"Wherefore, then, my friend," quoth I, "do you
not keep them?" "_Je ne suis pas egoiste_," he said, with a shrug. To
defend myself against his masterful solicitousness, I stated solemnly
that lotteries were illegal in England, and that if I returned thither
with a lottery-ticket the British Government would throw me into prison.
But he was not daunted: "_Appuyez-vous sur moi_," he replied
reassuringly.
BROADSTAIRS AND RAMSGATE
A story is current in the Clubs that Mr. Henry James innocently went to
Ramsgate, in order to possess his soul in peace. 'T was the height of the
rougher Ramsgate season, and there is something irresistibly incongruous
in the juxtaposition of the rarefied American novelist and the roaring
sands of Albion. In the which juxtaposition the story leaves him; and we
are ignorant of whether he turned tail and fled back to quieter London,
or whether he stayed on to collect unexpected material. Our analytical
cousin's stippling methods are, it is to be feared, but poorly adapted
for the painting of holiday crowds, which require the scene-painter's
brush, and lend themselves reluctantly to nuances. The colours have not
that dubiety so dear to the artist of the penumbra; the sands are as
yellow as the benches are red; and the niggers are quite as black as they
are burnt-corked.
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