d to Dr. McCosh, apropos of
Leibnitz's theory of evil ("Westminster Gazette," January, 1895). And
again, there is an old story of Baron Rothschild, who when very busy
received the visit of a business acquaintance. "Take a chair," quoth the
Baron. "Can't," said his visitor, "I'm in a hurry." "Then take two
chairs," suggested the Baron, still engrossed. In 1871 the same joke was
sent in to _Punch_ in a remodelled form, and duly published. "Call me a
cab!" says an excited gentleman. "You're too late, sir," replies the
servant; "a cab couldn't do it." "Confound you!" cries the other, "call
two cabs, then!"

In 1892 a catastrophe befell _Punch_, a double _faux pas_. An excellent
child story had been printed in "Vanity Fair" of October 15th, in which
a little girl at a Sunday-school class was asked to define a parable:
"Please, miss," replies the child, "a parable's a 'eavenly story with no
earthly meaning!" A fortnight later _Punch_, who had been victimised,
had the misfortune, not only to come out with the same joke, but by a
typographical slip to spoil it by making the child define a parable as
"a heavenly story with an earthly meaning"--the result being to evoke a
paean of exultation from the few papers whose favourite sport it is to
keep a malevolent weather-eye on _Punch_ in perpetual hope of catching
him tripping. Just such a little chorus of mischievous delight greeted
the publication of Mr. du Maurier's joke in which an old maid complains
that a serious drawback to the charming view from her windows is the
tourists bathing on the opposite shore. It is true, as her friend
reminds her, that the distance is very great--"_but with a telescope,
you know!_" But years before, Charles Keene had illustrated the same
idea, taking, however, a cricket dressing-tent instead of a bathing
shore; and long before that it had been scoffed at for its antiquity.

In like fashion another _Punch_-baiter complained a quarter of a century
ago that an American paper printed a joke which _Punch_ duly used as a
"social," and which has since been revived as follows: "Harriet Hosmer
tells of an incident which occurred in her studio, where her statue of
Apollo rested. An old lady was being shown around, a Mrs. Raggles, and
she paused before this masterpiece a long time. Finally she exclaimed,
'So that's Apoller, is it?' She was assured that it was. 'Supposed to be
the handsomest man in the world, warn't he?' The surmise was assented
to. Then tur