It is a most remarkable¹ thing. I sat down with the full intention ofwriting something clever and original; but for the life of me I can'tthink of anything clever and original--at least, not at this moment.

The only thing I can think about now is being hard up. I supposehaving my hands in my pockets has made me think about this. I alwaysdo sit with my hands in my pockets except when I am in the company ofmy sisters, my cousins, or my aunts; and they kick up such a shindy--Ishould say expostulate so eloquently² upon the subject--that I have togive in and take them out--my hands I mean. The chorus to theirobjections is that it is not gentlemanly. I am hanged if I can seewhy. I could understand its not being considered gentlemanly to putyour hands in other people's pockets (especially by the other people),but how, 0 ye sticklers³ for what looks this and what looks that, canputting his hands in his own pockets make a man less gentle? Perhapsyou are right, though. Now I come to think of it, I have heard somepeople grumble⁴ most savagely⁵ when doing it. But they were mostly oldgentlemen. We young fellows, as a rule, are never quite at easeunless we have our hands in our pockets. We are awkward and shifty.

We are like what a music-hall Lion Comique would be without hisopera-hat, if such a thing can be imagined. But let us put our handsin our trousers pockets, and let there be some small change in theright-hand one and a bunch of keys in the left, and we will face afemale post-office clerk.

It is a little difficult to know what to do with your bands, even inyour pockets, when there is nothing else there. Years ago, when mywhole capital would occasionally come down to "what in town the peoplecall a bob," I would recklessly spend a penny of it, merely for thesake of having the change, all in coppers⁷, to jingle⁸. You don't feelnearly so hard up with eleven pence in your pocket as you do with ashilling. Had I been "La-di-da," that

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