ppearance was calculated to provoke--and did provoke--roars
of laughter, though TIME only gazed the more sadly at him. He had
coarse black hair falling about his ears, a white face, and a crimson
nose; he wore a suit of dingy plaid, a battered hat, and long-fingered
thread gloves. And he sang, very slowly and dolefully, this
side-splitting ballad:--

"We met at the corner, Marire and me.
Quite permiscuous! Who'd ha' thought of it?
She took and invited me 'ome to tea;
Quite permiscuous! Who'd ha' thought of it?
I sat in the parler along with her,
Tucking into the eggs and the bread and but-ter,--
When in come her Par with the kitching po-ker!
_Quite_ permiscuous! _Who'd_ ha' thought of it?"

There was a chorus, of course:--

"Quite permiscuous! Who'd ha' thought of it?
Who can guess what's going to be!
Whatever you fancy'll fall far short of it.
That's the way things 'appen with me!"

It seemed that this was the first occasion on which the audience had
had the privilege of hearing this chaste and simple production, and
nothing could exceed their frantic delight--the song was rapturously
re-demanded again and again. Tears stood in TIME's eyes, but they were
not the tears of excessive mirth; it was almost incredible--but the
"Mastodon Mome" had only succeeded in rendering his depression more
acute.

"A melancholy performance that," he said, shaking his head, "a sorry
piece of vulgar buffoonery, Sir!"

"Aren't you rather severe, Sir?" remonstrated _Mr. Punch_; "the song
is an immense hit--it has, as they say on this planet, 'knocked them;'
from henceforth that vocalist's fortune is made; he will receive the
income of a Cabinet Minister, and his fame will spread from planet
to planet. Why, to-morrow, Sir, that commonplace phrase, '_Quite
permiscuous! Who'd ha' thought of it_?' will be upon the lips of every
inhabitant; it will receive brevet-rank as a witticism of the first
order, it will enrich the language, and enjoy an immortality, which
will endure--ah, till the introduction of a newer catchword! I assure
you the most successful book--the wittiest comedy, the divinest
poem, have never won for their authors the immediate and sensational
reputation which this singer has obtained at a bound with a few
doggerel verses and an ungrammatical refrain. Isn't there genius in
_that_, Sir?"

[Illustration]

"Ah!" said TIME, "I'm old-fashioned, I daresay. I'm no longer in the
movement.