The other evening I attended the theatre, and casting my eye
over the audience between acts, I beheld no less than a score of
bald-headed men. They were composed, and even cheerful, under an
infliction that would have ostracized a woman. Imagine a man taking a
bald-headed woman to see the "Railroad of Love!" Imagine a bald-headed
girl with a fat, red neck and white eyelashes being in eager demand for
parties, coaching jubilees or private suppers. There never was a man
so homely, so halt, so deficient in beauty or brain that he could not
get a wife when he wanted, but the candidates for the position of
mistress of any man's household must be pretty, graceful and sweet.
The chances are uneven, my dear, but what are you going to do about it?
XXX.
HUMAN STRAWS.
There is not much credit in being jolly when the joints of life are
well oiled and events move as smoothly as feathers drawn through cream.
The glory lies in maintaining your serenity under adverse
circumstances; in emulating Mark Tapley, and being jolly when there is
not a hand's breadth of blue in all the heavens. There are straws laid
upon us every day, which, if they do not break our backs, at least go
far to loosen the vertebrae of our temper. One of these straws is the
man who expectorates in public places. What shall I do with that man?
I cannot kill him, because there is a law against the violent removal
of even a human straw.
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