e feminine of "Cronie." "Cronie" is an
old friend, "Crone" is an old friend's old wife. Which sounds like a
sentence in one of my German Exercises. "The Old wife of the Old friend
met the Lion in the garden."

Boodels says "Pooh!" If he doesn't understand a thing at once he
dismisses it with "pooh." As I ascend the wide oak staircase, with room
enough for eight people abreast on every step, I reflect on the
foolishness of a man saying "pooh," hastily. How many great schemes
might anyone nip in the bud by one "pooh." What marvellous inventions,
apparently ridiculous in their commencing idea, would be at once knocked
on the head by a single "pooh." The rising Artist has an infant design
for some immense historical Fresco. He comes--I see him, as it were,
coming to Boodels to confide in him. "I mean," says he, "to show Peter
the Great in the right-hand corner, and Peter the Hermit in another,
with Peter Martyr somewhere else, ... in fact, I see an immense
historical subject of all the Celebrated Peters .... Then why not offer
it to St. Peter's at Rome, and why not ...?" "Pooh!" says Boodels, and
the artist perhaps goes off and drowns himself, or goes into business
and so is lost to the World. If I'd listened to Boodels' "Pooh," I
should never have got on so far as I have with my work on Typical
Developments. I hope to be remembered by this.

Milburd is calling me. Everyone in ecstasies. What wonderful old
chambers. Oak panels, diamond panes. Remains of tapestry, containing
probably a fine collection of moths. Old rusty armour on the walls.
Strange out-of-the-way staircases leading to postern-doors and offices.

Chilvern observes that it all wants doing up, and commences making plans
and notes in a book, which he takes from his pocket, in company with a
small ivory two-foot rule.

"Plenty of mice," says Cazell, looking at the old woman for
corroboration.

"Yes, in winter-time," she says.

"And rats?" inquires Milburd.

"I've met 'em on the stairs," replies the old lady, quite cheerfully.

"Ghosts, too?" suggests Boodels. [He has become somewhat melancholy of
late and says that he is studying the phenomena of "Unconscious
Cerebration," which Milburd explains is only a name for thinking of
nothing without knowing it. Boodels, in consequence, thinks Milburd a
mere buffoon.]

"Well, my husband," she answers in a matter-of-fact way, "my husband, he
see the Ghost... I think it were last Christmas twelvemonth."

"_The