: Some eminent Victorians: Personal recollections in the world of art and letters by Carr J Comyns Joseph Comyns - English literature 19th century; Great Britain Intellectual life 19th century; Art Victorian

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fire Toole in his desire to make his better acquaintance. He complimented the urchin upon his dexterous use of the broom, a compliment to which the surly boy vouchsafed no audible reply. Toole, entirely undaunted, persisted in his overtures of friendship.

"That's right, my lad," he cried, "use your broom, and when you go to bed at night hang it up by the side of your bed."

This injunction, so entirely unsolicited, seemed to rouse the boy's ire, and his dormant powers of speech suddenly returning, he inquired of Toole, in tones that were almost indignant, "Why should I?"

"Because," answered Toole, with a persuasive manner that seemed to convey a convincing argument, "if by chance you should wake in the night, there's your little broom."

The boy, to do him justice, seemed by no means appeased by this obvious explanation, and reverted again to his aimless occupation of dusting the vacant seats of the untenanted bowers of the tea-gardens. Whereupon Toole, still undefeated, attacked the citadel from another quarter.

"When is your birthday?" he inquired, and the boy, entirely taken off his guard, replied, "To-morrow!" and then, again entrenching himself safely behind his bastion of surly reserve, demanded in trenchant tones, "What's that got to do with you?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" replied Toole, "only I thought I'd like to know if there was anything in particular you'd like for a birthday present."

The boy, at first obdurately silent, at last yielded under pressure, and confessed that the dream of his life was to possess a bicycle.

"Why not?" said Toole.

"There's nobody going to give me no bicycle," replied the boy, although his mood was now obviously melting under the infectious influence of the comedian's good-humour, and as we went towards the gate to get into our carriage the boy followed us, as though under some kind of spell induced by Toole's suggestion, "that you never knew who might send you the present you wanted."

It chanced that just at the entrance to the tea-gardens two bicycles were leaning against a hedge, and their two owners, flushed with exercise, were seated in jerseys beneath a tree quaffing a pot of ale.

"Why," cried Toole, in tones of wondering amazement, as though he saw before him the fulfilment of his own prophecy, "there is your bicycle!"

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