66 A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. 



a series of the liveliest oscillations, and so swayed 

 itself to and fro, when it reached its destination, that 

 poor Joseph called to it in real agony of mind, 

 ' Who-a, who-a, who-a ! ' * I need not tell you that 

 he concluded the performance by hissing violently, 

 when he swept away the crumbs, as though manipu- 

 lating his horse for that, you know, he always does." 

 And thus those gentle ladies survey with an amused 

 benevolence the anxious difficulties of their faithful 

 Joseph. Who, indeed, could be seriously angry with 

 him, beaming, as he does, from a desire to please, and 

 glowing with a determination to do his best ? If on 

 your coat some venial gravies fall, look in his face, and 

 you'll forget them all. He impinges, I confess, upon 

 his fellow-servants, at times when their equilibrium 

 ought to be especially respected as, for instance, 

 when they are engaged in the administration of coffee, 

 in the setting on of lamps, and the like ; but only 

 from an earnest, affectionate wish to hand you your 

 muffin hot, an anxiety to get at you with something 

 to eat a noble sympathy, which, to feed you, my 

 friend, kicks the shins, treads upon the corns, and 

 ignores the proximity of meaner men. You do not 

 approve, and I do not justify, the deep immersion of 

 his thumb in the Trifle, as he places it proudly before 

 you, although his Berlin glove is of snowy whiteness 

 (" I would I were a glove upon that hand," whispers 

 your comic neighbour, " that I might kiss those 

 sweets ") ; but we must both of us admire his atten- 



* This occurrence in real life was told by me to John Leech, 

 and was admirably represented t by his pencil in " Punch's 

 Almanac." 



