Chapter C: O. G. Not that I grudge it--a good education is a fortune in itself, (2)

FIANCEE (_on her defence_). You think you know so much--but it's got a man's 'ed, ain't it? and I know there used to be _'orses_ with 'alf a man where the 'ed ought to be, because I've seen their pictures--so there!

THE I. A. I dunno what you've got where _your_ 'ed ought to be, torking such rot!

IN THE UPPER GALLERIES; ETHNOGRAPHICAL COLLECTION.

THE GRIM GOVERNESS (_directing a scared small boy's attention to a particularly hideous mask_). See, Henry, that's the kind of mask worn by savages!

HENRY. Always--or only on the fifth of November, Miss Goole?

[_He records a mental vow never to visit a Savage Island on Guy Fawkes's Day, and makes a prolonged study of the mask, with a view to future nightmares._

A KIND, BUT DENSE UNCLE (_to_ NIECE). All these curious things were made by cannibals, ETHEL--savages who eat one another, you know.

ETHEL (_suggestively_). But, I suppose, Uncle, they wouldn't eat one another if they had any one to give them _buns_, would they?

[_Her_ UNCLE _discusses the suggestion elaborately, but without appreciating the hint_; _the_ GOVERNESS _has caught sight of a huge and hideous Hawaiian Idol, with a furry orange-coloured head, big mother-o'-pearl eyes, with black balls for the pupils, and a grinning mouth picked out with shark's teeth, to which she introduces the horrified_ HENRY.

MISS GOOLE. Now, Henry, you see the kind of idol the poor savages say their prayers to.

HARRY (_tremulously_). But n--not just before they go to bed, do they, Miss Goole?

AMONG THE MUMMIES.

THE UNCLE. That's King Rameses' mummy, Ethel.

ETHEL. And what was _her_ name, Uncle?

THE GOVERNESS (_halting before a case containing a partially unrolled_ _mummy, the spine and thigh of which are exposed to view_). Fancy, Henry, that's part of an Egyptian who has been dead for thousands of years! Why, you're not _frightened_, are you?

HARRY (_shaking_). No, I'm not frightened, Miss Goole--only if you don't mind, I--I'd rather see a gentleman not _quite_ so dead. And there's one over there with a gold face and glass eyes, and he looked at me, and--please, I _don't_ think this is the place to bring such a little boy as me to!

_A Party is examining a Case of Mummied Animals._

THE LEADER. Here you are, you see, mummy cats--don't they look comical all stuck up in a row there?

FIRST WOMAN. Dear, dear--to think o' going to all that expense when they might have had 'em stuffed on a cushion! And monkeys, and dogs too--well, I'm sure, fancy _that_ now!

SECOND WOMAN. And there's a mummied crocodile down there. I _don't_ see what they'd want with a mummy _crocodile_, do you?

THE LEADER (_with an air of perfect comprehension of Egyptian customs_). Well, you see they took whatever they could get 'old of, _they_ did.

IN THE PREHISTORIC GALLERY.

OLD LADY (_to_ POLICEMAN) Oh, Policeman, can you tell me if there's any article here that's supposed to have belonged to Adam?

POLICEMAN (_a wag in his way_). Well, Mum, we _'ave_ 'ad the 'andle of his spade, and the brim of his garden 'at, but they wore out last year and 'ad to be thrown away--things won't last for ever--even _'ere_, you know.

GOING OUT.

A PEEVISH OLD MAN. I ain't seen anything to call worth seeing, _I_ ain't. In our Museum at 'ome they've a lamb with six legs, and hairy-light stones as big as cannon-balls; but there ain't none of that sort 'ere, and I'm dog-tired trapesing over these boards, I am!

HIS DAUGHTER (_a candid person_). Ah, I ought to ha' known it warn't much good taking _you_ out to enjoy yourself--you're too old, _you_ are!

ETHEL'S UNCLE (_cheerily_). Well, Ethel, I think we've seen all there is to be seen, eh?

ETHEL. There's _one_ room we haven't been into yet, Uncle, dear.

UNCLE. Ha--and what's that?

ETHEL (_persuasively_). The _Refreshment_ Room.

[_The hint is accepted at last._

THE TRAVELLING MENAGERIE.

OUTSIDE.

_A crowd is staring stolidly at the gorgeously gilded and
painted entrance, with an affectation of superior wisdom to
that of the weaker-minded, who sneak apologetically up the
steps from time to time. A tall-hatted orchestra have just
finished a tune, and hung their brazen instruments up like
joints on the hooks above them._

A WOMAN CARRYING AN INFANT (_to her_ HUSBAND). Will 'ee goo in, Joe?

JOE (_who is secretly burning to see the show_). Naw. Sin it arl afoor arfen enough. Th' outside's th' best on it, I reckon.

HIS WIFE (_disappointed_). Saw 'tis, and naw charge for lookin' at 'en neither.

THE PROPRIETOR. Ladies and Gentlemen, Re-mem-bar! This is positively the last opportunity of witnessing Denman's Celebrated Menagerie--the largest in the known world! The Lecturer is now describing the animals, after which Mlle. Cravache and Zambango, the famous African Lion-tamers, will go through their daring feats with forest-bred lions, tigers, bears, and hyenas, for the last time in this town. Remembar--the last performance this evening!

JOE (_to his_ WIFE). If ye'd _like_ to hev a look at 'em, I wun't say nay to et.

HIS WIFE. I dunno as I care partickler 'bout which way 'tis.

JOE (_annoyed_). Bide where 'ee be then.

HIS WIFE. Theer's th' child, Joe, to be sure.

JOE. Well we bain't a gooin' in, and so th' child wun't come to no 'arm, and theer's a hend on it!

HIS WIFE. Nay, she'd lay in my arms as quiet as quiet. I wur on'y thinkin', Joe, as it 'ud be somethin' to tell her when she wur a big gell, as her daddy took her to see th' wild beasties afoor iver she could tark--that's arl I wur meanin', Joe. And they'll let 'er goo in free, too.

JOE. Ay, that'll be fine tellin's fur 'er, sure 'nough. Come arn, Missus, we'll tek th' babby in--happen she'll niver git th' chance again.

[_They mount the steps eagerly._

INSIDE.

JOE'S WIFE (_with a vague sense of being defrauded_). I thart thee'rd ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!

JOE. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as they be.

THE LECTURER. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment. (Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!) We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as 'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (_Severely._) The Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the honset of his would-be destroyer.

JOE'S WIFE. I thart it wur th' _hostridge_ as hacted that away.

JOE. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver _I_ heard on.

HIS WIFE (_stopping before another den_). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll _he_ be now?

JOE. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en? He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [_Dubiously._

HIS WIFE. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister (_to_ STRANGER) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?

STRANGER. That--oh, that's a Gnu.

JOE'S WIFE. He says it be a noo.

JOE. A noo _what_?

HIS WIFE. Why, a noo _hanimal_, I s'pose.

JOE. Well, he bain't naw himprovement on th' hold 'uns, as I can see. They'd better ha' left it aloan if they couldn't do naw better nor _'im_. Dunno what things be coming to, hinventin' o' noo hanimals at this time o' day.

BEFORE ANOTHER CAGE.

A BOOZED AND ARGUMENTATIVE RUSTIC. I sez as that 'un's a fawks, an' I'm ready to prove it on anny man.

A COMPANION (_soothingly_). Naw, naw, 'e baint naw fawks. I dunno what 'tis,--but 'tain't naw fawks nawhow.

B. AND A. RUSTIC. I tell 'ee _'tis_ a fawks, I'm sure on it. (_To_ MILD VISITOR) _Bain't_ 'e a fawks, Master, eh?

MILD VISITOR. Well, really, if you ask me, I should say it was a hyena.

THE RUSTIC'S COMP. A hyanna! ah, that's a deal moor like; saw 'tis!

THE RUSTIC. A pianner? Do 'ee take me vur a vool? I'll knack th' 'ed arf o' the man as plays 'is priskies wi' me, I wull! Wheer be 'e? Let me get at 'en!

[MILD V. _not being prepared to defend his opinion by personal combat, discreetly loses himself in crowd_.

ON THE ELEPHANT'S BACK.

SECOND BOY. Sit a bit moor forrard, Billy, cann't 'ee!

FIRST BOY. _Cann't_, I tell 'ee, I be sittin' on th' scruff of 'is neck as 'tis.

THIRD BOY. I can see my vaither, I can. 'Ere, vaither, vaither, look at me--see wheer _I_ be!

FOURTH BOY (_a candid friend_). Shoot oop, cann't 'ee', ya young gozzle-'ead! Think ya vaither niver see a hass on a hellyphant afoor!

FIFTH BOY. These yere helliphants be main straddly roidin'. I wish 'e wudn't waak honly waun haff of 'en at oncest, loike. What do 'ee mean, a kitchin' old o' me behind i' that way, eh, Jimmy Passons!

SIXTH BOY. _You'd_ ketch 'old 'o hanything if you was like me, a slidin' down th' helliphant's ta-ail.

FIFTH BOY. If 'ee doan't let go o' me, I'll job th' helliphant's ribs, and make 'un gallop, I will, so _now_, Jimmy Passons!

IN FRONT OF THE LIONS' DEN DURING PERFORMANCE.

VARIOUS SPEAKERS. Wheer be pushin' to? Car that manners screouging like that!... I cann't see nawthen, _I_ cann't wi' all they 'ats in front.... What be gooin' arn, do 'ee know?... A wumman gooin' in along 'o they lions and tigerses? Naw, ye niver mane it!... Bain't she a leatherin' of 'un too!... Now she be a kissin' of 'un--maakin' it oop loike.... John, you can see better nor me--what be she oop to now?... Puttin' 'er 'ed inside o' th' lion's? Aw, dear me, now--_there_'s a thing to be doin' of! Well, I'd ruther it was 'er nor me, I know _that_.... They wun't do 'er naw 'arm, so long's she kips 'er heye on 'em.... What do 'ee taak so voolish vor? How's th' wumman to kip 'er heye on 'em, with 'er 'ed down wan on 'em's throat, eh?... Gracious alive! if iver I did!... Oh, I do 'ope she bain't gooin' to let off naw fire-arms, I be moor fear'd o' pistols nor any tigers.... Theer, she's out now! She be bold fur a female, bain't her?... She niver maade 'em joomp through naw bla-azin' 'oops, though.... What carl would she hev fur doin' that? Well, they've a drared 'er doin' of it houtside', that's arl I know.... An' they've a drared Hadam outside a naamin' of th' hanimals--but ye didn't expect to see _that_ doon inside', did 'ee?... Bob, do 'ee look at old Muster Manders ovver theer by th' hellyphant. He's a maakin' of 'isself that familiar--putting biskuts 'tween his lips and lettin' th' hellyphant take 'em out wi's troonk!... _I_ see un--let un aloan, th' hold doitler, happen he thinks he's a feedin' his canary bird!

At the Regent Street Tussaud's.

_Before the effigy of Dr. Koch, who is represented in the act
of examining a test-tube with the expression of bland
blamelessness peculiar to Wax Models._

WELL-INFORMED VISITOR. That's Dr. Koch, making his great discovery!

UNSCIENTIFIC V. What did _he_ discover?

WELL-INF. V. Why, the Consumption Bacillus. He's got it in that bottle he's holding up.

UNSC. V. And what's the good of it, now he _has_ discovered it?

WELL-INF. V. Good? Why, it's the thing that causes _consumption_, you know!

UNSC. V. Then it's a pity he didn't leave it alone!

_Before a Scene representing "The Home Life at Sandringham."_

FIRST OLD LADY (_with Catalogue_). It says here that "the note the page is handing _may_ have come from Sir Dighton Probyn, the Comptroller of the Royal Household." Fancy _that_!

SECOND OLD LADY. He's brought it in in his fingers. Now _that's_ a thing I never allow in _my_ house. I always tell Sarah to bring all letters, and even circulars, in on a tray!

_Before a Scene representing the late Fred Archer, on a rather quaint quadruped, on Ascot Racecourse._

A SPORTSMAN. H'm--Archer, eh? Shouldn't have backed his mount in _that_ race!

_Before "The Library at Hawarden."_

GLADSTONIAN ENTHUSIAST (_to_ FRIEND, _who, with the perverse ingenuity of patrons of Waxworks, has been endeavouring to identify the Rev. John Wesley among the Cabinet in Downing Street_). Oh, never mind all that lot, Betsy; they're only the _Gover'ment_! Here's dear Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone in this next! See, he's lookin' for something in a drawer of his side-board--ain't that _natural_? And only look--a lot of people have been leaving Christmas cards on him (_a pretty and touching tribute of affection, which is eminently characteristic of a warm-hearted Public_). I wish I'd thought o' bringing one with me!

HER FRIEND. So do I. We might send one 'ere by post--but it'll have to be a New Year Card now!

A STRICT OLD LADY (_before next group_). Who are these two? "Mr. 'Enery Irving, and Miss Ellen Terry in _Faust_, eh? No--I don't care to stop to see them--that's play-actin', that is--and I don't 'old with it nohow! What are these two parties supposed to be doin' of over here? What--Cardinal Newman and Cardinal Manning at the High Altar at the Oratory, Brompton! Come along, and don't encourage Popery by looking at such figures. I _did_ 'ear as they'd got Mrs. Pearcey and the prambilator somewheres. I _should_ like to see that, now."

IN THE CHILDREN'S GALLERY.

AN AUNT (_who finds the excellent Catalogue a mine of useful information_). Look, Bobby, dear (_reading_). "Here we have Constantine's Cat, as seen in the _Nights of Straparola_, an Italian romancist, whose book was translated into French in the year 1585--"

BOBBY (_disappointed_). Oh, then it _isn't Puss in Boots_!

A GENIAL GRANDFATHER (_pausing before Crusoe and Friday_). Well, Percy, my boy, you know who _that_ is, at all events--eh?

PERCY. I suppose it is Stanley--but it's not very like.

THE G. G. Stanley!--Why, bless my soul, never heard of _Robinson Crusoe_ and his man _Friday_?

PERCY. Oh, I've _heard_ of them, of course--they come in Pantomimes--but I like more grown-up sort of books myself, you know. Is this girl asleep _She_?

THE G. G. No--at least--well, I expect it's _The Sleeping Beauty_. You remember her, of course--all about the ball, and the glass slipper, and her father picking a rose when the hedge grew round the palace, eh?

PERCY. Ah, you see, Grandfather, you had more time for general reading than we get. (_He looks through a practicable cottage window._) Hallo, a Dog and a Cat. Not badly stuffed!

THE G. G. Why, that must be _Old Mother Hubbard_. (_Quoting from memory._) "Old Mother Hubbard sat in a cupboard, eating a Christmas pie--or a _bone_ was it?"

PERCY. Don't know. It's not in _Selections from British Poetry_, which we have to get up for "rep."

THE AUNT (_reading from Catalogue_). "The absurd ambulations of this antique person, and the equally absurd antics of her dog, need no recapitulation." Here's _Jack the Giant Killer_, next. Listen, Bobby, to what it says about him here. (_Reads._) "It is clearly the last transmutation of the old British legend told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, of Corineus, the Trojan, the companion of the Trojan Brutus, when he first settled in Britain. But more than this"--I hope you're listening, Bobby?--"_more_ than this, it is quite evident, even to the superficial student of Greek mythology, that many of the main incidents and ornaments are borrowed from the tales of Hesiod and Homer." Think of that, now!

[BOBBY _thinks of it, with depression_.

THE G. G. (_before figure of Aladdin's Uncle selling new lamps for old_). Here you are, you see! "_Ali Baba_," got 'em all here, you see. Never read your _Arabian Nights_, either! Is that the way they bring up boys nowadays!

PERCY. Well, the fact is, Grandfather, that unless a fellow reads that kind of thing when he's _young_, he doesn't get a chance afterwards.

THE AUNT (_still quoting_). "In the famous work," Bobby, "by which we know Masudi, he mentions the Persian Hezar Afsane-um-um-um,--nor have commentators failed to notice that the occasion of the book written for the Princess Homai resembles the story told in the Hebrew Bible about Esther, her mother or grandmother, by some Persian Jew two or three centuries B.C." Well, I never knew _that_ before!... This is _Sindbad and the Old Man of the Sea_--let's see what they say about _him_. (_Reads._) "Both the story of _Sindbad_ and the old Basque legend of Tartaro are undoubtedly borrowed from the _Odyssey_ of Homer, whose _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ were translated into Syriac in the reign of Harun-ur-Rashid." Dear, dear, how interesting, now! and, Bobby, what _do_ you think some one says about _Jack and the Beanstalk_? He says--"This tale is an allegory of the Teutonic Al-fader, the red hen representing the all-producing sun; the moneybags, the fertilizing rain; and the harp, the winds." Well, I'm sure it seems likely enough, doesn't it?

[BOBBY _suppresses a yawn_; PERCY'S _feelings are outraged by
receiving a tin trumpet from the Lucky Tub; general move to the
scene of the Hampstead Tragedy_.

BEFORE THE HAMPSTEAD TABLEAUX.

SPECTATORS. Dear, dear, there's the _dresser_, you see, and the window broken and all; it's wonderful how they can _do_ it! And there's poor Mrs. 'Ogg--it's real butter and a real loaf she's cutting, and the poor baby, too!... Here's the actual casts taken after they were murdered. Oh, and there's Mrs. Pearcey wheeling the perambulator--it's the _very_ perambulator! No, not the very one--they've got _that_ at the other place, and the piece of toffee the baby sucked. Have they really! Oh, we _must_ try and go there, too, before the children's holidays are over. And this is all? Well, well, everything very nice, I _will_ say. But a pity they couldn't get the _real_ perambulator!

At the Military Exhibition.

IN THE AVENUE FACING THE ARENA.

AN UNREASONABLE OLD LADY (_arriving breathless, with her grandson and niece_). This'll be the place the balloon goes up from, I wouldn't miss it for anything! Put the child up on that bench, Maria; we'll stand about here till it begins.

MARIA. But _I_ don't see no balloon nor nothing.

[_Which, as the foliage blocks out all but the immediate foreground is scarcely surprising._

THE U. O. L. No more don't I--but it stands to reason there wouldn't be so many looking on if there wasn't _something_ to see. We're well enough where we are, and _I_'m not going further to fare worse to please nobody; so you may do as you _like_ about it.

[MARIA _promptly avails herself of this permission_.

THE U. O. L. (_a little later_). Well, it's time they did _something_, I'm sure. Why, the people seem all moving off! and where's that girl Maria got to? Ah, here you are! So you found you were no better off?--_Next_ time, p'raps you'll believe what I tell you. Not that there's any War Balloon as _I_ can see!

MARIA. Oh, there was a capital view from where I was--out in the open there.

THE U. O. L. Why couldn't you say so before? Out in the open! Let's go there then--it's all the same to _me_!

MARIA (_with an undutiful giggle_). It's all the same now--wherever you go, 'cause the balloon's gone up.

THE U. O. L. Gone up! What are you telling me, Maria?

MARIA. I see it go--it shot up ever so fast and quite steady, and the people in the car all waved their 'ats to us. I could see a arm a waving almost till it got out of sight.

THE U. O. L. And me and this innercent waiting here on the seat like lambs, and never dreaming what was goin' on! Oh, Maria, however you'll reconcile it to your conscience, _I_ don't know!

MARIA. Why, whatever are you pitching into _me_ for!

THE U. O. L. It's not that it's any partickler pleasure to _me_, seeing a balloon, though we _did_ get our tea done early to be in time for it--it's the sly deceitfulness of your _conduck_, Maria, which is all the satisfaction I get for coming out with you,--it's the feeling that--well, there, I won't _talk_ about it!

[_In pursuance of which virtuous resolve, she talks about nothing else for the remainder of the day, until the unfortunate_ MARIA _wishes fervently that balloons had never been invented_.

IN THE BUILDING.

_An admiring group has collected before an enormous pin-cushion in the form of a fat star, and about the size of a Church-hassock._

FIRST SOLDIER (_to his Companion_). Lot 'o work in _that_, yer know!

_Second Soldier._ Yes. (_Thoughtfully._) Not but what--(_becoming critical_)--if I'd been doin' it _myself_, I should ha' chose pins with smaller 'eds on 'em.

FIRST S. (_regarding this as presumptuous_). You may depend on it the man who made _that_ 'ad his reasons for choosing the pins he did--but there's no pleasing some parties!

SECOND S. (_apologetically_). Well, I ain't denying the _Art_ in it, am I?

FIRST WOMAN. I _do_ call that 'andsome, Sarah. See, there's a star, and two 'arps, and a crownd, and I don't know what all--and all done in pins and beads! "Made by Bandsman Brown," too! [_Reading placard._

SECOND W. Soldiers is that clever with their 'ands. Four pounds seems a deal to ask for it, though.

FIRST W. But look at the weeks it must ha' took him to do! (_Reading._) "Containing between ten and eleven thousand pins and beads, and a hundred and ninety-eight pieces of coloured cloth!" Why, the pins alone must ha' cost a deal of money.

SECOND W. Yes, it 'ud be a pity for it to go to somebody as 'ud want to take 'em out.

FIRST W. It ought to be bought up by Gover'ment, that it ought--they're well able to afford it.

_A select party of Philistines, comprising a young Man,
apparently in the Army, and his_ MOTHER _and_ SISTER, _are
examining Mr. Gilbert's Jubilee Trophy in a spirit of puzzled
antipathy_.

THE MOTHER. Dear me, and _that's_ the Jubilee centrepiece, is it? What a heavy-looking thing. I wonder what _that_ cost?

HER SON (_gloomily_). Cost? Why, about two days' pay for every man in the Service!

HIS MOTHER. Well, I call it a shame for the Army to be fleeced for _that_ thing. Are those creatures intended for mermaids, with their tails curled round that glass ball, I wonder? [_She sniffs._

HER DAUGHTER. I expect it will be crystal, Mother.

HER MOTHER. Very likely, my dear, but--glass or crystal--_I_ see no sense in it!

DAUGHTER. Oh, it's absurd, of course--still, this figure isn't badly done. Is it supposed to represent St. George carrying the Dragon? Because they've made the Dragon no bigger than a salmon!

MOTHER. Ah, well, I hope Her Majesty will be better pleased with it than I am, that's all.

[_After which they fall into ecstasies over an industrial
exhibit consisting of a drain-pipe, cunningly encrusted with
fragments of regimental mess-china set in gilded cement._

_Before a large mechanical clock, representing a fortress,
which is striking. Trumpets sound, detachments of wooden
soldiers march in and out of gateways, and parade the
battlements, clicking for a considerable time._

A SPECTATOR (_with a keen sense of the fitness of things_). What--all that for on'y 'alf past five!

OVERHEARD IN THE AMBULANCE DEPARTMENT.

SPECTATORS (_passing in front of groups of models arranged in realistic surroundings_). All the faces screwed up to suffering, you see!... What a nice patient expression that officer on the stretcher has! Yes, they've given _him_ a wax head--some of them are only _papier-mache_.... Pity they couldn't get nearer their right size in 'elmets, though, ain't it?... There's _one_ chap's given up the ghost!... I know that stuffed elephant--he comes from the Indian Jungle at the Colinderies!... I _do_ think it's a pity they couldn't get something more _like_ a mule than this wooden thing! Why, it's quite _flat_, and its ears are only leather, nailed on!... You can't tell, my dear; it may be a peculiar breed out there--cross between a towel-horse and a donkey-engine, don't you know!

IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE SHOOTING-GALLERY.

_At the back, amidst tropical scenery, an endless procession of
remarkably undeceptive rabbits of painted tin are running
rapidly up and down an inclined plane. Birds jerk painfully
through the air above, and tin rats, boars, tigers, lions, and
ducks, all of the same size, glide swiftly along grooves in the
middle distance. In front, Commissionnaires are busy loading
rifles for keen sportsmen, who keep up a lively but somewhat
ineffective fusillade._

'ARRIET (_to_ 'ARRY). They 'ave got it up beautiful, I must say. Do you _get_ anything for 'itting them?

'ARRY. On'y the honour.

A FATHER (_to intelligent_ SMALL BOY _in rear of_ NERVOUS SPORTSMAN). No, I ain't seen him 'it anything _yet_, my son; but you watch. That's a rabbit he's aiming at now.... Ah, _missed_ him!

SMALL BOY. 'Ow d'yer _know_ what the gentleman's a-aiming at, eh, Father?

FATHER. 'Ow? Why, you notice which way he points his gun.

[_The N. S. fires again--without results._

SMALL BOY. I sor that time, Father. He was a-aiming at one o' them ducks, an' he missed a rabbit! [_The N. S. gives it up in disgust._

_Enter a small party of 'Arries in high spirits._

FIRST 'ARRY. 'Ullo! _I_'m on to this. 'Ere Guv'nor', 'and us a gun. _I_'ll show yer 'ow to shoot!

[_He takes up his position, in happy unconsciousness that
playful companions have decorated his coat-collar behind with a
long piece of white paper._

SECOND 'ARRY. Go in, Jim! You got yer markin'-paper ready anyhow.

[_Delighted guffaws from the other_ 'ARRIES, _in which_ JIM _joins
vaguely_.

THIRD 'ARRY. I'll lay you can't knock a rabbit down!

JIM. I'll lay I can!

[_Fires. The procession of rabbits goes on undisturbed._

SECOND 'ARRY (_jocosely_). Never mind. You _peppered_ 'im. I sor the feathers floy!

THIRD 'ARRY. You'd ha' copped 'im if yer'd bin a bit quicker.

JIM (_annoyed_). They keep on movin' so, they don't give a bloke no chornce!

SECOND 'ARRY. 'Ave a go at that old owl.

[_Alluding to a tin representation of that fowl which remains
stationary among the painted rushes._

THIRD 'ARRY. No--see if you can't git that stuffed bear. He's on'y a yard or two away!

AN IMPATIENT 'ARRY (_at doorway_). 'Ere, _come on_! Ain't you shot enough? Shake a leg, can't yer, Jim?

SECOND 'ARRY. He's got to kill one o' them rabbits fust. Or pot a tin lion, Jim? _You_ ain't afraid?

JIM. No; I'm goin' to git that owl. He's _quiet_ any way.

[_Fires. The owl falls prostrate._

SECOND 'ARRY. Got 'im! Owl's _orf_! Jim, old man, you must stand drinks round after this!

[_Exeunt_ 'ARRIES, _to celebrate their victory in a befitting fashion, as Scene closes in_.

At the French Exhibition.

CHORUS OF ARAB STALL-KEEPERS. Come an look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere _Miss_! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap verri moch! [_And so on._]

CHORUS OF BRITISH SALESWOMEN. _Will_ you allow me to show you this little novelty, Sir? _'Ave_ you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Do come and try this noo puzzle--no 'arm in _lookin'_, Sir. Very nice little novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? every article is very much reduced, &c., &c.

AT THE FOLIES-BERGERE.

SCENE--_A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances._

SHOWMAN (_shouting_). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery--three illusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing!

A FEMALE SIGHTSEER (_with the air of a person making an original suggestion_) Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?

MALE DITTO. May as well, now we _are_ 'ere. (_To preserve himself from any suspicion of credulity_). Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.

[_They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are
leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain
is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a
Waltz._

THE F. S. (_with an uncomfortable giggle_). Not much to see _so_ far, is there?

HER COMPANION. Well, they ain't begun yet.

[_The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a_ CAVERN
SCENE. AMPHITRE, _in blue tights, rises through the floor_.

AMPHITRE (_in the Gallic tongue_). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai l'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (_Floats, with no apparent support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, concluding by reversing herself completely._) Bong swore, Mesdarms et messures, mes remercimongs!

[_She dives below, and the Curtain descends._

THE F. S. Is that all? I don't see nothing in _that_!

HER COMP. (_who, having paid for admission, resents this want of appreciation_). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time, wasn't she? I'd just like to see _you_ turnin' and twisting about in the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!

THE F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground--yes that _was_ clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other things now.

HER COMP. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, _I_ should ha' thought.

THE F. S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time--you've got to get _used_ to these things, you know.

[_They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim
passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a
glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent
at the back. The illusions--to judge from a sound of scurrying
behind the scenes--have apparently been taken somewhat
unawares._

THE FEMALE SIGHTSEER (_anxious to please_). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?

VOICE OF SHOWMAN (_addressing the Illusions_). Now then, 'urry up there--we're all waiting for you.

[_The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears
strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the
spectators with an impassive contempt--greatly to their
confusion._

THE MALE S. (_in a propitiatory tone_). Not a bad-looking girl, is she?

ATALANTA, THE QUEEN OF THE MOON (_to the_ ORIENTAL BEAUTY _in next compartment_). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!

[_The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second
compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly
knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are
distinctly visible._

THE FEMALE S. Why, wherever has the _rest_ of her got to?

THE ORIENTAL BEAUTY (_with conscious superiority_). That's what you've got to find out.

[_They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity._

A Youthful Showman (_apparently on familiar terms with all the Illusions_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour of persentin' to you the wonderful Galatear or Livin' Statue; you will 'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which will warm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher live and speak. 'Ere, look sharp, earn't yer! (_To_ GALATEA.)

PYGMALION'S DREAM (_from the Mystic gloom_). Wait a bit till I've done warming my 'ands. Now you can turn the lights up ... there, you've bin and turned 'em _out_ now, stoopid!

THE Y. S. Don't you excite yourself. I know what I'm doin'. (_Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust._) At my request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew and kimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindly coming to life?

[_The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly
Young Woman in robust health._

THE Y. S. Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindly return to your former styte?

[_The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull._

THE Y. S. (_in a tone of remonstrance_). No--no, not that ridiklous fice! We don't want to see what yer will be--it's very _loike_ yer, I know but still--(_the skull changes to the Bust._) Ah, that's more the stoyle! (_Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round for inspection._) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'y 'orskin one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal 'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies and Gentlemen!

THE F. S. (_outside_). It's wonderful how they can do it all for threepence, isn't it? We haven't seen _She_ yet!

HER COMP. What! 'aven't you seen wonders enough? Come on, then. But you _are_ going it you know!

[_They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a
barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings._

THE EXHIBITOR (_in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows_). I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at once proceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, have read that celebrated story by Mr. Rider 'Aggard, about a certain _She-who-must-be-obeyed_, and who dwelt in a place called Kor, and you will also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fiery piller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller her example, she stepped into the flame to encourage him--something went wrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder. I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse a little wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsin by, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful SHE, which--(_draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended_ _in the centre of scene_) are now before you enclosed in that little urn. She--where are you?

SHE (_in a full sweet voice from below_). I am 'ere!

SHOWMAN. Then appear!

[_The upper portion of an exceedingly comely_ YOUNG PERSON
_emerges from the mouth of the Urn_.

THE F. S. (_startled_). Lor, she give me quite a turn!

SHOWMAN. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it is not so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. She will now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really inside the urn and not merely beyind it. (_She turns round condescendingly._) She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, thereby demonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires to support her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her, proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, after which she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her so that you may see it really is what it purports to be. (SHE _performs all these actions in the most obliging manner_.) She will now disappear for a moment. (SHE _sinks into the Urn_.) Are you still there, She?

SHE (_from the recess of the Urn_). Yes.

SHOWMAN. Then will you give us some sign of your presence? (_a hand and arm are protruded and waved gracefully_). Thank you. Now you can come up again. (SHE _reappears_.) She will now answer any questions any lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided you won't ask her how it is done--for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, _would_ you, She?

SHE(_with a slow bow and gracious smile_). Certingly not.

THE F. S. (_to her_ COMPANION). Ask her something--do.

HER COMP. Go on! _I_ ain't got anything to ask her--ask her yourself!

A BOLDER SPIRIT (_with interest_). Are your _feet_ warm?

SHE. Quite--thenks.

THE SHOWMAN. HOW old are you, She?

SHE (_impressively_). Two theousand years.

'ARRY. And quite a young thing, too!

A SPECTATOR (_who has read the Novel_). 'Ave you 'eard from Leo Vincey lately?

SHE (_coldly_). I don't know the gentleman.

SHOWMAN. If you have no more questions to ask her, She will now retire into her Urn thenking you all for your kind attendance this morning, which will conclude the entertainment.

[_Final disappearance of_ SHE. _The Audience pass out,
feeling--with perfect justice--that they have "had their
money's worth."_

IN THE MALL ON DRAWING-ROOM DAY.

_The line of carriages bound for Buckingham Palace is moving by
slow stages down the Drive. A curious but not uncritical crowd,
consisting largely of females, peer into the carriages as they
pass, and derive an occult pleasure from a glimpse of a satin
train and a bouquet. Other spectators circulate behind them,
roving from carriage to carriage, straining and staring in at
the occupants with the childlike interest of South Sea
Islanders. The coachmen and footmen gaze impassively before
them, ignoring the crowd to the best of their ability. The
ladies in the carriages bear the ordeal of popular inspection
with either haughty resignation, elaborate unconsciousness, or
amused tolerance, and it is difficult to say which demeanour
provokes the greatest resentment in the democratic breast._

CHORUS OF FEMALE SPECTATORS. We shall see better here than what we did last Droring-Room. Law, 'ow it _did_ come down, too, pouring the 'ole day. I was that sorry for the poor 'orses!... Oh, that one _was_ nice, Marire! Did you see 'er train?--all flame-coloured satting--_lovely!_ Ain't them flowers beautiful? Oh, Liza, '_ere's_ a pore skinny-lookin' thing coming next--look at 'er pore dear arms, all bare! But dressed 'andsome enough .... That's a Gineral in there, see? He's 'olding his cocked 'at on his knee to save the feathers--him and her have been 'aving words, apparently.... Oh, I _do_ like this one. I s'pose that's her Mother with her--well, yes, o' course it _may_ be her Aunt!

A SARDONIC LOAFER. 'Ullo, 'ere's a 'aughty one! layin' back and puttin' up 'er glorses! Know us agen, Mum, won't you? You may well look--you ain't seen so much in yer ole life as what you're seein' to-day, _I_'ll lay! Ah, you ought to feel honoured, too, all of us comin' out to look at yer. Drored 'er blind down, this one 'as, yer see--knew she wasn't wuth looking at!

[_A carriage passes; the footman on the box is adorned by an
enormous nosegay, over which he can just see._

FIRST COMIC COCKNEY. Ow, I s'y--you _'ave_ come out in bloom, Johnny!

SECOND C. C. Ah, they've bin forcin' _'im_ under glorse, they 'ave! 'Is Missis'll never find 'im under all them flowers. Ow, 'e smoiled at me through the brornches!

[_Another carriage passes, the coachman and footmen of which
are undecorated._

FIRST C. C. Shime!--they might ha' stood yer a penny bunch of voilets between yer, that they might!

THE SARDONIC L. 'Ere's a swell turn-out and no mistake--with a couple o' bloomin' beadles standin' be'ind! There's a full-fed 'un inside of it too,--look at the dimonds all over 'er bloomin' old nut. _My_ eye! (_The elderly dowager inside produces a cut-glass scent-bottle of goodly size._) Ah, she's got a drop o' the right sort in there--see her sniffin at it--it won't take 'er long to mop up that little lot!

JEAMES (_behind the carriage, to_ CHAWLES). Our old geeser's perdoocin' the custimary amount o' sensation, eh, Chawley?

CHAWLES (_under notice_). Well, thank 'Eving, I sha'n't have to share the responsibility of her _much_ longer!

'ARRIET (_to_ 'ARRY). I wonder they don't get tired o' being stared at like they are.

'ARRY Bless your 'art--_they_ don't mind--they _like_ it. They'll go 'ome and s'y (_in falsetto_) "Ow, Pa, all the bloomin' crowd kep' on a lookin' at us through the winder--it _was_ proime!"

'ARRIET (_giggling admiringly_). 'Ow do _you_ know the w'y they tork?

'ARRY (_superior_). Why, they don't tork partickler different from what you and me tork--do they?

FIRST MECHANIC. See all them old blokes in red, with the rum 'ats, Bill? They're Beefeaters goin' to the Pallis, they are.

SECOND M. What do they do when they git there?

FIRST M. Do? oh, mind the bloomin' staircase, and chuck out them as don' beyave themselves.

A RESTLESS LADY (_to her husband_). Harry, I don't like this place at all. I'm sure we could see better somewhere else. Do let's try and squeeze in somewhere lower down.... No, this is worse--that _horrid_ tobacco! Suppose we cross over to the Palace? [_They do so._

A POLICEMAN. Too late to cross now, Sir--go back, please.

[_They go back and take up a position in front of the crowd on the curbstone._

THE R. L. There, we shall see beautifully here, Harry.

A CRUSTY MATRON (_talking at the_ R. L. _and her husband_). Well, I'm sure, some persons have got a cheek, coming in at the last minnit and standing in front of those that have stood here hours--that's lady-like, I _don't_ think! Nor yet, I didn't come here to have my eye poked out by other parties' pairosols.

[_Continues in this strain until the R. L. can stand it no
longer, and urges her husband to depart._

CHORUS OF POLICEMEN. Pass along there, please, one way _or_ the other--keep moving there, Sir.

THE R. L. But where are we to _go_--we must stand _somewhere_?

A POLICEMAN. Can't stand anywhere 'ere, Mum.

[_The unhappy couple are passed on from point to point, until
they are finally hemmed in at a spot from which it is
impossible to see anything whatever._

HARRY. If you had only been content to stay where you were at first, we should have been all right!

THE R. L. Nonsense, it is all your fault, you _are_ the most hopeless person to go anywhere with. Why didn't you tell one of those policemen _who we were_?

HARRY. Why? Well, because I didn't see one who looked as if it would interest him, if you want to know.

THE ROYAL CARRIAGES ARE APPROACHING.

CHORUS OF LOYAL LADIES OF VARIOUS AGES. There--they're clearing the way--the Prince and Princess won't be long now. Here's the Life Guards' Band--don't they look byootiful in those dresses? Won't that poor drummer's arms ache to-morrow? This is the escort coming now.... 'Ere come the Royalties. Don't push so, Polly, you can see without that!... There, that was the Prince in the first one--did yer see him, Polly? Oh, yes, leastwise I see the end of a cocked 'at, which I took to be 'im. Yes, _that_ was 'im right enough.... There goes the Princess--_wasn't_ she looking nice? I couldn't exactly make out which was her and which was the two young Princesses, they went by all in a flash like, but they _did_ look nice!... 'Ere's another Royalty in this kerridge--'oo will she be, I wonder? Oh, I expect it would be the old Duchess of----No, I don't think it was _'er_,--she wasn't looking pleasant enough,--and she's dead, too.... Now they have got inside--'ark at them playing bits of _God Save the Queen_. Well, I'm glad I've seen it.

A SON (_to cheery old Lady_). 'Ow are you gettin' on, Mother, eh?

CH. O. L. First-rate, thankee, John, my boy.

SON. You ain't tired standing about so long?

CH. O. L. Lor' bless you, no. Don't you worry about _me_.

SON. Could you see 'em from where you was?

CH. O. L. I could see all the coachmen's 'ats beautiful. We'll wait and see 'em all come out, John, won't we? They won't be more than an hour and a half in there, I dessay.

A PERSON WITH A FLORID VOCABULARY. Well, if I'd ha' known all I was goin' to see was a set o' blanky nobs shut up in their blank-dash kerridges, blank my blanky eyes if I'd ha' stirred a blanky foot, s'elp me Dash, I wouldn't!

A VENDOR (_persuasively_). The kerrect lengwidge of hevery flower that blows--one penny!

At a Parisian Cafe Chantant.

SCENE--_An open air restaurant in the Champs-Elysees; the seats
in the enclosure are rapidly filling; the diners in the gallery
at the back have passed the salad stage, and are now free to
take a more or less torpid interest in the Entertainment
below._ _Enter_ TWO BRITONS, _who make their way to a couple of
vacant chairs close to the orchestra_.

FIRST BRITON. _Entree libre_, you see; nothing to pay! Cheaper than your precious Exhibition, eh? [_Chuckles knowingly._

SECOND BRITON (_who would rather have stayed at the Exhibition but doesn't like to say so_). Don't quite see how they expect the thing to pay if they don't charge anything, though.

FIRST B. Oh, they make _their_ profit out of the dinners up in the gallery there.

SECOND B. (_appreciating the justice of this arrangement, having dined with his companion elsewhere_). Well, that's fair enough.

[_Feels an increased respect for the Entertainment._

FIRST B. Must get their money back somehow, you know. Capital seats for hearing, these. Now, we'll just take a cup of coffee, and a quiet cigar, while we listen to the singing--you'll enjoy this, _I_ know!

[_With the air of a man who knows the whole thing by heart; the
Waiter brings two tumblers of black coffee, for which he
demands the sum of six francs; lively indignation of the_ TWO
BRITONS, _who denounce the charge as a swindle, and take some
time to recover sufficient equanimity to attend to what is
going on on the Stage_.

FEMALE ARTISTE (_sings refrain_)--

Pour notre Exposition,
Il faut nous faire imposition! &c., &c.

SECOND B. (_who not being at home in the language, rather resents his companion's laughter_). What's that she's saying?

FIRST B. (_who laughed because he knew there was a joke about the Exhibition_). Eh?--oh! I'll tell you afterwards.

[_Hopes his friend will have forgotten all about it by that time._

SECOND B. (_pertinaciously, as the Singer kisses her hand, and rushes precipitately off stage_). Well, what was all _that_ about?

FIRST B. (_who, upon reflection, finds that he hasn't the faintest idea_). Oh, nothing very much--more the _manner_, you know, than anything else--it's the _men_ who have all the really funny songs.

[_A Male Artiste appears, bowing and kicking up his left leg behind: the_ FIRST BRITON _bends forward with an anxious frown, determined to let nothing escape him this time. Fortunately, as_ M. CHARLEMAGNE, _the Comic Singer, possesses a powerful voice, the_ FIRST BRITON _is able to follow most of the words, from which, although they reach his ear in a somewhat perverted form, he contrives to extract intense amusement. This is how the Chanson reaches him_:--

Seul boulevard silent vous arrete:
Quand monde a tout depart n'amas,

[_He can't quite make out this last word._

Repondez vitement--

[_Something he doesn't catch._

Le fou l'eau sitot vous crie "un rat!"

[_Here he whispers to his friend that "That last line was rather neat."_

_Refrain_ (_to which_ M. CHARLEMAGNE _dances a gavotte with his hat thrust into the small of his back_).

Il n'a pas depart Dinard.

[_This makes the_ FIRST BRITON--_who once spent a week at Dinard--laugh immoderately_.

Ne Pa, ne Ma! (_bis_)
C'etait pas tant, mais sais comme ca--
Il n'a pas depart Dinard,
Il non a pas certain-y-mal la!

FIRST BRITON (_to Second Ditto_). _Very_ funny, isn't he?

SECOND B. (_who--less fortunate than his friend--has not caught a single word_). Um--can't say I see much in it myself.

FIRST B. (_compassionately_). Can't you? Oh, you'll get into the way of it presently.

SECOND B. But what's the joke of all that about "Pa"?

FIRST B. (_who has been honestly under the impression that he did see a point somewhere_). Why, he says he's an orphan--hasn't any Pa nor Ma.

SECOND B. (_captiously_). Well, there's nothing so very funny in _that_!

FIRST B. (_giving up the point on consideration, as_ M. CHARLEMAGNE _skips off_). Oh, it's all nonsense, of course; these fellows only come on to fill up the time till Polusse sings (_feels rather proud of having caught the right pronunciation_). Polusse is the only one really worth listening to.

SECOND B. (_watching two Niggers in a Knockabout Entertainment_). I can follow _these_ chaps better. [_Complacently._

_One of the Niggers_ [_to the other_]. Ha, George Washington, Sar. I'll warm you fur dat ar conduck!

FIRST B. (_in a superior manner_). Oh, yes; you soon get into the accent.

[_Later_--M. CHARLEMAGNE _has re-appeared, and sung a song
about changing his apartments, with spoken passages of a
pronouncedly Parisian character_.

FIRST B. (_who little suspects what he has been roaring with laughter at_). That fellow really _is_ amusing. I must take Nellie to hear him some night before we go back.

SECOND B. (_dubiously_). But aren't some of the songs--for a girl of her age--eh?

FIRST B. My dear fellow, not a bit! I give you my word I haven't heard a single line yet that was in the least offensive--not a single line! _Any_body might go! Look here--it's Polusse next; now you listen--_he'll_ make you laugh!

[_The great_ M. PAULUS _appears and sings several Chansons in a
confidentially lugubrious tone, and with his forefingers thrust
into his waistcoat pockets. Curiously enough, our_ FIRST BRITON
_is less successful in following_ M. PAULUS _than he was with
the Artistes who preceded him--but this is entirely owing to
the big drum and cymbals, which will keep coming in and putting
him out--something in this manner_:--