"Damme, if he could make either head or tail
of them."

It has been my function occasionally, dear
sir, to accompany you when you have been
walking about those regions of our metropolis
which are mainly frequented by persons of good
condition.  We have also had other mutual
experiences of the society of the day.  I have
been with you to a fancy bazaar before now;
also, on more than one occasion, we have met at
garden-parties; and more rarely—since evening
exertion is naturally becoming distasteful to
you—we have attended a dinner-party, or an
"at home," in each other's company, with great
pleasure, as far as I am concerned, I assure
you.  Well, sir, on such occasions as these
which I have mentioned, it has frequently
struck me that you have not been altogether
pleased with the manners and customs of that
portion of the creation which is by popular
consent known as the weaker sex.

I have inferred this dissatisfaction on your
part, less from anything distinctly expressed by
you, than from various small indications which
I have observed: half sentences muttered
unconsciously, ejaculatory remarks, and the like.
When, for instance, an open carriage containing
specimens of the "fairer portion" has whirled
past us, each fair portion leaning back on the
cushions, and surveying not only us but all
creation with looks of indolent contempt, I
have heard you mutter—though I have taken no
notice at the time—a curious and incomplete
sentence:  "Upon my word!"  That is what
I have heard you say, under your breath:
—"Upon my word!"

At another time, when we were crossing
Rotten Row one morning—you remember, no
doubt—and one of these delicate creatures, whose
health probably required gentle exercise, came
upon us at full gallop, so suddenly that it was
nearly all up with us both, and we had to crash
back upon each other in complete and
undignified ruin; on this occasion also I
remarked, that when you came to yourself, and
while you looked after the whirling apparition,
now half a mile away, that incomplete and
curious sentence once more rose to your lips,
and again I heard you gasp, "Upon my word!"
There was an accident, by-the-by, reported in
the paper next day—lady riding furiously in
Rotten Row—child killed—or something of the
sort.  But that is neither here nor there.  What
remains with me is your expression of
consternation, and perhaps of displeasure: "Upon my
word!"

But I think that your eyes were opened the
most widely of all, and that the rudest shock of
all was communicated to your system, on that
particular occasion when we were both inveigled
into the St. James's Hall, at the time when a
Fancy Bazaar in aid of the Funds of the Poor
Curates' Gratuitous Cravat-Bleaching Society
was held there.  You certainly were somewhat
roughly handled by the young ladies that day.
For some reason or other, they did not molest
me so much.  Perhaps they felt that I, as a
member of the new generation, was up to all
the dodges of the day, insensible to cajolery,
and capable of saying no; or it may have
been that my appearance did not suggest the
possession of much loose cash, and that yours
did; at all events, the truth must be owned that
you were bidden to stand and deliver in a fashion
which there was no resisting.  It was, in truth, a
wonderful scene; rapine and extortion flourished
unchecked, and you, my dear father, were very
far from being the only victim of these merciless
young women.  Their rapacity, indeed, knew no
limits, and was, I will frankly admit, startling
even to me.  As to you, I believe that you went
to that bazaar anticipating something widely
different from what you found.  I believe you
had visions of certain retiring young ladies
hidden behind counters, modestly prepared to
take anything that was given them, making
bones about receiving your money at all,
ignorant of its worth, prepared to give you more
change than you had a right to, and rewarding
your generosity in making a purchase with many
grateful speeches and sweet smiles.  I cannot
help suspecting that something of this sort had
been before, your mind's eye.  Perhaps, even,
you had indulged in wild ideas of purchasing
something which might have been a useful,
or at any rate an agreeable possession, and
making rather a good thing of it into the
bargain.  If you had thus deluded yourself, you
certainly had cause to be disappointed.  The
reality was very different from any such
imaginary picture.  Far from manifesting any
diffidence about taking your money, or hesitating
to ask a remunerative price for the articles
exhibited for sale, the ladies on duty behind the
counters on the memorable occasion of our visit
to St. James's Hall, showed themselves to be
such sharp practitioners, that even I, belonging,
as I have said, to the period, "native here and
to the manner born," was astonished.

The delicate and retiring young persons who
officiated in aid of this great charity, appeared to
have made up their mind to "push business" by
any and every means, fair or foul.  They watched
with vulture-eyes for the approach of any unwary
wretch who happened, unlike Banquo's ghost, to
have "speculation in his eyes."  Let him only
venture to draw near a stall, or to examine for a
moment any object exposed for sale, and behold,
like a fly entangled in a web, he was caught; and
once caught, let him escape if he could.  The lady
—young or otherwise—who took him in hand was
certain to skin him alive before she would let him
go again.  He had taken a cigar-case up in his
hand, it was enough—of course the thing was
to be his.  He had looked inquiringly at a
card-rack, had accidentally touched a blue
satin sachet with his hand—of course these
articles were to be regarded as his property
from that moment.  There only remained the
formality of paying for them: a process which
did not fail to develop in the victim's mind
some entirely new ideas as to the worth of the
objects.

The young ladies at our fancy bazaars do not