks, and when the first asteroid rocket sends out its glowing stars you shall see that wide-mouthed, wobbling agriculturist so gorp as to make it almost impossible for the descending stick to go anywhere save down his throat.

But we are all of us naturally fond of gorping.  We abstain in our sensitive days, because somebody said it was vulgar; but, as we grow older and wiser, and that bell-wether Fashion tinkles vainly in our ears, we flatten our happy noses upon the shop-windows once again, and thoroughly enjoy our gorp.