A few days earlier Punch had contained a cartoon in which that illustrious old gentleman was represented as “doing himself the honor” to drink my health.

The full strength of the Punch staff sat at the dinner, with Mr. Agnew, the editor-in-chiefⒶtextual note Ⓔexplanatory note, at the head of the table. Nearly all the men were young, and new to me—in fact all except three: Linley Sambourne, Sir Francis Burnand, and Mr. LucyⒺexplanatory note. I had known Mr. Lucy a number of years, and Sambourne and Burnand a full generation. In these chairs had sat, fifty years ago, Leech, TennielⒶtextual note, Douglas JerroldⒺexplanatory note, and others of the great departed, and I had a sort of sense that their viewless ghosts were present and approving. When all were seated and theⒶtextual note napkins about to be lifted, I was warned in a low voice that a solemnity was about to take place. An impressive stillness and silence followed, which lasted as much as a minute, perhaps; then a closet door sprang open and out of it flitted a littleⒶtextual note fairy decked out in pink, like a rose, and came tripping toward me, her face all alive with smiles and excitement; and she bore in her hands the framed original of the Punch cartoon—a picture half as big as herself. She stopped near me, dropped a courtesy, and delivered, with charming grace and animation and well-taught expression, a touching and beautiful little speech in my honor. I took the picture from her hands, but before I could control my voice enough to even murmur a “Thank you” she had dropped another courtesy and flown to the refuge of her closet.

This is the prettiestⒶtextual note incident of my long life, I think,Ⓐtextual note and I cannot think of it yet without a thrill at my heart and quickened pulse-beat. The little sprite was Joy Agnew, eight years of ageⒺexplanatory note, daughter of the editor-in-chiefⒶtextual note. Naturally she got a unanimousⒶtextual note recall, and so she came lightly tripping back and climbed up into her father’s lap and sat there, rosy and sweet, and altogether adorable, and lit up the whole place with her fresh young loveliness and sanctified it with her innocence. She remained half an hour;Ⓐtextual note then, under parental compulsion, she said her good-bye and was escorted away by a servant. She went reluctantly, and said she had never been allowed in that place before, and thought she wouldn’t be allowed to come again. She was the feature of that banquet, the ever-memorable feature of it, the feature without rival or competitor—IⒶtextual noteconfess it without jealousy.Ⓐtextual note It took a while to get over the dazzle and exaltation of that bright vision; then we pulled ourselves together and had a lively time, with speeches and other hilarities.

I think Miss Joy asked me for an autographed portrait; at any rate I sent her one, and in return she wrote me a letter worth a hundredⒶtextual note of it; I received it a few days after I reached home, in America. As a child’s letter, I think it is perfect; perfect in its frankness, its simplicity, and in its unquestioning and well placed confidence that I wouldⒶtextual note be interested in the deep concerns of the little writer’s life. I will copy her letter here. In [begin page 125] closing it she says “I hope you will remember me for I am yours respec Ⓐtextual note affectionately Joy Agnew.” She saw that that word was too distant, too cold, too formal, for the relations existing between her and me, so she stopped it in the middle and drove a single pen-stroke through it, which did not at all disguise it. An older and more artful person would have obliterated it, and pretended that he had had no such thought in his mind, but the child was open and honest, and in her heart there was no place for subterfuges.