“And if, in other days and hours, Mid other fluffs and other flowers, The choice were given me how to dine—— ‘Name what thou wilt: it shall be thine!’ Oh, then I see The life for me—— Ipwergis-Pudding to consume, And drink the subtle Azzigoom!” “Oo may leave off playing _now_, Sylvie. I can do the uvver tune much better wizout a compliment.” “He means ‘without _accompaniment_,’” Sylvie whispered, smiling at my puzzled look: and she pretended to shut up the stops of the organ. “The Badgers did not care to talk to Fish: They did not dote on Herrings’ songs: They never had experienced the dish To which that name belongs: ‘And oh, to pinch their tails,’ (this was their wish,) ‘With tongs, yea, tongs, and tongs!’” I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis, in the air, with his finger. It seemed to me a very good plan. You know there’s no _sound_ to represent it—any more than there is for a question. Suppose you have said to your friend, “You are better to-day,” and that you want him to understand that you are asking him a _question_, what can be simpler than just to make a ‘?’ in the air with your finger? He would understand you in a moment! “‘And are not these the Fish,’ the Eldest sighed, ‘Whose Mother dwells beneath the foam?’ ‘They _are_ the Fish!’ the Second one replied. ‘And they have left their home!’ ‘Oh wicked Fish,’ the Youngest Badger cried, ‘To roam, yea, roam, and roam!’ [Illustration: ‘THOSE AGED ONES WAXED GAY’] “Gently the Badgers trotted to the shore—— The sandy shore that fringed the bay: Each in his mouth a living Herring bore—— Those aged ones waxed gay: Clear rang their voices through the ocean’s roar, ‘Hooray, hooray, hooray!’” “So they all got safe home again,” Bruno said, after waiting a minute to see if _I_ had anything to say: he evidently felt that _some_ remark ought to be made. And I couldn’t help wishing there were some such rule in Society, at the conclusion of a song—that the singer _herself_ should say the right thing, and not leave it to the audience. Suppose a young lady has just been warbling (‘with a grating and uncertain sound’) Shelley’s exquisite lyric ‘_I arise from dreams of thee_’: how much nicer it would be, instead of _your_ having to say “Oh, _thank_ you, _thank_ you!” for the young lady herself to remark, as she draws on her gloves, while the impassioned words ‘_Oh, press it to thine own, or it will break at last!_’ are still ringing in your ears, “—but she wouldn’t do it, you know. So it _did_ break at last.” “And I _knew_ it would!” she added quietly, as I started at the sudden crash of broken glass. “You’ve been holding it sideways for the last minute, and letting all the champagne run out! Were you asleep, I wonder? I’m _so_ sorry my singing has such a narcotic effect!” CHAPTER XVIII. QUEER STREET, NUMBER FORTY.