notorieties and crowned heads running counter to morality such as the Cornwall case a number of years before under their veneer in a way scarcely intended by nature, a thing good Mrs Grundy, as the law stands, was terribly down on though not for the reason they thought they were probably whatever it was except women chiefly who were always fiddling more or less at one another it being largely a matter of dress and all the rest of it.  Ladies who like distinctive underclothing should, and every welltailored man must, trying to make the gap wider between them by innuendo and give more of a genuine filip to acts of impropriety between the two, she unbuttoned his and then he untied her, mind the pin, whereas savages in the cannibal islands, say, at ninety degrees in the shade not caring a continental.  However, reverting to the original, there were on the other hand others who had forced their way to the top from the lowest rung by the aid of their bootstraps.  Sheer force of natural genius, that.  With brains, sir.

For which and further reasons he felt it was his interest and duty even to wait on and profit by the unlookedfor occasion though why he could not exactly tell being as it was already several shillings to the bad having in fact let himself in for it.  Still to cultivate the acquaintance of someone of no uncommon calibre who could provide food for reflection would amply repay any small.  Intellectual stimulation, as such, was, he felt, from time to time a firstrate tonic for the mind.  Added to which was the coincidence of meeting, discussion, dance, row, old salt of the here today and gone tomorrow type, night loafers, the whole galaxy of events, all went to make up a miniature cameo of the world we live in especially as the lives of the submerged tenth, viz. coalminers, divers, scavengers etc., were very much under the microscope lately.  To improve the shining hour he wondered whether he might meet with anything approaching the same luck as Mr Philip Beaufoy if taken down in writing suppose he were to pen something out of the common groove (as he fully intended doing) at the rate of one guinea per column.  My experiences, let us say, in A cabman’s shelter.

The pink edition extra sporting of the telegraph tell a graphic lie lay, as luck would have it, beside his elbow and as he was just puzzling again, far from satisfied, over a country belonging to him and the preceding rebus the vessel came from Bridgwater and the postcard was addressed A. Boudin find the captain’s age, his eyes went aimlessly over the respective captions which came under his special province the allembracing give us this day our daily press.  First he got a bit of a start but it turned out to be only something about somebody named H. du Boyes, agent for typewriters or something like that.  Great battle, Tokio.  Lovemaking in Irish, 200 pounds damages.  Gordon Bennett.  Emigration Swindle.  Letter from His Grace.  William.  Ascot meeting, the Gold Cup.  Victory of outsider throwaway recalls Derby of ’92 when Capt.  Marshall’s dark horse sir Hugo captured the blue ribband at long odds.  New York disaster.  Thousand lives lost.  Foot and Mouth.  Funeral of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.