So it is with that china
dog. In 2288 people will gush over it. The making of such dogs will
have become a lost art. Our descendants will wonder how we did it, and
say how clever we were. We shall be referred to lovingly as "those grand
old artists that flourished in the nineteenth century, and produced those
china dogs."
The "sampler" that the eldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as
"tapestry of the Victorian era," and be almost priceless. The blue-and-
white mugs of the present-day roadside inn will be hunted up, all cracked
and chipped, and sold for their weight in gold, and rich people will use
them for claret cups; and travellers from Japan will buy up all the
"Presents from Ramsgate," and "Souvenirs of Margate," that may have
escaped destruction, and take them back to Jedo as ancient English
curios.
At this point Harris threw away the sculls, got up and left his seat, and
sat on his back, and stuck his legs in the air. Montmorency howled, and
turned a somersault, and the top hamper jumped up, and all the things
came out.
I was somewhat surprised, but I did not lose my temper. I said,
pleasantly enough:
"Hulloa! what's that for?"
"What's that for? Why - "
No, on second thoughts, I will not repeat what Harris said.
