A similar ad from Pearson's Magazine (1905)
You mean Photo Bits?
I do. You bore me away, framed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.
(Humbly kisses her long hair.) Your classic curves, beautiful immortal. I was glad to look on you, to praise you, a thing of beauty, almost to pray.
During dark nights I heard your praise."
(Quickly.) Yes, yes. You mean that I... Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. I know I fell out of bed or rather was pushed."
(Her fingers in her ears.) And words. They are not in my dictionary.
You understood them?
(Covers her face with her hands.) What have I not seen in that chamber? What must my eyes look down on?"
(Apologetically.) I know. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. The quoits are loose. From Gibraltar by long sea, long ago."
(Reflects precautiously.) That antiquated commode. It wasn't her weight. She scaled just eleven stone nine. She put on nine pounds after weaning. It was a crack and want of glue. Eh? And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle."
(mingling their boughs) Listen. Whisper. She is right, our sister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We gave shade on languorous summer days."
(in the background, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat) Prosper! Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!"
(murmuring) Who came to Poulaphouca with the High School excursion? Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?"
(Scared.) High School of Poula? Mnemo? Not in full possession of faculties. Concussion. Run over by tram.
(pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a red schoolcap with badge) I was in my teens, a growing boy. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned tight on the old Royal stairs (for they love crushes, instinct of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice), even a pricelist of their hosiery. And then the heat. There were sunspots that summer. End of school. And tipsycake. Halcyon days."