While Stefani rapidly fingers them over,
Feelingly, fervidly fingers them over.
Illusion that enervates! Feverish dream
Of excitement magnetic, inspired, supreme,
Or despairing dejection, alternate, extreme!
Gad! These opium-benumbing performances seem,
In their sad wild unresting irregular flow
Just expressly concocted for William Barlow.
Oh! dear Raggedy, oh!
Why, they ravish the heart, sir, of Billy Barlow."

Du Maurier's stay on the Continent had come to a close some time
before mine, and to that circumstance I owe several letters in which
he speaks of his first experiences in London. He revelled in the
metamorphosis he was going through, and illustrated the past and the
present for my better comprehension. There on one side of the Channel
he shows the dejected old lion of Malines gnawing his tobaccoless clay
pipe, and then on the other the noble beast stalking along jauntily
with tail erect and havannah alight. He wrote in high spirits:--

[Illustration]

"DEAR BOBTAIL,--I need not tell you how very jolly it was to
get your letter and to hear good news of you. My reason for
not writing was that I intended to make my position before
giving of my news to anybody. I was just funky and blue about
it at first, but fortunately I was twigged almost immediately,
and, barring my blessed idleness, am getting on splendaciously
just now. Lots of my things have been out. I'm going in for
becoming a swell.