HER, THEN?"

_Modern Child._ "OH NO; I DESERVED IT."]

* * * * *

GWENDOLEN'S HOBBIES.

Gwendolen, when we were wed,
In her artless manner said,
"Dear, I think I'd better
Choose a hobby, lest I find
Household duties cramp the mind."
Foolishly, I let her.

Books at first were her delight;
Gwendolen grew erudite;
Vain were my petitions,
Till in scientific terms
I dilated on the germs
Haunting first editions.

Then, for one expensive week,
China (guaranteed antique)--
Derby, Sevres and Lustre--
Charmed her, till our Abigail
Washed them in a kitchen pail,
Dried them with a duster!

Foreign stamps her time engrossed
For a busy month at most;
I endured--and waited.
Who so proud as Gwendolen
Of each gummy specimen
Till the craze abated?

Later (if I seem severe,
Gwendolen, forgive me, dear!)
Art proved all-compelling;
Post-Impressionist indeed
Were the colour-schemes decreed
For our modest dwelling.

* * * * *

With her last experiment
Gwendolen appears content;
Heaven grant she may be!
For, of all the hobbies run
By my wife, there isn't one
Suits her like a baby.

* * * * *

THE SITTER SAT UPON.

Wilkinson is a sculptor. I don't mean that he lives by sculping. No. As he
puts it himself: "My lower self, the self that wants bread and meat and
warmth and shelter, lives on unearned increment. My higher self, the only
self that counts, lives on Art."

Wilkinson and I had been sworn pals from our boyhood till the day he said:
"By the way, old thing, I've never had a turn at _your_ headpiece. You
might give me a few sittings."

For the first time I found myself seated on a sitter's throne, while
Wilkinson stood at his modelling stand working away at a mass of clay that
faintly suggested a human head and shoulders.

"Need you yawn so often?" There was a hint of savagery in Wilkinson's tone
that was new to me.

"Why, you're not doing my mouth yet," I urged.

"No, but when a mouth like yours opens wide it alters the shape of the
whole skull."

I was astonished and hurt, and took refuge in dignified silence.

"Shall you send it--I mean me--to the Academy?" I asked by-and-by.

"Depends on how it pans out," grunted Wilkinson, leaving the clay, twirling
the movable throne round, and taking a frowning survey of