putting them on again. At length you drop into an uneasy and fitful
slumber, have bad dreams, and wake up late the next morning.

At least, this is all we poor single men can do under the
circumstances. Married men bully their wives, grumble at the dinner,
and insist on the children's going to bed. All of which, creating, as
it does, a good deal of disturbance in the house, must be a great
relief to the feelings of a man in the blues, rows being the only form
of amusement in which he can take any interest.

The symptoms of the infirmity are much the same in every case, but the
affliction itself is variously termed. The poet says that "a feeling
of sadness comes o'er him." 'Arry refers to the heavings of his
wayward heart by confiding to Jimee that he has "got the blooming
hump." Your sister doesn't know what is the matter with her to-night.
She feels out of sorts altogether and hopes nothing is going to
happen. The every-day young man is "so awful glad to meet you, old
fellow," for he does "feel so jolly miserable this evening." As for
myself, I generally say that "I have a strange, unsettled feeling
to-night" and "think I'll go out."

By the way, it never does come except in the evening. In the
sun-time, when the world is bounding forward full of life, we cannot
stay to sigh and sulk. The roar of the working day drowns the voices
of the elfin sprites that are ever singing their low-toned _miserere_
in our ears. In the day we are angry, disappointed, or indignant, but
never "in the blues" and never melancholy. When things go wrong at
ten o'clock in the morning we--or rather you--swear and knock the
furniture about; but if the misfortune comes at ten P.M., we read
poetry or sit in the dark and think what a hollow world this is.