GUYED.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 37, 10 September 1892, Page 918

GUYED.

THE ENGLISH SNOB CRUSHED FOR ONCE. Scene : A colonial drawing room. Lord Fitz-Awthaw Nev: Chumak is much impressed with the beauty and grace of Mrs de Highnobs Van Quickwit, a wealthy colonial, who, having some ideas of her own about the eternal fitness of things, fails to reciprocate in any great measure. The conversation of the two, casually overheard, is as follows: LORD Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ Aw, my deah Mrs Van Quickwit, so you aw a colonial ? I am weally chawmed. Do you know, it has been —aw—l may say, the dweam of my—aw —life to visit New Zealand. But tell me, awn’t the women all ‘‘outsiders”?’ Mrs Van Quickwit (smiling reproachfully) : ‘Why, no they are very ciducarious. ’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ Beg pawdon ?’ Mrs Van Quiekwit : ‘ I say they are very 7 ciducarious.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ Aw, certainly, to be suah. You—aw—understand I—aw—mean nothing—aw—personal, my deah Mrs Van Quickwit. Now, tell me about New Zealand. Is the place—aw—built up much ?’ Mrs Van Quickwit (vivaciously) : ‘ Oh, it is very calithumpian, I assure you.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw (blankly) : ‘ Beg pawdon ?’ Mrs Van Quick wit : ‘ I say it is very calithumpian.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw (brightening)-. ‘Of course—aw —that is, Ipresumenaturally. I heah yoali balls—yoah Maori dawnces —aw quite—aw—wemahkable, so to speak.’ Mrs Van Quickwit: ‘ They are. Quite introthedanical, in fact.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ Beg pawdon?’ Mrs \ an Quickwit : ‘ They are quite extracontracious !’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ The deuce ! Aw—beg pawdon ! — aw they indeed ? Very intewesting, I pwesume. But isn’t it wather —aw—hohwible to dawnce about a bloomin' nawsty black Maori, dont-chah know ?’ Mrs Van Quickwit: ‘Oh, that is considered quite contraextretious !’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw (dazedly) : ‘ Beg pawdon?’ Mrs Van Quickwit : ‘To be plain, that sort of thing is regarded as the height of expuichraeiousness.' Lord Fitz-Awthaw (perspiring freely) : ‘ Is it pawsible ? lam weally alahmed, my deah' Mrs Van Quickwit. And the wild game in the stweets—the—aw—mosquitos and the moas ? Pray, what does a gentleman do when he hasn't his gun ?’ Mrs Van Quickwit: ‘Do? Why, he humptuates.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw (in a fainting condition): ‘ B—b—beg p—p —pawdon ?’ Mrs \ an Quickwit (cheerfully) : ‘ He humptuates.’ Lord Fitz-Awthaw : ‘ The dickens he does ! Beg pawdon '.’ He is carried out and placed in a cab by attendants. As he collapses he has just enough strength to ejaculate : ‘ Guyed, by gosh !’

Visitor : ‘ Why do you keep that horrid looking monkey ?’ Miss Munkayi : * Oh, it amuses mamma when papa is away.’