Chapter I: Part 1

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Puppets at Large

Puppets at Large

Scenes and Subjects
From Mr. Punch's Show.

By F. Anstey
Author of "Vice Versa," "Voces Populi," &c., &c.

With Illustrations by
J. Bernard Partridge

London
Bradbury, Agnew, & Co. Ld., Bouverie St., E.C.
1897

BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS,
LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.

CONTENTS.

PAGE
Doing a Cathedral 1
The Instantaneous Process 13
In the Cause of Charity 27
The Classical Scholar in Reduced Circumstances 43
Rus in Urbe 51
Catching the Early Boat 61
Society's Next Craze 71
An Ideal Interviewer 83
Saturday Night in the Edgware Road 91
The "Model Husband" Contest 101
The Courier of the Hague 109
Feeling their Way 119
A Testimonial Manque 131
The Model Democracy 145
By Parliamentary 159
The Farming of the Future 167
A Dialogue on Art 177
The Old Love and the New 189
A Doll's Diary 201
Elevating the Masses 219
Bookmakers on the Beach 231
'Igher Up! 243
At a Highland Cattle Auction 257
The Country of Cockaigne 265

ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE
"What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?" 11
"What's she got hold of now?" 21
"You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament" 37
"They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was reciters,
or somethink o' that" 55
"Mokestrians" 75
"Dear, dear! _not_ a county family!" 125
"Well, he's had a sharp lesson,--there's no denying that" 135
"None of your humour here, mind!" 155
"I cann't get nothen done to 'en till the weather's a bit
more hopen like" 171
"They haven't the _patiensh_ for it" 183
"It must be a sort of animal, I suppose" 193
"I see _him_ standing on the very brink of the precipice" 209
"To-night is ours!" 225
"Why the blazes don't ye take it?" 239
"Thash where 'tis, yer come on me too late!" 251
"'Ere, Florrie, you ain't _croying_, are yer?" 271

DOING A CATHEDRAL.

(A SKETCH FROM THE PROVINCES.)

_The interior of Dulchester Cathedral._ TIME--_About 12.30. The March sunshine slants in pale shafts through the clerestory windows, leaving the aisles in shadow. From without, the cawing of rooks and shouts of children at play are faintly audible. By the West Door, a party of Intending Sightseers have collected, and the several groups, feeling that it would be a waste of time to observe anything in the building until officially instructed to do so, are engaged in eyeing one another with all the genial antipathy and suspicion of true-born Britons._

A Stodgy Sightseer (_to his friend_). Disgraceful, keeping us standing about like this! If I'd only known, I'd have told the head-waiter at the "Mitre" to keep back those chops till----

[_He breaks off abruptly, finding that the chops are
reverberating from column to column with
disproportionate solemnity; a white-haired and
apple-faced verger rustles down from the choir
and beckons the party forward benignantly, whereupon they
advance with a secret satisfaction at the prospect of "getting
the cathedral 'done' and having the rest of the day to
themselves;" they are conducted to a desk and requested, as a
preliminary, to put sixpence apiece in the Restoration Fund
box and inscribe their names in a book._

_Confused Murmurs._ Would you put "Portico Lodge, Camden Road, or only London?"... Here, I'd better sign for the lot of you, eh?... They _might_ provide a better pen--in a _cathedral_, I _do_ think!... He might have given all our names in full instead of just "And party!"... Oh, I've been and made a blot--will it _matter_, should you think?... I never _can_ write my name with people looking on, can _you_?... I'm sure you've done it beautifully, dear!... Just hold my umbrella while I take off my glove, Maria.... Oh, why _don't_ they make haste? &c., &c.

[_The_ STODGY SIGHTSEER _fumes, feeling that, while they are
fiddling, his chops are burning._

The VERGER. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will please to follow me, the portion of the building where we now are is part of the original hedifice founded by Ealfrytha, wife of Earl Baldric, in the year height 'undred heighty-height, though we 'ave reason to believe that an even hearlier church was in existence 'ere so far back as the Roman occupation, as is proved by a hancient stone receptacle recently discovered under the crypt and hevidently used for baptismal purposes.

A SPECTACLED S. (_who feels it due to herself to put an intelligent question at intervals._) What _was_ the method of baptism among the Early Christians?

The VERGER. We believe it to 'ave been by total immersion, Ma'am.

The SPECT. S. Oh? _Baptists!_

[_She sets down the Early Christians as Dissenters, and takes
no further interest in them._

The VERGER. At the back of the choir, and immediately in front of you, is the shrine, formerly containing the bones of St. Chasuble, with relics of St. Alb. (_An_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER _snorts in disapproval._) The 'ollow depressions in the steps leading up to the shrine, which are still visible, were worn away, as you see, by the pilgrims ascending on their knees. (_The party verify the depressions conscientiously, and click their tongues to express indulgent contempt._) The spaces between the harches of the shrine were originally enriched by valuable gems and mosaics, all of which 'ave now long since disappeared, 'aving been removed by the more devout parties who came 'ere on pilgrimages. In the chapel to your left a monument with recumbent heffigies of Bishop Buttress and Dean Gurgoyle, represented laying side by side with clasped 'ands, in token of the lifelong affection between them. The late Bishop used to make a rather facetious remark about this tomb. He was in the 'abit of observing that it was the honly instance in _his_ experience of a Bishop being on friendly terms with his Dean. (_He glances round for appreciation of this instance of episcopal humour, but is pained to find that it has produced a general gloom; the_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER, _indeed, conveys by another and a louder snort, his sense that a Bishop ought to set a better example._) In the harched recess to your right, a monument in painted halibarster to Sir Ralph Ringdove and his lady, erected immediately after her decease by the disconsolate widower, with a touching inscription in Latin, stating that their ashes would shortly be commingled in the tomb. (_He pauses, to allow the ladies of the party to express a becoming sympathy--which they do, by clicks._) Sir Ralph himself, however, is interred in Ficklebury Parish Church, forty mile from this spot, along with his third wife, who survived him.

[_The ladies regard the image of Sir Ralph with
indignation, and pass on; the_ VERGER _chuckles faintly at
having produced his effect._

The EVANGELICAL S. (_snuffing the air suspiciously_). I'm sorry to perceive that you are in the habit of burning _incense_ here!

[_He looks sternly at the_ VERGER, _as though to imply that it
is useless to impose upon him._

The VERGER. No, Sir, what you smell ain't incense--on'y the vaults after the damp weather we've bin 'aving.

[_The_ EVANGELICAL SIGHTSEER _drops behind, divided between
relief and disappointment._

A PLASTIC S. (_to the_ VERGER). What a perfectly _exquisite_ rose-window that is! For all the world like a kaleidoscope. I suppose it dates from the Norman period, at _least_?

The VERGER (_coldly_). No, Ma'am, it was only put up about thirty year ago. _We_ consider it the poorest glass we 'ave.

The PLAST. S. Oh, the glass, yes; _that's_ hideous, certainly. I meant the--the other part.

The VERGER. The tracery, Ma'am? That was restored at the same time by a local man--and a shocking job he made of it, too!

The PLAST. S. Yes, it _quite_ spoils the Cathedral, _doesn't_ it? Couldn't it be taken down?

The VERGER (_in answer to another Inquirer_). Crowborough Cathedral finer than this, Sir? Oh, _dear_ me, no. I went over a-purpose to 'ave a look at it the last 'oliday I took, and I was quite surprised to find 'ow very inferior it was. The spire? I don't say that mayn't be 'igher as a mere matter of feet, but our lantern-tower is so 'appily proportioned as to give the effect of being by far the 'ighest in existence.

A TRAVELLED S. Ah, you should see the _continental_ cathedrals. Why, _our_ towers would hardly come up to the top of the naves of some of them!

The VERGER (_loftily_). I don't take no notice of foreign cathedrals, Ma'am. If foreigners like to build so ostentatious, all I can say is, I'm sorry _for_ them.

A LADY (_who has provided herself with a "Manual of Architecture" and an unsympathetic_ COMPANION). _Do_ notice the excessive use of the ball-flower as a decoration, dear. Parker says it is especially characteristic of this cathedral.

UNSYMPATHETIC COMPANION. I don't see _any_ flowers myself. And if they like to decorate for festivals and that, where's the harm?

[_The_ LADY WITH THE MANUAL _perceives that it is hopeless to
explain_.

The VERGER. The dog-tooth mouldings round the triforium harches is considered to belong to the best period of Norman work----

The LADY WITH THE MANUAL. Surely not _Norman_? Dog-tooth is Saxon, _I_ always understood.

The VERGER (_indulgently_). You'll excuse _me_, Ma'am, but I fancy it's 'erringbone as is running in _your_ 'ed.

The LADY WITH THE M. (_after consulting "Parker" for corroboration, in vain_). Well, I'm sure dog-tooth is quite _Early English_, anyway. (_To her_ COMPANION.) Did you know it was the interlacing of the round arches that gave the first idea of the pointed arch, dear?

Her COMP. No. But I shouldn't have thought there was so very much in the _idea_.

The LADY WITH THE M. I do _wish_ you took more _interest_, dear. Look at those two young men who have just come in. They don't _look_ as if they'd care for carving; but they've been studying every one of the Miserere seats in the choir-stalls. That's what _I_ like to see!

The VERGER. That concludes my dooties, ladies and gentlemen. You can go out by the South Transept door, and that'll take you through the Cloisters. (_The Party go out, with the exception of the two_ 'ARRIES, _who linger, expectantly, and cough in embarrassment._) Was there anything you wished to know?

FIRST 'ARRY. Well, Mister, it's on'y--er--'aven't you got some old carving or other 'ere of a rather--well, _funny_ kind--sorter thing you on'y show to _gentlemen_, if you know what I mean?

The VERGER (_austerely_). There's nothing in _this_ Cathedral for gentlemen o' _your_ sort, and I'm surprised at your expecting of it.

[_He turns on his heel._

FIRST 'ARRY (_to Second_). I spoke civil enough to _'im_, didn't I? What did 'e want to go and git the fair 'ump about?

SECOND 'ARRY. Oh, _I_ dunno. But you don't ketch _me_ comin' over to no more cathedrils, and wastin' time and money all for nuthink--that's all.

[_They tramp out, feeling that their confidence has been
imposed upon._

THE INSTANTANEOUS PROCESS;

OR, FLUFF SITS FOR HIS PHOTOGRAPH.

_A Photographer's Studio on the Seventh Floor. It is a warm afternoon._ MR. STIPPLER, _Photographic Artist, is discovered alone._

MR. STIPPLER (_to himself_). No appointments while this weather lasts, thank goodness! I shall be able to get ahead with those negatives now. (_Sharp whistle from speaking-tube, to which he goes._) Well?

VOICE OF LADY ASSISTANT (_in shop below_). Lady just brought her dog in; wants to know if she can have it taken now.

MR. STIP. (_to himself_). Oh, dash the dog and the lady too!

THE VOICE. No, only the _dog_, the lady says.

MR. STIP. (_confused_). Eh? Oh, exactly. Ask the lady to have the goodness to--ah--step up. (_He opens the studio door, and awaits the arrival of his client; interval, at the end of which sounds as of a female in distress about halfway down are distinctly audible._) She's _stepping_ up. (_Another interval. The head of a breathless_ ELDERLY LADY _emerges from the gloom._) This way, Madam.

ELDERLY LADY (_entering and sinking into the first plush chair_). Oh, _dear_ me, I thought I should _never_ get to the top! Now _why_ can't you photographers have your studios on the ground floor? So _much_ more convenient!

MR. STIP. No doubt, Madam, no doubt. But there is--ah--a prejudice in the profession in favah of the roof; possibly the light is considered somewhat superiah. I thought I understood there was--ah--a dog?

The E. L. Oh, he'll be here presently. I think he saw something in one of the rooms on the way up that took his fancy, or very likely he's resting on one of the landing mats,--such an _intelligent_ dog! I'll call him. Fluffy, Fluffy, come along, my pet, nearly up now! Mustn't keep his missis waiting for him. (_A very long pause: presently a small rough-haired terrier lounges into the studio with an air of proprietorship_.) That's the dog; he's so small, he can't take _very_ long to do, _can_ he?

MR. STIP. The--ah--precise size of the animal does not signify, Madam; we do it by an instantaneous process. The only question is the precise pose you would prefer. I presume the dog is a good--ah--rattah?

The E. L. Really, I've no idea. But he's _very_ clever at killing bluebottles; he _will_ smash them on the window-panes.

MR. STIP. (_without interest_). I see, Madam. We have a speciality for our combination backgrounds, and you might like to have him represented on a country common, in the act of watching a hole in a bank.

The E. L. (_impressed_). For bluebottles?

MR. STIP. For--ah--rats. (_By way of concession._) _Or_ bluebottles, of course, if you prefer it.

The E. L. I think I would rather have something more characteristic. He has such a pretty way of lying on his back with all his paws sticking straight up in the air. I never saw any _other_ dog do it.

MR. STIP. Precisely. But I doubt whether that particulah pose would be effective--in a photograph.

The E. L. You think not? Where _has_ he got to, now? Oh, _do_ just look at him going round, examining everything! He _quite_ understands what he's wanted to do; you've no idea what a clever dog he is!

MR. STIP. Ray-ally? How would it do to have him on a rock in the middle of a salmon stream?

The E. L. It would make me so uncomfortable to see it; he has a perfect _horror_ of wetting his little feet!

MR. STIP. In _that_ case, no doubt----Then what do you say to posing him on an ornamental pedestal? We could introduce a Yorkshire moor, or a view of Canterbury Cathedral, as a background.

The E. L. A pedestal seems _so_ suggestive of a cemetery, doesn't it?

MR. STIP. Then we must try some other position. (_He resigns himself to the commonplace._) Can the dog--ah--sit up?

The E. L. Bee-yutifully! Fluffy, come and show how nicely you can sit up!

FLUFF (_to himself_). Show off for this fellow? Who pretends he's got rats--and hasn't! Not if _I_ know it!

[_He rolls over on his back with a well-assumed air of
idiotcy_.

The E. L. (_delighted_). There, _that's_ the attitude I told you of. But perhaps it _would_ come out rather too leggy?

MR. STIP. It is--ah--open to that objection, certainly, Madam. Perhaps we had better take him on a chair sitting up. (FLUFF is, _with infinite trouble, prevailed upon to mount an arm-chair, from which he growls savagely whenever_ MR. STIPPLER _approaches_.) You will probably be more successful with him than I, Madam.

The E. L. I could make him sit up in a _moment_, if I had any of his biscuits with me. But I forgot to bring them.

MR. STIP. There is a confectionah next door. We could send out a lad for some biscuits. About how much would you requiah--a quartah of a pound? _He goes to the speaking tube._

The E. L. He won't eat _all_ those; he's a _most_ abstemious dog. But they must be _sweet_, tell them. (_Delay. Arrival of the biscuits. The_ ELDERLY LADY _holds one up, and_ FLUFF _leaps, barking frantically, until he succeeds in snatching it; a manoeuvre which he repeats with each successive biscuit_.) Do you know, I'm afraid he really _mustn't_ have any more--biscuits always _excite_ him so. Suppose you take him lying on the chair, much as he is now? (MR. STIPPLER _attempts to place the dog's paws, and is snapped at_.) Oh, _do_ be careful!

MR. STIP. (_heroically_). Oh, it's of no consequence, Madam. I am--ah--_accustomed_ to it.

The E. L. Oh, yes; but _he_ isn't, you know; so please be _very_ gentle with him! And could you get him a little water first? I'm sure he's thirsty. (MR. STIPPLER _brings water in a developing dish, which_ FLUFF _empties promptly_.) Now he'll be as _good_----!

MR. STIP. (_after wiping_ FLUFF'S _chin and arranging his legs_). If we can only keep him like that for one second.

The E. L. But he ought to have his ears pricked. (MR. STIPPLER _makes weird noises behind the camera, resembling demon cats in torture_; FLUFF _regards him with calm contempt_.) Oh, and his hair is all in his eyes, and they're his best feature!

[MR. STIPPLER _attempts to part_ FLUFF'S _fringe; snarls_.

MR. STIP. I have not discovered his eyes at present, Madam; but he appears to have excellent--ah--_teeth_.

The E. L. _Has_n't he! Now, couldn't you catch him like _that_?

MR. STIP. _(to himself_). He's more likely to catch _me_ like that! (_Aloud; as he retreats under a hanging canopy._) I think we shall get a good one of him as he is. (_Focussing_.) Yes, that will do very nicely. (_He puts in the plate, and prepares to release the shutter, whereupon_ FLUFF _deliberately rises and presents his tail to the camera_.) I presume you do not desiah a _back_ view of the dog, Madam!

The E. L. Certainly not! Oh, Fluffy, naughty--naughty! Now lie down again, like a good dog. Oh, I'm afraid he's going to sleep!

MR. STIP. If you would kindly take this--ah--toy in your hand, Madam, it might rouse him a little.

The E. L. (_exhibiting a gutta-percha rat_). Here, Fluffy, Fluffy, _here's_ a pitty sing! What _is_ it, eh!

FLUFF (_after opening one eye_). The old fool fancies she's got a rat! Well, she may _keep_ it!

[_He curls himself up again_.

MR. STIP. We must try to obtain more--ah--animation than that.

[_He hands the_ ELDERLY LADY _a jingling toy_.

The E. L. (_shaking it vigorously_). Fluffy, see what Missis has got!

FLUFF _(by a yawn of much eloquence_). At _her_ age, too! Wonderful how she can _do_ it!

[_He closes his eyes wearily._

MR. STIP. Perhaps you may produce a better effect with this. [_He hands her a stuffed stoat._

FLUFF (_to himself_). What's she got hold of _now_? Hul-lo! (_He rises, and inspects the stoat with interest._) I'd no idea the old girl was so "varmint"!

MR. STIP. Capital! Now, if he'll stay like that another----(FLUFF _jumps down, and wags his tail with conscious merit._) Oh, _dear_ me. I never saw such a dog!

The E. L. He's tired out, poor doggie, and no wonder. But he'll be all the _quieter_ for it, _won't_ he? (_After restoring_ FLUFF _to the chair._) Now, couldn't you take him panting, like that?

MR. STIP. I must wait till he's got a little less tongue out, Madam.

The E. L. Must you? Why? _I_ should have thought it was a capital opportunity.

MR. STIP. For a physician, Madam, _not_ a photographer. If I were to take him now the result would be an--ah--enormous tongue, with a dog in the remote distance.

The E. L. And he's putting out more and more of it! Perhaps he's thirsty again. Here, Fluffy, water--water! [_She produces the developing dish._

FLUFF (_in barks of unmistakable significance_). Look here, I've had about enough of this tomfoolery. Let's go. _Come_ on!

MR. STIP. (_seconding the motion with relief_). I'm _afraid_ we're not likely to do better with him to-day. Perhaps if you could look in some othah afternoon?

The E. L. Why, we've only been an hour and twenty minutes as yet! But what would be the best time to bring him?

MR. STIP. I should say the light and the temperatuah would probably be more favourable by the week aftah next--(_to himself_) when I shall be taking my holiday!

The E. L. Very well, I'll come then. Oh, Fluffy, Fluffy, what a silly little dog you are to give all this trouble!

FLUFF (_to himself, as he makes a triumphant exit_). Not half so silly as some people think! I _must_ tell the cat about this; she'll go into fits! I will say she has a considerable sense of humour--for a cat.

IN THE CAUSE OF CHARITY.

_Mona House, the Town Mansion of the Marquis of Manx, which has been lent for a Sale of Work in aid of the "Fund for Super-annuated Skirt-dancers," under the patronage of Royalty and other distinguished personages_.

_In the Entrance Hall._

MRS. WYLIE DEDHEAD (_attempting to insinuate herself between the barriers_). Excuse me; I only wanted to pop in for a moment, just to see if a lady friend of mine is in there, that's _all_!

The LADY MONEY-TAKER (_blandly_). If you will let me know your friend's name--?

MRS. W. D. (_splendide mendax_). She's assisting the dear Duchess. _Now_, perhaps, you will allow me to pass!

The L. M. Afraid I can't, really. But if you mean Lady Honor Hyndlegges--_she_ is the only lady at the Duchess's stall--I could send _in_ for her. Or of course, if you like to pay half-a-crown----

MRS. W. D. (_hastily_). Thank you, I--I won't disturb her ladyship. I had no _idea_ there was any charge for admission, and--(_bristling_)--allow me to say I consider such regulations _most_ absurd.

The L. M. (_sweetly, with a half glance at the bowl of coins on the table_). Quite _too_ ridiculous, ain't they? _Good_ afternoon!

MRS. W. D. (_audibly, as she flounces out_). If they suppose _I'm_ going to pay half-a-crown for the privilege of being _fleeced_----!

FOOTMAN (_on steps, sotto voce, to confrere_). "Fleeced"! that's a good 'un, eh? _She_ ain't brought much wool in with _her_!

His CONFRERE. On'y what's stuffed inside of her ear. [_They resume their former impassive dignity._

_In the Venetian Gallery--where the Bazaar is being held._

A LOYAL OLD LADY (_at the top of her voice--to_ STALL-KEEPER). Which of 'em's the Princess, my dear, eh? It's her I paid _my_ money to see.

The STALL-KEEPER (_in a dismayed whisper_). Ssh! Not _quite_ so loud! There--just opposite--petunia bow in her bonnet--selling kittens.

The L. O. L. (_planting herself on a chair_). So _that's_ her! Well, she _is_ dressed plain--for a Royalty--but looks _pleasant_ enough. I wouldn't mind taking one o' them kittens off her Royal 'Ighness myself, if they was going at all reasonable. But there, I expect, the cats _'ere_ is meat for my masters, so to speak; and you see, my dear, 'aving the promise of a tortoise-shell Tom from the lady as keeps the Dairy next door, whenever----

[_She finds, with surprise, that her confidences are not encouraged_.

MISS ST. LEGER DE MAYNE (_persuasively to_ MRS. NIBBLER). Do let me show you some of this exquisite work, all embroidered entirely by hand, you see!

MRS. NIBBLER (_edging away_). Lovely--_quite_ lovely; but I think--a--I'll just take a look round before I----

MISS DE M. If there is any _particular_ thing you were looking for, perhaps _I_ could----

MRS. N. (_becoming confidential_). Well, I _did_ think if I could come across a nice _sideboard-cloth_----

MISS DE M. (_to herself_). What on earth's a sideboard-cloth? (_Aloud._) Why, I've the very _thing_! See--all worked in Russian stitch!

MRS. N. (_dubiously_). I thought they were always quite plain. And what's that queer sort of flap-thing for?

MISS DE M. Oh, _that_? That's--a--to cover up the spoons, and forks, and things; quite the latest fashion, _now_, you know.

MRS. N. (_with self-assertion_). I _have_ noticed it at several dinner parties I've been to in society lately, certainly. Still I am not sure that----

MISS DE M. I always have them on my _own_ sideboard now--my husband won't _hear_ of any others.... Then, I _may_ put this one in paper for you? fifteen-and-sixpence--thanks _so_ much! (_To her colleague, as_ Mrs. N. _departs_). Connie, I've got rid of that awful nightgown case at _last_!

MRS. MAYCUP. A--you _don't_ happen to have a small bag to hold a powder-puff, and so on, you know?

MISS DE M. I _had_ some very pretty ones; but I'm afraid they're all--oh, no, there's just _one_ left--crimson velvet and real _passementerie_. (_She produces a bag_). Too trotty for words, isn't it?

MRS. MAYCUP (_tacitly admitting its trottiness_). But then--that sort of purse shape----Could I get a small pair of folding curling-irons into it, should you think, at a pinch?

MISS DE M. You could get _anything_ into it--at a pinch. I've one myself which will hold--well, I can't tell you what it _won't_ hold! Half-a-guinea--so _many_ thanks! (_To herself, as_ MRS. MAYCUP _carries off her_ _bag_.) What _would_ the vicar's wife say if she knew I'd sold her church collection bag for _that_! But it's all in a good cause! (_An_ ELDERLY LADY _comes up_.) May I show you some of these----?

The ELDERLY LADY. Well, I was wondering if you had such a thing as a good warm pair of sleeping socks; because, these bitter nights, I do find I suffer so from cold in my feet.

MISS DE M. (_with effusion_). Ah, then I can _feel_ for you--so do _I_! At least, I _used_ to before I tried--(_To herself._) Where _is_ that pair of thick woollen driving-gloves? Ah, _I_ know. (_Aloud._)--these. I've found them _such_ a comfort!

The E. L. (_suspiciously_). They have rather a queer----And then they are divided at the ends, too.

MISS DE M. Oh, haven't you seen _those_ before? Doctors consider them so much healthier, don't you know.

The E. L. I daresay they are, my dear. But aren't the--(_with delicate embarrassment_)--the separated parts rather long?

MISS DE M. Do you _think_ so? They allow so much more freedom, you see; and then, of course, they'll shrink.

The E. L. That's true, my dear. Well, I'll take a pair, as you recommend them so strongly.

MISS DE M. I'm quite _sure_ you'll never regret it!

(_To herself, as the_ E. L. _retires, charmed_.) I'd give _anything_ to see the poor old thing trying to put them on!

MISS MIMOSA TENDRILL (_to herself_). I do so _hate_ hawking this horrid old thing about! (_Forlornly, to_ MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT.) I--I beg your pardon; but _will_ you give me ten-and-sixpence for this lovely work-basket?

MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT. My good girl, let me tell you I've been pestered to buy that identical basket at every bazaar I've set foot in for the last twelve-month, and how you can have the face to ask ten-and-six for it--you must think I've more money than wit!

MISS TENDR. (_abashed_). Well--_eighteenpence_ then? (_To herself, as_ Mrs. A. I. _closes promptly_.) There, I've sold _something_, anyhow!

The HON. DIANA D'AUTENBAS (_to herself_). It's rather fun selling at a Bazaar; one can let oneself _go_ so much more! (_To the first man she meets._) I'm sure you'll buy one of my buttonholes--now _won't_ you? If I fasten it in for you myself?

MR. CADNEY ROWSER. A button'ole, eh? Think I'm not classy enough as I am?

MISS D'AUT. I don't think _anyone_ could accuse you of not being "_classy_;" still a flower would just give the finishing-touch.

MR. C. R. (_modestly_). Rats!--if you'll pass the reedom. But you've such a way with you that--there--'ow much.

MISS D'AUT. Only five shillings. Nothing to _you_!

MR. C. R. Five bob? You're a artful girl, _you_ are! "_Fang de Seakale_," and no error! But I'm _on_ it; it's worth the money to 'ave a flower fastened in by such fair 'ands. I won't 'owl--not even if you _do_ run a pin into me.... What? You ain't done a'ready! No _'urry_, yer know.... 'Ere, won't you come along to the refreshment-stall, and 'ave a little something at my expense. Do!

MISS D'AUT. I think you must imagine you are talking to a barmaid!

MR. C. R. (_with gallantry_). I on'y wish barmaids was 'alf as pleasant and sociable as _you_, Miss. But they're a precious stuck-up lot, _I_ can assure you!

MISS D'AUT. (_to herself as she escapes_). I suppose one ought to put up with this sort of thing--for a charity!

MRS. BABBICOMBE (_at the Toy Stall, to the Belle of the Bazaar, aged three-and-a-half_). You _perfect_ duck! You're simply too _sweet_! I _must_ find you something. (_She tempers generosity with discretion by presenting her with a small pair of knitted doll's socks_.) There, darling!

The BELLE'S MOTHER. What do you say to the kind lady _now_, Marjory?

MARJORY (_a practical young person, to the donor_). Now div me a dolly to put ve socks on.

[MRS. B. _finds herself obliged to repair this omission_.

A YOUNG LADY RAFFLER (_to a_ YOUNG MAN). Do take a ticket for this charmin' _sachet_. Only half-a-crown!

The YOUNG MAN. Delighted! If you'll put in for this _splendid_ cigar cabinet. Two shillin's!

[_The_ YOUNG LADY _realises that she has encountered an Augur, and passes on_.

MISS DE. M. (_to_ MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK). Can't I tempt you with this tea-cosy? It's so absurdly cheap!

MR. ISTHMIAN GATWICK (_with dignity_). A-thanks; I think not. Never _take_ tea, don't you know.

MISS DE M. (_with her characteristic adaptability_). Really? No more do _I_. But you _could_ use it as a _smoking-cap_, you know. _I_ always----

[_Recollects herself, and breaks off in confusion_.

MISS OPHELIA PALMER (_in the "Wizard's Cave"--to_ MR. CADNEY ROWSER). Yes, your hand indicates an intensely refined and spiritual nature; you are perhaps a _little_ too indifferent to your personal comfort where that of others is concerned; sensitive--too much so for your own happiness, perhaps--you feel things keenly when you _do_ feel them. You have lofty ambitions and the artistic temperament--seven-and-sixpence, please.

MR. C. R. (_impressed_). Well, Miss, if you can read all that for seven-and-six on the palm of my 'and, I wonder what you _wouldn't_ see for 'alf a quid on the sole o' my boot!

[MISS P.'S _belief in Chiromancy sustains a severe shock_.

BOBBIE PATTERSON (_outside tent, as Showman_). This way to the Marvellous Jumping Bean from Mexico! Threepence!

VOICE FROM TENT. Bobbie! Stop! The Bean's _lost_! Lady Honor's horrid Thought-reading Poodle has just stepped in and swallowed it.

BOBBIE. Ladies and Gentlemen, owing to sudden domestic calamity, the Bean has been unavoidably compelled to retire, and will be unable to appear till further notice.

MISS SMYLIE (_to_ MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER, _who--in his own set--is considered "almost equal to Corney Grain"_). I thought you were giving your entertainment in the library? Why _aren't_ you?

MR. OTIS BARLEYWATER (_in a tone of injury_). Why? Because I can't give my imitations of Arthur Roberts and Yvette Guilbert with anything _like_ the requisite "go," unless I get a better audience than three programme-sellers, all under ten, and the cloak-room maid--_that's_ why!

MRS. ALLBUTT-INNETT (_as she leaves, for the benefit of bystanders_). I must say, the house is _most_ disappointing--not at _all_ what I should expect a _Marquis_ to live in. Why, my _own_ reception-rooms are very nearly as large, and decorated in a much more modern style!

BOBBIE PATTERSON (_to a_ "DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW, _who doesn't care what he does," and whom he has just discovered inside a case got up to represent an automatic sweetmeat machine_). Why, my dear old _chap_! No idea it was _you_ inside that thing! Enjoying yourself in there, eh?

The DOOSID GOOD-NATURED FELLOW (_fluffily, from the interior_). Enjoying myself! With the beastly pennies droppin' down into my boots, and the kids howlin' because all the confounded chocolates have worked up between my shoulder-blades, and I can't shake 'em out of the slit in my arm? I'd like to see _you_ tryin' it!

The L. O. L. (_to a stranger, who is approaching the_ _Princess's stall_). 'Ere, Mister, where are your manners? 'Ats off in the presence o' Royalty!

[_She pokes him in the back with her umbrella; the stranger turns, smiles slightly, and passes on._

A WELL-INFORMED BYSTANDER. You are evidently unaware, Madam, that the gentleman you have just addressed is His Serene Highness the Prince of Potsdam!

The L. O. L. (_aghast_). Her '_usban_'! And me a jobbin' of 'im with my umbrella! 'Ere, let me get out!

[_She staggers out, in deadly terror of being sent to the Tower on the spot._

THE CLASSICAL SCHOLAR IN REDUCED CIRCUMSTANCES.

You are, let us say, a young professional man in chambers or offices, incompetently guarded by an idiot boy whom you dare not trust with the responsibility of denying you to strangers. You hear a knock at your outer door, followed by conversation in the clerk's room, after which your salaried idiot announces "A Gentleman to see you." Enter a dingy and dismal little man in threadbare black, who advances with an air of mysterious importance. "I think," he begins, "I 'ave the pleasure of speaking to Mr.----" (_whatever your name is_.) "I take the liberty of calling, Mr.----, to consult you on a matter of the utmost importance, and I shall feel personally obliged if you will take precautions for our conversation not being over'eard."

He looks grubby for a client--but appearances are deceptive, and you offer him a seat, assuring him that he may speak with perfect security--whereupon he proceeds in a lowered voice.

"The story I am about to reveal," he says, smoothing a slimy tall hat, "is of a nature so revolting, so 'orrible in its details, that I can 'ardly bring myself to speak it to any 'uming ear!" (_Here you will probably prepare to take notes._) "You see before you one who is of 'igh birth but low circumstances!" (_At this you give him up as a possible client, but a mixture of diffidence and curiosity compels you to listen._) "Yes, Sir, I was '_ fruges consumeary nati_.' I 'ave received a neducation more befitting a dook than my present condition. Nursed in the lap of haffluence, I was trained to fill the lofty position which was to have been my lot. But, '_necessitas_,' Sir, as you are aware, '_necessitas non abat lejim_,' and such I found it. While still receiving a classical education at Cambridge College--(praps you are yourself an alumbus of _Halma Mater_? No? I apologise, Sir, I'm sure)--but while preparing to take my honorary degree, my father suddenly enounced the horful news that he was a bankrup'. Stript of all we possessed, we were turned out of our sumchuous 'ome upon the cold world, my father's grey 'airs were brought down sorrowing to sangwidge boards, though he is still sangwin of paying off his creditors in time out of what he can put by from his scanty hearnings. My poor dear Mother--a lady born and bred--sank by slow degrees to a cawfy-stall, which is now morgidged to the 'ilt, and my eldest Sister, a lovely and accomplished gairl, was 'artlessly thrown over by a nobleman, to 'oom she was engaged to be married, before our reverses overtook us. His name the delikit hinstinks of a gentleman will forbid you to inquire, as likewise me to mention--enough to 'int that he occupies a prominent position amongst the hupper circles of Society, and is frequently to be met with in the papers. His faithlessness preyed on my Sister's mind to that degree, that she is now in the Asylum, a nopeless maniac! My honely Brother was withdrawn from 'Arrow, and now 'as the 'yumiliation of selling penny toys on the kerbstone to his former playfellers. '_Tantee nannymice salestibus hirae_,' indeed, Sir!

"But you ask what befell myself." (_You have not--for the simple reason that, even if you desired information, he has given you no chance, as yet, of putting in a word._) "Ah, Sir, there you 'ave me on a tender point. '_Hakew tetigisti_,' if I may venture once more upon a scholarly illusion. But I 'ave resolved to conceal nothing--and you shall 'ear. For a time I obtained employment as Seckertary and Imanuensis to a young baranit, 'oo had been the bosom friend of my College days. He would, I know, have used his influence with Goverment to obtain me a lucritive post; but, alas, ere he could do so, unaired sheets, coupled with deliket 'elth, took him off premature, and I was once more thrown on my own resources.

"In conclusion, Sir, you 'ave doubtless done me the hinjustice to expect, from all I 'ave said, that my hobjick in obtaining this interview was to ask you for pecuniary assistance?" (_Here you reflect with remorse that a suspicion to this effect has certainly crossed your mind._) "Nothing of the sort or kind, I do assure you. A little 'uming sympathy, the relief of pouring out my sorrers upon a feeling 'art, a few kind encouraging words, is all I arsk, and that, Sir, the first sight of your kind friendly face told me I should not lack. Pore as I am, I still 'ave my pride, the pride of a English gentleman, and if you was to orfer me a sovereign as you sit there, I should fling it in the fire--ah, I _should_--'urt and indignant at the hinsult!" (_Here you will probably assure him that you have no intention of outraging his feelings in any such manner._) "No, and _why_, Sir? Because you 'ave a gentlemanly 'art, and if you were to make sech a orfer, you would do it in a kindly Christian spirit which would rob it of all offence. There's not many as I would bring myself to accept a paltry sovereign from, but I dunno--I might from one like yourself--I _might_. _Ord hignara mali, miseris succur-reary disco_, as the old philosopher says. You 'ave that kind of _way_ with you." (_You mildly intimate that he is mistaken here, and take the opportunity of touching the bell_.) "No, Sir, don't be untrue to your better himpulses. '_Ave_ a feelin 'art, Sir! Don't send me away, after allowing me to waste my time 'ere--which is of value _to me_, let me tell yer, whatever _yours_ is!--like this!.... Well, well, there's 'ard people in this world? I'm _going_, Sir ... I 'ave sufficient dignity to take a'int.... You 'aven't got even a trifle to spare an old University Scholar in redooced circumstances then?... Ah, it's easy to see you ain't been at a University yourself--you ain't got the _hair_ of it! Farewell, Sir, and may your lot in life be 'appier than----All right, don't _hexcite_ yourself. I've bin mistook in yer, that's all. I thought you was as soft-edded a young mug as you look. Open that door, will yer; I want to get out of this 'ole!"

Here he leaves you with every indication of disgust and disappointment, and you will probably hear him indulging in unclassical vituperation on the landing.

RUS IN URBE.

(A SKETCH IN REGENT'S PARK.)

_A railed-in corner of the Park. TIME--About 7 p.m. Inside the enclosure three shepherds are engaged in shearing the park sheep. The first shepherd has just thrown his patient on its back, gripped its shoulders between his knees, and tucked its head, as a tiresome and obstructive excrescence, neatly away under one of his arms, while he reaches for the shears. The second is straddled across his animal, which is lying with its hind legs hobbled on a low stage under an elm, in a state of stoical resignation, as its fleece is deftly nipped from under its chin. The third operator has almost finished his sheep, which, as its dark grey fleece slips away from its pink-and-white neck and shoulders, suggests a rather decolletee dowager in the act of removing her theatre-cloak in the stalls. Sheep, already shorn, lie and pant in shame and shivering bewilderment, one or two nibble the blades of grass, as if to assure themselves that that resource is still open to them. Sheep whose turn is still to come are penned up at the back, and look on, scandalised, but with an air which seems to express that their own superior respectability is a sufficient protection against similar outrage. The shearers appear to take a humorous view of their task, and are watched by a crowd which has collected round the railings, with an agreeable assurance that they are not expected to contribute towards the entertainment._

FIRST WORK-GIRL (_edging up_). Whatever's goin' on inside 'ere? (_After looking--disappointed._) Why they ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was Reciters, or somethink o' that.

SECOND WORK-GIRL (_with irony_). They _look_ like Reciters, don't they! It do seem a shime cuttin' them poor things as close as convicks, that it do!

FIRST W.-G. They don't mind it partickler; you'd 'ear 'em 'oller fast enough if they did.

SECOND W.-G. I expeck they feel so redic'lus, they 'aven't the 'art to 'oller.

LUCILLA (_to GEORGE_). Do look at that one going up and sniffing at the bundle of fleeces, trying to find out which is his. _Isn't_ it pathetic?

GEORGE. H'm--puts one in mind of a shy man in a cloak-room after a party, saying feebly, "I rather think that's _my_ coat, and there's a crush hat of mine _somewhere_ about," eh?

LUCILLA (_who is always wishing that GEORGE would talk more sensibly_). Considering that sheep don't _wear_ crush hats, I hardly see how----

GEORGE. My dear, I bow to your superior knowledge of natural history. Now you mention it, I believe it _is_ unusual. But I merely meant to suggest a general resemblance.

LUCILLA (_reprovingly_). I know. And you've got into such a silly habit of seeing resemblances in things that are perfectly different. I'm sure I'm _always_ telling you of it.

GEORGE. You are, my dear. But I'm not nearly so bad as I _was_. Think of all the things I used to compare _you_ to before we were married!

SARAH JANE (_to her TROOPER_). I could stand an' look at 'em hours, I could. I was born and bred in the country, and it do seem to bring back my old 'ome that plain.

Her TROOPER. I'm country bred too, though yer mightn't think it. But there ain't much in sheep shearin' to _my_ mind. If it was _pig killin'_, now!

SARAH JANE. Ah, that's along o' your bein' in the milingtary, I expect.

Her TROOPER. No, it ain't that. It's the reckerlections it 'ud call up. I 'ad a 'ole uncle a pork-butcher, d'ye see, and (_with sentiment_) many and many a 'appy hour I've spent as a boy----[_He indulges in tender reminiscences._

A YOUNG CLERK (_who belongs to a Literary Society, to his FIANCEE_). It has a wonderfully rural look--quite like a scene in 'Ardy, isn't it?

His FIANCEE (_who has "no time for reading rubbish"_). I daresay; though I've never been there myself.

The CLERK. Never been? Oh, I see. _You_ thought I said _Arden_--the Forest of Arden, in Shakspeare, didn't you?

His FIANCEE. Isn't that where Mr. Gladstone lives, and goes cutting down the trees in?

The CLERK. No; At least it's spelt different. But it was 'Ardy _I_ meant. _Far from the Madding Crowd_, you know.

His FIANCEE (_with a vague view to the next Bank Holiday_). What do you _call_ "far"--farther than _Margate_?

[_Her companion has a sense of discouragement._

An ARTISAN (_to a neighbour in broadcloth and a white choker_). It's wonderful 'ow they can go so close without 'urtin' of 'em, ain't it?

His NEIGHBOUR (_with unction_). Ah, my friend, it on'y shows 'ow true it is that 'eving tempers the shears for the shorn lambs!

A GOVERNESS (_instructively, to her charge_). Don't you think you ought to be very grateful to that poor sheep, Ethel, for giving up her nice warm fleece on purpose to make a frock for _you_?

ETHEL (_doubtfully_). Y--yes, Miss Mavor. But (_with a fear that some reciprocity may be expected of her_) she's too big for any of my _best_ frocks, _isn't_ she?

FIRST URCHIN (_perched on the railings_). Ain't that 'un a-kicking? 'E don't like 'aving _'is_ 'air cut, 'e don't, no more shouldn't I if it was me.... 'E's bin an' upset 'is bloke on the grorss, now! Look at the bloke layin' there larfin'.... 'E's ketched 'im agin now. See 'im landin' 'im a smack on the 'ed; that'll learn 'im to stay quiet, eh? 'E's strong, ain't 'e?

SECOND URCHIN. Rams is the wust, though, 'cause they got 'orns, rams 'ave.

FIRST URCH. What, same as goats?

SECOND URCH. (_emphatically_). Yuss! Big crooked 'uns. And runs at yer, they do.

FIRST URCH. I wish they was rams in 'ere. See all them sheep waitin' to be done. I wonder what they're finkin' of.

SECOND URCH. Ga-arn! They _don't_ fink, sheep don't.

FIRST URCH. Not o' anyfink?

SECOND URCH. Na-ow! They ain't got nuffink to fink _about_, sheep ain't.

FIRST URCH. I lay they _do_ fink, 'orf and on.

SECOND URCH. Well, I lay _you_ never see 'em doin' of it!

[_And so on. The first Shepherd disrobes his sheep, and
dismisses it with a disrespectful spank. After which he
proceeds to refresh himself from a brown jar, and hands it to
his comrades. The spectators look on with deeper interest, and
discuss the chances of the liquid being beer, cider, or cold
tea, as the scene closes._

CATCHING THE EARLY BOAT.

_In Bed; At the Highland Hotel, Oban._

What an extraordinary thing is the mechanism of the human mind! Went to sleep last night impressed with vital importance of waking at six, to catch early steamer to Gairloch. And here I am--broad awake--at exactly 5.55! Is it automatic action, or what? Like setting clockwork for explosive machine. When the time comes, I blow up--I mean, _get_ up. Think out this simile--rather a good one.... Need not have been so particular in telling Boots to call me, after all. Shall I get up _before_ he comes? He'll be rather surprised when he knocks at the door, and hears me singing inside like a lark. But, on reflection, isn't it rather _petty_ to wish to astonish an hotel Boots? And why on earth should I get up myself, when I've tipped another fellow to get me up? But suppose he forgets to call me. I've no right, as yet, to _assume_ that he will. To get up now would argue want of confidence in him--might hurt his feelings. I will give him another five minutes, poor fellow....

_Getting up._--No actual necessity to get up yet, but, to make assurance doubly--something or other, forget what--I will ... I do. Portmanteau rather refractory; retreats under bed--quite ten minutes before I can coax it out.... When I have, it won't let me pack it. That's the worst of this breed of brown portmanteaus--they're always nasty-tempered. However, I am getting a few things into it now, by degrees. Very annoying--as fast as I put them in, this confounded portmanteau shoots them out again! If I've put in that pair of red and white striped pyjamas once, I've done it twenty times--and they always come twisting and rolling out of the back, somehow. Fortunate I left myself ample time.

Man next door to me is running it rather fine. _He_ has to catch the boat, too, and he's not up yet! Hear the Boots hammering away at his door. How _can_ a fellow, just for the sake of a few more minutes in bed--which he won't even know he's _had_!--go and risk losing his steamer in that way? I'll do him a good turn--knock at the wall myself. "Hi! get up, you lazy beggar. Look sharp--you'll be late!" He thanks me, in a muffled tone, through the wall. He is a remarkably quick dresser, he tells me--it won't take him thirty-five seconds to pack, dress, pay his bill, and get on board. If that's the case, I don't see why _I_ should hurry. I've got much more than that _already_.

_At the Quay._--People in Oban stare a good deal. Can't quite make out reason, unless they're surprised to find me up so early. Explain that I got up without having even been called. Oban populace mildly surprised, and offer me neckties--_Why?_

Fine steamer this; has a paddle-wheel at _both_ ends--"because," the Captain explains, "she has not only to _go_ to Gairloch--but come back as well."

First-rate navigator, the Captain; he has written my weight, the date of my last birthday, and the number of the house I live in, down in a sort of ledger he keeps. He does this with all his passengers, he tells me, reduces the figures to logarithms, and works out the ship's course in decimals. No idea there was so much science in modern seamanship.

_On Board._--Great advantage of being so early is that you can breakfast quietly on deck before starting. Have mine on bridge of steamer, under awning; everything very good--ham-meringues _excellent_. No coffee, but, instead, a capital brand of dry, sparkling marmalade, served, sailor-fashion, in small pomatum-pots.

What a small world we live in! Of all people in the world, who should be sitting next to me but my Aunt Maria! I was always under the impression that she had died in my infancy. Don't like to mention this, because if I am _wrong_, she might be offended. But if she _did_ die when I was a child, she ought to be a much older woman than she looks. I _do_ tell her this--because it is really a compliment.

My Aunt, evidently an experienced traveller, never travels, she informs me, without a pair of globes and a lawn-mower. She offers, very kindly, to lend me the Celestial globe, if the weather is at all windy. This is behaving _like_ an Aunt!

We are taking in live-stock; curious-looking creatures, like spotted pug-dogs (only bigger and woollier, of course) and without horns. Somebody leaning over the rail next to me (I _think_ he is the Public Prosecutor, but am not quite sure), tells me they are "Scotch Shortbreads." Agreeable man, but rather given to staring.

Didn't observe it before, but my Aunt is really amazingly like Mr. Gladstone. Ask her to explain this. She is much distressed that I have noticed it; says she has felt it coming on for some time; it is not, as she justly complains, as if she took any interest in politics either. She has consulted every doctor in London, and they all tell her it is simply weakness, and she will outgrow it with care. Singular case--must find out (delicately) whether it's catching.

We ought to be starting soon; feel quite fresh and lively, in spite of having got up so early. Mention this to Captain. Wish he and the Public Prosecutor wouldn't stare at me so. Just as if there was something singular in my appearance!

They're embarking my portmanteau now. Knew they would have a lively time of it! It takes at least four sailors, in kilts, to manage it. Ought I to step ashore and quiet it down? Stay where I am. Don't know why, but feel a little afraid of it when it's like this. Shall exchange it for a quiet hand-bag when I get home.

Captain busy hammering at a hole in the funnel--dangerous place to spring a leak in--hope he is making it water-tight. The hammering reminds me of that poor devil in the bedroom next to mine at the hotel. _He_ won't catch the boat now--he _can't_! My Aunt (who has left off looking like Mr. Gladstone) asks me why I am laughing. I tell her about that unfortunate man and his "thirty-five seconds." She screams with laughter. Very humorous woman, my Aunt.

Deck crowded with passengers now: all pointing and staring ... at whom? Ask Aunt Maria. She declines to tell me: says, severely, that "If I don't know, I ought to."

Great Heavens! It's at _me_ they're staring! And no wonder--in the hurry I was in, I must have packed _everything_ up!... I've come away just as I was! _Now_ I understand why someone offered me a necktie. Where shall I go and hide myself? Shall I ever persuade that beast of a portmanteau to give me out one or two things to put on--because I really _can't_ go about like this! Captain still hammering at funnel--but he can't wake that sleepy-headed idiot in the next room. "Louder--knock _louder_, or the boat will go without him! Tell him there isn't another for two days. He's said good-bye to everybody he knows at Oban--he will look such an ass if he doesn't go, after all!"... Not the least use! Wonder what his name is. My Aunt says _she_ knows, only she won't tell me--she'll whisper it, as a great secret. She is just about to disclose the name, which, somehow, I am extremely curious to know--when ...

Where am I? Haven't they got that unhappy fellow up _yet_? Why the dickens are they knocking at _my_ door? I've been on board the steamer for hours, I tell you? Eh? _what?_ Five minutes to eight! And the Gairloch boat? "Sailed at usual time--seven. Tried to make you hear--but couldn't."... Confound it all! Good mind not to get up all day--now!

SOCIETY'S NEXT CRAZE.

(AS FORESEEN BY MR. PUNCH'S SECOND-SIGHTED CLAIRVOYANT.)