Chapter M: PAULUS. Et quand j'rentr', ce n'est pour rien (2)

[_Sensation; Prompt departure of_ TOMMY _for bed; moralising by Aunts; a spirit of perfect candour prevails; names are called--also cabs; further hostilities postponed till next Christmas_.

On the Ice.

SCENE--_The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having
their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and
impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in
the operation_.

CHORUS OF UNEMPLOYED SKATE-FASTENERS. 'Oo'll 'ave a pair on for an hour? Good Sport to-day, Sir! Try a pair on, Mum! (_to any particularly stout Lady_). Will yer walk inter _my_ porler, Sir? corpet all the w'y! 'Ad the pleasure o' puttin' on your skites last year, Miss! Best skates in London, Sir! [_Exhibiting a primaeval pair._

THE USUAL COMIC COCKNEY (_to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct him_). No _'urry_, old man--this joker ain't _arf_ finished with me yet! (_To_ SKATE-FASTENER.) Easy with that jimlet, Guv'nor. My 'eel ain't 'orn, like a 'orse's 'oof! If you're goin' to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell 'ave to go to _bed_ in them skites!... Well, what is it _now_?

SKATE-FASTENER. Reg'lar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter leave somethink be'ind, jest as security like--_anythink_'ll do--a gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!

THE C. C. Oh, I dessay--not _me_!

SKATE-F. (_wounded_). Why, yer needn't be afroid! _I_ shorn't run away--you'll find _me_ 'ere when yer come back!

THE C. C. Ah, that _will_ be noice! But all the sime, a watch is a thing that slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and forgit all about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead; it ain't silver!

SKATE-F. (_with respect_). Ah, you _do_ know the world, _you_ do!

THE C. C. Now, Alf, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old of yer 'and.... Go slow now. What's the Vestry about not to put some gravel down 'ere? It's downright dangerous! Whoo-up! Blowed if I ain't got some other party's legs on!... Sloide more? Whadjer torking about! I'm sloidin' every way at once, _I_ am!... Stroike out? I've struck sparks enough out of the back o' my 'ed, if that's all!... Git up? Ketch me! I'm a deal syfer settin' dayown, and I'll sty 'ere! [_He stays._

A NERVOUS SKATER (_hobbling cautiously down the bank--to Friend_). I--I don't know how I shall _be_ in these, you know--haven't had a pair on for years. (_Striking out._) Well, come--(_relieved_)--skating's one of those things you never forget--all a question of poise and equi--confound the things! No, I'm all right, thanks--lump in the ice, that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to--thought I was gone that time! Stick by me, old fellow, till I begin to feel my--Oh, hang it _all_!... Eh? surely we have been on more than five minutes! Worst of skating is, your feet get so cold!... These _are_ beastly skates. Did you hear that crack? Well, _you_ may stay on if you like, but I'm not going to risk _my_ life for a few minutes' pleasure! [_He returns to bank._

THE FOND MOTHER (_from bank, to_ CHILDREN _on the ice_). That's right. Alma, you're doing it _beautifully_--don't _walk_ so much! (_To_ FRENCH GOVERNESS). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne glisse assez--nayse par, Ma'amzell?

MADEMOISELLE. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine deja tres bien--et avec un aplomb!

THE F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy. Look at Ella, Alma, and see how _she_ does it!

MAD. Vous marchez toujours--toujours, Alma; tachez donc de glisser un petit peu--c'est beaucoup plus facile!

ALMA. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un cote--comme _moi_, Ma'amzell!

F. M. Ne repondy a Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella!

ELLA. Regardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vite--oh, mais vite ... oh I _have_ hurt myself so!

ALMA (_with sisterly sympathy._) _That's_ what comes of trying to show _off_, Ella, darling! [ELLA _is helped to the bank_.

A PATERNAL SKATE-FASTENER. 'Ere you are, Missie--set down on this 'ere cheer--and you, too, my little dear--lor, _they_ won't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts! Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties. _I'll_ be keerful, Mum--got childring o' my own at 'ome--the moral o' _your_ two, Mum!

THE F. M. (_to_ GOVERNESS). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker. Avez-vous--er--des cuivres, Ma'amzell?

THE P. S. (_disgustedly_). Wot?--only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a shellin' orf o' you fur that job, _I_ do.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, _you_ ought! That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome--blow me if ever I--&c., &c., &c. [_Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors._

THE EGOTISTIC SKATER (_in charge of a small_ NIECE). Just see if you can get along by yourself a little--I'll come back presently. Practise striking out.

THE NIECE. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

THE E. S. (_encouragingly_). You will at first, till you get into it--gives you confidence. Keep on at it--don't stand about, or you'll catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [_Skates off to better ice._

THE FANCY SKATER (_to less accomplished_ FRIEND). This is a pretty figure--sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine"; it's done this way (_illustrating_), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop----(_He sits down with violence_). Didn't quite come off that time!

THE FRIEND. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

THE F. S. I'll show you again--it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this----

[_Executes an elaborate back-fall._

HIS FRIEND. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!

THE F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.

HIS FRIEND (_unkindly--as the_ F. S. _comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross_). Y--yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?

PRETTY GIRL (_to_ Mr. ACKMEY, _who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her_ PLAIN SISTER). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You _said_ you'd go round with me!

THE PLAIN S. How can you be so _selfish_, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than _I_ have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot--it _will_ go like that. Is it my ankle--or what? And this strap _is_ hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?

MR. A. (_temporising feebly_). Er--suppose I give _each_ of you a hand, eh?

THE PLAIN S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!

THE PRETTY S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?

MR. A. I--I think--just for a little, if you don't mind!

THE PRETTY S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.

[_She goes_; ALICE _doesn't think_ MR. A. _is "nearly so nice as he used to be."_

THE RECKLESS ROUGH. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer! Parties must look out fur themselves when they see _me_ a comin', I carn't stop fur nobody!

[_Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace._

AN ADMIRING SWEEPER (_following his movements with enthusiasm_). Theer he goes--the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Franky, my son--don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! _'E_ don't care, not _'e_!... Orf he goes agin!... That's _another_ on 'em down, and ole Franky atop--'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he _lovely_! I never see his loike afore nowheres.... _Round_ yer go--that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another--a lydy this time--she's done _'er_ skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [_He is left laughing._

In a Fog.

(_A Reminiscence of the Past Month._)

SCENE--_Main thoroughfare near Hyde Park. Time_ 8 P.M. _Nothing
visible anywhere, but very much audible; horses slipping and
plunging, wheels grinding, crashes, jolts, and English as she
is spoke on such occasions._

MRS. FLUSTERS (_who is seated in a brougham with her husband, on their way to dine with some friends in Cromwell Road_). We shall be dreadfully late, I know we shall! I'm sure Peacock could go faster than this if he liked--he always loses his head when there's much traffic. Do tell him to make haste!

MR. F. Better let him alone--he knows what he's doing.

MRS. F. I don't believe he does, or he wouldn't dawdle like this. If you won't speak to him, I must. (_Lets down the glass and puts out her head._) Peacock!

A BLURRED SHADOW ON THE BOX. Yes, M'm.

MRS. F. What are we stopping for like this?

THE SHADOW. Fog very thick just 'ere, M'm. Can't see what's in front of us, M'm.

MRS. F. It's just as safe to keep moving as to stand still--go on at once.

THE S. Very good, M'm. (_To horse._) Pull urp! [_Crash!_

VOICE FROM THE UNSEEN. What the blanky blank, &c.

PEACOCK. There _is_ suthin in front, M'm. A van, from 'is langwich, M'm.

MRS. F. (_sinking back_). Marmaduke, this is awful. I'd no idea the fog was like this--or I should never have----(_With temper._) Really, people have no _right_ to ask one out on such a night.

MR. F. (_with the common sense that makes him "so aggravating at times"_). Well, Fanny, you could hardly expect 'em to foresee the weather three weeks ahead!

MRS. F. At all events, _you_ might have seen what it was going to be as you came home from the Temple. Then we could have sent a telegram!

MR. F. It seemed to be lifting then, and besides, I--ah--regard a dinner-engagement as a species of kindly social contract, not to be broken except under pressing necessity.

MRS. F. You mean you heard me say there was nothing but cold meat in the house, and you know you'll get a good dinner at the Cordon-Blewitts,--not that we are likely to get there to-night. Have you any idea whereabouts we are?

MR. F. (_calmly_). None whatever.

MRS. F. Then ask Peacock.

MR. F. (_lets down his window, and leans out_). Peacock!

THE SHADOW. Sir?

MR. F. Where have we got to now?

PEACOCK. I ain't rightly sure, Sir.

MRS. F. Tell him to turn round, and go home.

MR. F. It's no use going on like this. Turn back.

PEACOCK. I dursn't leave the kerb--all I got to go by, Sir.

MR. F. Then take one of the lamps, and lead the horse.

PEACOCK. It's the _young_ 'orse, Sir.

MR. F. (_sinking back_). We must put up with it, I suppose.

[_A smart crack is heard at the back of the carriage._

MORE VOICES. Now, then, why the blanky dash, &c., &c.

MRS. F. Marmaduke, I can't sit here, and know that a bus-pole may come between us at any moment. Let us get out, and take a cab home at once.

MR. F. There's only one objection to that suggestion--viz., that it's perfectly impossible to tell a cab from a piano-organ. We must find out where we are first, and then turn. Peacock, drive on as well as you can, and stop when you come to a shop.

MRS. F. What do you want to stop at a shop for?

MR. F. Why, then I can go in, and ask where we _are_.

MRS. F. And how do you expect _them_ to know where we are! (_She sees a smear of light in the distance._) Marmaduke, there's a linkman. Get out quick, and hire him to lead the way.

MR. F. (_who gets out, and follows in the direction of the light, grumbling to himself_). Hallo!--not past the park yet--here's the railings! Well, if I keep close to them, I shall--(_He suddenly collides with a bench_). Phew! Oh, confound it! (_He rubs his shins._) Now, if it hadn't been for Fanny, I--Where's that linkman? Hi!--you there!--stop! (THE LIGHT STOPS.) Look here--I want you to come to my carriage, and show my man the way out of this!

VOICE FROM BEHIND THE RAILINGS. We got to find our _own_ way out fust, Guv'nor. We're _inside_!

A BELATED REVELLER (_lurching up to_ MR. F.) Beg your pardon, bur cou' you dreck me nearesht way--er--Dawshon Plashe?

MR. F. (_savagely_). First turning to the right, third to the left, and then straight on till you come to it!

THE B. R. I'm exsheedingly 'blished; (_confidentially_) fact ish, I'm shuffrin' shli' 'fection eyeshi', an' I 'shure you, can't shee anyshing dishtingly to-ni'. (_He cannons against a lamp-post, to which he clings affectionately, as a Policeman emerges from the gloom._)

POLICEMAN. Now then, what are you doing 'ere, eh?

THE B. R. Itsh all ri', P'lishman, thish gerrilman--(_patting lamp-post affectionately_)--has kindly promished shee me home.

MR. F. Hang it! Where's Peacock and the brougham? (_He discovers a phantom vehicle by the kerb, and gets in angrily._) Now, look here, my dear, it's no earthly good--!

OCCUPANT OF THE BROUGHAM. (_who is not_ FANNY). Coward, touch a defenceless woman if you dare! I have nothing on me of any value. Help! Police!

[MR. F., _seeing that explanation is useless, lets himself out again, precipitately, dodges the_ POLICEMAN, _and bolts, favoured by the fog, until all danger of pursuit is passed, at the end of which time he suddenly realizes that it is perfectly hopeless to attempt to find his own carriage again_. _He gropes his way home, and some hours later, after an extemporised cold supper, is rejoined by his Wife._

MRS. F. (_cheerfully_). So _there_ you are, Marmaduke! I wasn't anxious--I felt sure you'd find your way back somehow!

MR. F. (_not in the best of tempers_). Find my way back! It was the only thing I could do. But where have _you_ been all this time, Fanny?

MRS. F. Where? Why, at the Blewitts, to be sure. You see, after you got out, we had to keep moving on, and by and by the fog got better, and we could see where we were going to,--and the Blewitts had put off dinner half an hour, so I was not so _very_ late. Such a _nice_ dinner! Everybody turned up except _you_, Marmaduke--but I _told_ them how it was. Oh, and old Lady Horehound was there, and said a man had actually got into her brougham, and tried to wrench off one of her most valuable bracelets!--only she spoke to him so severely that he was struck with remorse, or something, and got out again! And it was by the Park, _close_ to where you left me. Just fancy, Marmaduke, he might have got into the carriage with _me_, instead!

MR. F. (_gloomily_). Yes, he _might_--only, he--er--_didn't_, you know!

Bricks without Straw

SCENE--_A Village School-room. A Juvenile Treat is in progress,
and a Magic Lantern, hired for the occasion, "with set of
slides complete--to last one hour," is about to be exhibited._

THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER (_suddenly recognizing the New Curate, who is blinking unsuspectingly in the lantern rays_). Oh, Mr. Tootler, you've just come in time to help us! The man with the lantern says he only manages the slides, and can't do the talking part. And I've asked lots of people, and no one will volunteer. _Would_ you mind just explaining the pictures to the children? It's only a little Nursery tale--_Valentine and Orson_--I chose that, because it's less hackneyed, and has such an excellent _moral_, you know. I'm sure you'll do it so _beautifully_!

MR. TOOTLER (_a shy man_). I--I'd do it with pleasure, I'm sure--only I really don't know anything about _Valentine and Orson_!

THE V.'S D. Oh, what _does_ that matter? I can tell you the outline in two minutes. (_She tells him._) But it's got to last an hour, so you must spin it out as much as ever you can.

MR. TOOTLER (_to himself_). Ought I to neglect such a golden opportunity of winning these young hearts? No. (_Aloud._) I will--er--do my best, and perhaps I had better begin at once, as they seem to be getting--er--rather unruly at the further end of the room. (_He clears his throat._) Children, you must be very quiet and attentive, and then we shall be able, as we purpose this evening, to show you some scenes illustrative of the--er--beautiful old story of _Valentine and Orson_, which I doubt not is familiar to you all. (_Rustic applause, conveyed by stamping and shrill cheers, after which a picture is thrown on the screen representing a Village Festival._) Here, children, we have a view of--er--(_with sudden inspiration_)--Valentine's Native Village. It is--er--his birthday, and Valentine, being a young man who is universally beloved on account of his amiability and good conduct--(_To the_ VICAR'S D. "Is that correct?" THE V.'S D. "Quite, _quite_ correct!")--good conduct, the villagers are celebrating the--er--auspicious event by general rejoicings. How true it is that if we are only _good_, we may, young as we are, count upon gaining the affection and esteem of all around us! (_A Youthful Rustic, with a tendency to heckle._ "Ef 'ee plaze, Zur, which on 'em be Valentoine?") Valentine, we may be very sure, would not be absent on such an occasion, although, owing to the crowd, we cannot distinguish him. But, wherever he is, however he may be occupied, he little thinks that, before long, he will have to encounter the terrible Orson, the Wild Man of the Woods! Ah, dear children, we all have our Wild Man of the Woods to fight. With _some of_ us it is--(_He improves the occasion_). Our next picture represents--(_To_ ASSISTANT). Sure this comes next? Oh, they're all numbered, are they? Very well--represents a forest--er--the home of Orson. If we were permitted to peep behind one of those trunks, we should doubtless see Orson himself, crouching in readiness to spring upon the unsuspecting Valentine. So, often when we--&c., &c. The next scene we shall show you represents the--er--burning of Valentine's ship. Valentine has gone on a voyage, with the object of--er--finding Orson. If the boat in the picture was only larger, we could no doubt identify Valentine, sitting there undismayed, calmly confident that, notwithstanding this--er--unfortunate interruption, he will be guided, sooner or later, to his--er--goal. Yes, dear children, if we only have patience, if we only have faith, &c., &c. Here we see--(_an enormous Bison is suddenly depicted on the screen_) eh? oh, yes--here we have a specimen of--er--Orson's _pursuits_. He chases the bison. Some of you may not know what a bison is. It is a kind of hairy cow, and--(_He describes the habits of these creatures as fully_ _as he is able._) (THE YOUTHFUL RUSTIC. "Theer baint nawone a-erntin' of 'un, Zur.") What? Oh, but there _is_, you know. Orson is pursuing him, only--er--the bison, being a very fleet animal, has outrun his pursuer for the moment. Sometimes we flatter ourselves that we have outrun _our_ pursuer--but, depend upon it, &c., &c. But now let us see what Valentine is about--(_Discovering, not without surprise, that the next picture is a Scene in the Arctic Regions_). Well, you see, he has succeeded in reaching the coast, and here he is--in a sledge drawn by a reindeer, with nothing to guide him but the Aurora Borealis, hastening towards the spot where he has been told he will find Orson. He doesn't despair, doesn't lose heart--he is sure that, if he only keeps on, if he--er--only continues, only perseveres--(_Aside._ What drivel I _am_ talking! _To_ ASSISTANT. I say, are there many _more_ of this sort? because we _don't_ seem to be getting on!)--Well, now we come to--(_a Moonlight Scene, with a Cottage in Winter, appears_)--to the--ah--home of Valentine's _mother_. You will observe a light in the casement. By that light the good old woman is sitting, longing and praying for the return of her gallant boy. Ah, dear children, what a thing a good old mother is! (_To the_ VICAR'S DAUGHTER.) "I really can _not_ keep on like this much longer. I'm positively certain these slides are out of order!" THE V.'S D. "Oh, no; I'm sure it's _all_ right. Do _please_ go on. They're _so_ interested!" THE YOUNG HECKLER. "'Ow 'bout Valentoine, Zur?--wheer be 'ee?" Ah, where is Valentine, indeed? (_To_ ASS.) Next slide--quick! (_Recognises with dismay a View of the Grand Canal._) No--but, I say--_really_, I _can't_--Here we have Valentine at Venice. He has reached that beautiful city,--well called the Queen of the Adriatic,--at last! He contemplates it from his gondola, and yet he has no heart just now to take in all the beauty of the scene. He feels that he is still no nearer to finding Orson than before. (THE YOUNG HECKLER. "Naw moor be we, Zur. We ain't zeed _nayther_ on 'em zo fur!" _Tumult, and a general demand for the instant production of Orson or Valentine._) Now, children, children! this is very irregular. You must allow me to tell this story my own way. I assure you that you will see them both in good time, if you only keep still! (_To_ ASS.) I can't stand this any more Valentine and Orson must be underneath the rest. Find them, and shove them in quick. Never mind the numbering! (_The screen remains blank while the_ ASSISTANT _fumbles_.) Well, have you _got_ them?

THE ASSISTANT. No, Sir; I'm rather afraid they ain't _here_. Fact is, they've sent me out with the wrong set o' slides. This ain't _Valentine and Orson_--_it's a miscellaneous lot_, _Sir_!

[_Collapse of Curate as Scene closes in._

At a Music Hall.

SCENE.--_The auditorium of a Music Hall, the patrons of which
are respectable, but in no sense "smart." The occupants of the
higher-priced seats appear to have dropped in less for the
purpose of enjoying the entertainment than of discussing their
private affairs--though this does not prevent them from
applauding everything with generous impartiality._

THE CHAIRMAN. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Celebrated Character-Duettists and Variety Artistes, the Sisters Silvertwang, will appear next!

[_They do; they have just sung a duet in praise of Nature with an interspersed step-dance. "Oh, I love to 'ear the echo on the Moun-ting!" (Tiddity-iddity-iddity-iddity-um!) "And to listen to the tinkle of the Foun-ting!" (Tiddity, &c.)_

A WHITE-CAPPED ATTENDANT (_taking advantage of a pause, plaintively_). Sengwidges, too-pence!

VOLUBLE LADY _in the Shilling Stalls_ (_telling her Male Companion an interminable story with an evasive point_). No, but you 'ear what I'm going to _tell_ you, because I'm coming to it presently. I can't remember his name at this moment--something like Budkin, but it wasn't that, somewhere near Bond Street, he is, or a street off there; a Scotchman, but _that_ doesn't matter! (_Here she breaks off to hum the Chorus of "Good Ole Mother-in-Law!" which is being sung on the stage._) Well, let me see--what was I telling you? Wait a minute, excuse _me_, oh, yes,--_well_, there was this picture,--mind you, it's a lovely _painting_, but the frame simply nothing,--not that I go by frames, myself, o' course not, but I fetched it down to show him--oh, I know what you'll say, but he must know _something_ about such things; he knew my uncle, and I can tell you what he _is_--he's a florist, and married nineteen years, and his wife's forty--years older than me, but I've scarcely spoke to _her_, and no children, so I fetched it to show him, and as soon as he sets eyes on it, he says----(FEMALE "CHARACTER-COMIC" _on Stage_, _lugubriously_. "Ritolderiddle, ol de_ray_ ritolderiddle, olde-_ri_-_ido_!") I can't tell you _how_ old it is, but 'undreds of years, and Chinese, I shouldn't wonder, but we can't trace its 'istry--that's what _he_ said, and if _he_ don't know, _nobody_ does, for it stands to reason he must be a judge, though nothing to me,--when I say nothing, I mean all I know of him is that he used to be----(TENOR VOCALIST ON STAGE. "My Sweetheart when a Bo-oy!") I always like that song, don't you? Well, and this is what I was _wanting_ to tell you, _she_ got to know what I'd done--how is more'n _I_ can tell you, but she did, and she come straight in to where I was, and I see in a minute she'd been drinking, for drink she does, from morning to night, but I don't mind _that_, and her bonnet all on the back of her head, and her voice that 'usky, she----(TENOR. "She sang a Song of Home Sweet Home--a song that reached my heart!") And I couldn't be expected to put up with _that_, you know, but I haven't 'alf told you yet--_well_, &c., &c.

IN THE RESERVED STALLS.

FIRST PROFESSIONAL LADY, "_resting_," _to_ SECOND DITTO (_as_ MISS FLORRIE FOLJAMBE _appears on Stage_). New dresses to-night.

SECOND DITTO. Yes. (_Inspects_ MISS F.'S _costume_.) Something wrong with that boy's dress in front, though, cut too low. Is that silver bullion it's trimmed with? That silver stuff they put on my pantomime-dress has turned quite yellow!

FIRST DITTO. It will sometimes. Did you know any of the critics when you were down at Slagtown for the Panto?

SECOND DITTO. I knew the _Grimeshire Mercury_, and he said most awfully rude things about me in his paper. I was rather rude to him at rehearsal, but we made it up afterwards. You know Lily's married, dear?

FIRST DITTO. What--Lily? You don't mean it!

SECOND DITTO. Oh, yes, she _is_, though. She went out to Buenos Ayres, and the other day she was taken in to dinner by the Bishop of the Friendly Islands.

FIRST DITTO. A Bishop? _Fancy!_ That _is_ getting on, isn't it?

MISS FOLJAMBE (_on Stage, acknowledging an encore_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very much obliged for your kind reception this evening, but having been lately laid up with a bad cold, and almost entirely lost my vice, and being still a little 'orse, I feel compelled to ask your kind acceptance of a few 'ornpipe steps, after which I 'ope to remain, Ladies and Gentlemen, always your obedient 'umble servant to command--Florrie Foljambe!

[_Tumultuous applause, and hornpipe._

CHAIRMAN. Professor Boodler, the renowned Imitator of Birds, will appear next!

THE PROFESSOR (_on Stage_). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall commence by an attempt to give you an imitation of that popular and favourite songster the Thrush--better known to some of you, I dare say, as the Throstle, or Mavis! (_He gives the Thrush--which somehow doesn't "go."_) I shall next endeavour to represent that celebrated and tuneful singing-bird--the Sky-lark. (_He does it, but the Lark doesn't quite come off._) I shall next try to give you those two sweet singers, the Male and Female Canary--the gentleman in the stalls with the yellow 'air will represent the female bird on this occasion, he must not be offended, for it is a 'igh compliment I am paying him, a harmless professional joke. (_The Canaries obtain but tepid acknowledgments._) I shall now conclude my illustrations of bird-life with my celebrated imitation of a waiter drawing the cork from a bottle of gingerbeer, and drinking it afterwards.

[_Does so; rouses the audience to frantic enthusiasm, and retires after triple recall._

THE VOLUBLE LADY _in the Shilling Stalls_ (_during the performance of a Thrilling Melodramatic Sketch_). I've nothing to say against her 'usban', a quiet, respectable man, and always treated _me_ as a lady, with grey whiskers--but that's neither here nor there--and I speak of parties as I find them--_well_. _That_ was a Thursday. On the _Saturday_ there came a knock at my door, and I answered it, and there was she saying, as cool as you please----(HEROINE ON STAGE. "Ah, no, no--you would not ruin me? You will not tell my husband?") So I told her. "I'm very sorry," I says, "but I can't lend that frying-pan to nobody." So I got up. Two hours _after_, as I was going down stairs, she come out of her room, and says,--"'Allo, Rose, 'ow _are_ yer?" as if nothing had 'appened. "Oh, jolly," I says, or somethink o' that sort--_I_ wasn't going to take no notice of _her_--and she says, "Going out?"--like that. I says, "Oh, yes; nothing to stay in for," I says, careless-like; so Mrs. Piper, _she_ never said nothing, and _I_ didn't say nothing; and so it went on till Monday--_well_! Her 'usban' met me in the passage; and he said to me--good-tempered and civil enough, I _must_ say--he said----(VILLAIN ON STAGE. "Curse you! I've had enough of this fooling! Give me money, or I'll twist your neck, and fling you into yonder mill-dam, to drown!") So o' course I'd no objection to that; and all she wanted, in the way of eatables and drink, she _'ad_--no, let me finish _my_ story first. Well, just fancy _'er_ now! She asked me to step in; and she says, "Ow are you?" and was very nice, and I never said a word--not wishing to bring up the past, and--I didn't tell you _this_--they'd a kind of old easy chair in the room--and the only remark _I_ made, not meaning anythink, was----(HERO ON STAGE. "You infernal, black-hearted scoundrel! this is _your_ work, is it?") Well, I couldn't ha'put it more pleasant than that, _could_ I? and old Mr. Fitkin, as was settin' on it, he says to me, he says----(HERO. "Courage, my darling! You shall not perish if my strong arms can save you. Heaven help me to rescue the woman I love better than my life!") but he's 'alf silly, so I took no partickler notice of _'im_, when, what did that woman do, after stoopin' to me, as she 'as, times without number--but--Oh, is the play over? Well, as I was saying--oh, _I'm_ ready to go if you are, and I can tell you the rest walking home. [_Exit, having thoroughly enjoyed her evening._

A Recitation Under Difficulties.

SCENE.--_An Evening Party_; MISS FRESIA BLUDKINSON, _a talented
young Professional Reciter, has been engaged to entertain the
company, and is about to deliver the favourite piece entitled_,
"_The Lover of Lobelia Bangs, a Cowboy Idyl_." _There is the
usual crush, and the guests outside the drawing-room, who can
neither hear nor see what is going on, console themselves by
conversing in distinctly audible tones._ _Jammed in a doorway,
between the persons who are trying to get in, and the people
who would be only too glad to get out, is an_ UNSOPHISTICATED
GUEST _who doesn't know a soul, and is consequently reduced to
listening to the Recitation_. _This is what he hears_:--

MISS FRESIA BLUD. (_in a tone of lady-like apology_).

I am only a Cowboy----

[_Several Ladies put up their glasses, and examine her critically, as if they had rather expected this confession. Sudden burst of Society Chatter from without._

SOCIETY CHATTER. How d'ye do?... Oh, but her parties never _are_!... How are you?... No, I left her at .... Yes, he's somewhere about.... Saw you in the Row this mornin'.... Are you doing anything on----?... Oh, _what_ a shame!... No, but _doesn't_ she now?... No earthly use trying to get in at present ... &c., &c.

MISS FRESIA B. (_beginning again, with meek despair, a little louder_).

I am only a Cowboy; reckless, rough, in an unconventional suit of
clothes;
I hain't, as a rule, got much to say, and my conversation is mostly
oaths.

[_Cries of "Ssh!" intended, however, for the people outside, who are chattering harder than ever._

When the cackle of females strikes my ear----

SOCIETY CHATTER (_as before_). Oh, _much_ cooler here.... Yes, delightful, wasn't it? Everybody one knows.... No, you don't _really_?... Oh, Popsy's flourishing, thanks.... The new Butler turned out a perfect demon ... but I said I wouldn't have his tail docked for anything ... so they've painted it _eau de Nil_, and it looks _so_ nice!

MISS F. B. (_pointedly_).

When the cackle of females strikes my ear, I jest vamose, for they
make me skeered,
And I sorter suspicion I skeer them too, with my hulking form, and
my bushy beard!

[_Here, of course, she strokes a very round chin._

SOCIETY CHATTER. Seems to be somethin' goin' on in there--singin', actin', dancin', or somethin'.... Well, of course, only heard _her_ version of it as yet, y' know.... Have you seen him in ... white bengaline with a Medici collar, and one of those ... nasty gouty attacks he _will_ have are only rheumatism, &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_when next heard_).

I cleared my throat and I tried to speak--but the words died
strangled--

A FEMININE VOICE OUTSIDE. So _long_ since we had a quiet talk together! Do tell me all about, &c., &c.

MISS F. B.

----strangled by sheer alarm.
For there in front----

[_Here she points dramatically at a stout matron, who fans herself consciously._

----was the slender form, and the sweet girl-face of our new
"School Marm"!
Say, boys! hev' ye heard an AEolian harp which a Zephyr's tremulous
finger twangs?
Wa'al, it kinder thrills ye the way I felt when I first beheld
Lobelia Bangs!

SOC. CHAT. Oh, you really _ought_ to go--so touching! Dick and I both regularly howled all through the last act.... Not in the _least_, thanks. Well, if there _is_ a seat.... You're sure there _are_ any ices? Then, strawberry, please--no, _nothing_ to drink!... _Will_ you allow me?

... Told she could dress hair perfectly, but I soon found she was ... a Swedenborgian, my dear, or something horrid.... Haven't you? _I've_ had it three times, and ... so many people have asked me for cards that really I ... had the drains thoroughly looked to, and now they're ... delicious, but rather overpowering in a _room_, I think! &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_with genuine feeling_).

Who would imagine one meek-voiced girl could have held her own in a
deafening din!
But Lobelia's scholars discovered soon she'd a dead-sure notion of
discipline;
For her satin palm had a sting like steel, and the rowdiest rebel
respected her,
When she'd stretched out six of the hardest lots in the Bible-Class
with a Derringer!

SOC. CHAT. No, a very dull party, you could move about quite easily in all the rooms, so we ... kicked the whole concern to shivers and ... came on here as soon as we could.... Capital dinner they _gave_ us too ... &c., &c.

MISS F. B. (_with as much conviction as possible under the circumstances_).

And the silence deepened; no creature stirred in the stagnant hush,
and the only sound
Was the far-off lumbering jolt, produced by the prairie rolling for
leagues around!

SOC. CHAT. (_crescendo_). Oh, an old aunt of mine has gone in for step-dancing--she's had several lessons ... and cut her knees rather badly, y'know, so I put her out to grass ... and now she can sit up and hold a biscuit on her nose ... but she really ought to mix a little grey in her wig!

[_&c., &c., to the distraction of the_ UNSOPHISTICATED GUEST, _who is getting quite interested in Lobelia Bangs, whom he suddenly discovers, much to his surprise, on horseback_.

MISS F. B.

And on we cantered, without a word, in the mid-day heat, on our swift
mustangs.
I was only ignorant Cowboy Clem--but I worshipped bright Lobelia Bangs!

SOC. CHAT. (_fortissimo_). Not for ages; but last time I met him he was ... in a dreadful state, with the cook down with influenza ... and so I suppose he's _married_ her by this time!

MISS F. B. (_excitedly_).

But hark! in the distance a weird shrill cry, a kinder mournful,
monotonous yelp--
(_Further irruption of_ SOCIETY CHATTER) ... is it jackal?--bison?--a
cry for help.

SOC. CHAT. Such a complete _rest_, you know--so perfectly peaceful! Not a soul to talk to. I _love_ it ... but, to really enjoy a tomato, you must see it dressed ... in the _sweetest_ little sailor suit!

MISS F. B.

My horse was a speck on the pampas' verge, for I dropped the rein in
my haste to stoop;
Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil--and caught--ah, horror--the
Indian whoop!

SOC. CHAT. Some say it _isn't_ infectious, but one can't be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.

MISS F. B.

I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face went white as a
fresh-washed towel;
I had heard a war-cry I knew too well--'twas the murderous bellow of
Blue-nosed Owl!

SOC. CHAT. Nice fellow--I'm very fond of him--so fresh--capital company--met him when I was over there, &c.

MISS F. B.

"What! leave you to face those fiends alone!" she cried, and slid
from her horse's back;
"Let me die with you--for I love you, Clem!" Then she gave her steed
a resounding smack,
And he bounded off; "Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter
I brought!" said she.
"Four barrels I'll keep for the front-rank foes--and the next for
you--and the last for me!"

SOC. CHAT. Is it a _comic_ piece she's doing, do you know? Don't think so, I can see somebody smiling. Sounds rather like Shakespeare, or Dickens, or one of those fellahs.... Didn't catch what you said. No. Quite impossible to hear one's self speak, _isn't_ it?

MISS F. B.

And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey--but I
scorned death's pangs,
For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of
Lobelia Bangs!
Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of
a cushat dove!
(_At the top of her voice._) "Forgive me, Clem, but I could not bear
any squaw to torture my own true love!"
And she raised the revolver--"crack-crack-crack!"

[_To the infinite chagrin of the_ UNSOPHISTICATED GUEST, _who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss Bangs and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma--the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in afresh torrent of small-talk--after which he hears_ MISS F. B. _conclude with repressed emotion_:

But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded
their brief harangues;
And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie Belle,
Lobelia Bangs!

[_Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless mystification._

SOC. CHAT. Is that the _end_? Charming! Now we shall be able to _talk_ again! &c., &c.

Bank Holiday.

SCENE--_The Crystal Palace. The Nave is filled with a dense
throng of Pleasure-seekers. Every free seat commanding the most
distant view of a Variety Performance on the Great Stage has
been occupied an hour in advance. The less punctual stand and
enjoy the spectacle of other persons' hats or bonnets. Gangs of
Male and Female Promenaders jostle and hustle to their hearts'
content, or perform the war-song and dance of the Lower-class
'Arry, which consists in chanting "Oi tiddly-oi-toi;
hoi-toi-oi!" to a double shuffle. Tired women sit on chairs and
look at nothing. In the Grounds, the fancy of young men and
maidens is lightly turning to thoughts of love; the first dawn
of the tender passion being intimated, on the part of the
youth, by chasing his charmer into a corner and partially
throttling her, whereupon the maiden coyly conveys that his
sentiments are not unreciprocated by thumping him between the
shoulders. From time to time, two champions contend with fists
for the smiles of beauty, who may usually be heard bellowing
with perfect impartiality in the background. A small but
increasing percentage have already had as much liquid
refreshment as is good for them, and intend to have more.
Altogether, the scene, if festive, might puzzle an Intelligent
Foreigner who is more familiar with Continental ideas of
enjoyment._

A DAMSEL (_in a ruby plush hat with a mauve feather_). Why, if they yn't got that bloomin' ole statute down from Charin' Cross! What's _'e_ doin' of down 'ere, I wonder?

HER SWAIN (_whose feather is only pink and white paper_). Doin' of? Tykin' 'is d'y orf--like the rest of us are tykin' it.

THE DAMSEL (_giggling_). You go on--you don't green _me_ that w'y--a statute!

SWAIN. Well, 'yn't this what they call a "Statutory" 'Oliday, eh?

DAMSEL (_in high appreciation of his humour_). I'll fetch you _sech_ a slap in a minnit! 'Ere, let's gow on the Swissback.

Another Damsel (_in a peacock-blue hat with orange pompons_). See that nekked young man on the big 'orse, ALF? It says "Castor" on the stand. 'Oo was _'e_?

ALF. Oh, _I_ d' know. I dessay it'll be 'im as invented the Castor Ile.

THE DAMSEL (_disgusted_). Fancy their puttin' up a monument to _'im_!

SUPERIOR 'ARRY (_talking Musichalls to his Adored One_). 'Ave you 'eard her sing "Come where the Booze is Cheapest?"

THE ADORED. Lots o' toimes. I _do_ like _'er_ singing. She mykes sech comical soigns--and then the _things_ she sez! But I've 'eard she's very common in her tork, and that--_orf_ the styge.

THE S. A. I shouldn't wonder. Some on 'em _are_ that way. You can't 'ave _everythink_!

HIS ADORED. No, it _is_ a pity, though. 'Spose we go out, and pl'y Kiss in the Ring? [_They do._

AMONG THE ETHNOLOGICAL MODELS.

WIFE OF BRITISH WORKMAN (_spelling out placard under Hottentot Group_). "It is extremely probable that this interesting race will be completely exterminated at no very distant period." Pore things!

BRITISH WORKMAN (_with philosophy_). Well, _I_ sha'n't go inter mournin' for 'em, Sairer!

LAMBETH LARRIKIN (_in a pasteboard "pickelhaube," and a false nose, thoughtfully, to_ BATTERSEA BILL, _who is wearing an old grey chimney-pot hat, with the brim uppermost, and a tow wig, as they contemplate a party of Botocudo natives_). Rum the sights these 'ere savidges make o' theirselves, ain't it, Bill?

BATT. BILL (_more thoughtfully_). Yer right--but I dessay if you and me 'ad been born among that lot, _we_ shouldn't care _'ow_ we looked!

VAUXHALL VOILET (_who has exchanged headgear with_ CHELSEA CHORLEY--_with dismal results_). They _are_ cures, those blackies! Why, yer carn't 'ardly tell the men from the wimmin! I expect this lot'll be 'aving a beanfeast. See, they're plyin' their myusic.

CHELSEA CHORLEY. Good job we can't _'ear_ 'em. They say as niggers' music is somethink downright horful. Give us "Hi-tiddly-hi" on that mouth-orgin o' yours, will yer?

[VAUXHALL VOILET _obliges on that instrument_; _every one in the neighbourhood begins to jig mechanically_; _exeunt party, dancing_.

A PIMPLY YOUTH. "Hopium-eater from Java." That's the stuff they gits as stoopid as biled howls on--it's about time we went and did another beer. [_They retire for that purpose._

DURING THE FIREWORKS.

CHORUS OF SPECTATORS. There's another lot o' bloomin' rockets gowin orf! Oo-oo, 'ynt that lur-uvly? What a lark if the sticks come down on somebody's 'ed! There, didyer see 'em bust? Puts me in mind of a shower o' foiry smuts. Lor, so they do--what a fancy you _do_ 'ave. &c., &c.

COMING HOME.

AN OLD GENTLEMAN (_who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners--which he has done from a respectful distance--to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-class compartment_). There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins. Now, to _me_, y'know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience--wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd, enjoying itself in its own way--boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum! Really, very exhilarating to see--but you don't agree with me?

HIS FRIEND (_reluctantly_). Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than----

THE O. G. (_testily_). Pathetic, Sir--nonsense! I like to see people putting their _heart_ into it, whether it's play or work. Give me a crowd----

[_As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment._

MAN BY THE WINDOW. Third-class as good as fust, these days! Why, if there ain't ole Fred! Wayo, Fred, tumble in, ole son--room for one more standin'!

["OLE FRED" _plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his stick, as he leans against the door_.

OLE FRED. Where's my blanky friend? I 'it 'im one on the jaw, and I ain't seen 'im since! (_Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice._) "Comrides, Comrides! Hever since we was boys! Sharin' each other's sorrers. Sharin' each hother's--beer!"

[_A "paraprosdokian," which delights him to the point of repetition._

THE O. G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there, Sir? [_Whimpers from over-tired children._

OLE FRED (_roaring_). "I'm jolly as a Sandboy, I'm 'appy as a king! No matter what I see or 'ear, I larf at heverything! I'm the morril of my moth-ar, (_to_ O. G.) the himage of _your_ Par! And heverythink I see or 'ear, it makes me larf 'Ar-har!'"

[_He laughs "Ar-har," after which he gives a piercing blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof._

THE O. G. (_roused_). I really _must_ beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance! There are women and children here who----

OLE FRED. Shet up, old umbereller whiskers! (_Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again._) "An' the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold. In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!" (_To people on platform, as train stops._) _Come_ in, oh, lor, _do_! "Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!"

[_The rest take up the refrain--"'Ave a drink an' wet your eye," &c. and beat time with their boots._

THE O. G. If this abominable noise goes on, I shall call the guard--disgraceful, coming in drunk like this!

THE MAN BY THE WINDOW. 'Ere, dry up, Guv'nor--_'e_ ain't 'ad enough to urt 'im, _'e_ ain't!

CHORUS OF FEMALES (_to_ O. G.). An' Bank 'Oliday, too--you orter to be _ashimed_ o' yerself, you ought! 'E's as right as right, if you on'y let him alone!

OLE FRED (to O. G.). Ga-arn, yer pore-'arted ole choiner boy! (_sings dismally_), "Ow! for the vanished Spring-toime! Ow! for the dyes gorn boy! Ow! for the"--(_changing the melody_)--"'omeless, I wander in lonely distress. No one ter pity me--none ter caress!" (_Here he sheds tears,_ _overcome by his own pathos, but presently cheers up._) "I dornce all noight! An' I rowl 'ome toight! I'm a rare-un at a rollick, or I'm ready fur a foight." Any man 'ere wanter foight me? Don't say no, ole Frecklefoot! (_To the_ O. G., _who perspires freely_.) "Oh, I _am_ enj'yin' myself!"

[_He keeps up this agreeable rattle, without intermission, for the remainder of the journey, which--as the train stops everywhere, and takes quite three-quarters of an hour in getting from Queen's Road, Battersea, to Victoria--affords a signal proof of his social resources, if it somewhat modifies the_ O. G.'S _enthusiasm for the artless gaiety of a Bank Holiday_.

A Row in the Pit; or, The Obstructive Hat.

SCENE--_The Pit during Pantomime Time. The Overture is
beginning._

AN OVER-HEATED MATRON (_to her Husband_). Well, they don't give you much _room_ in 'ere, I _must_ say. Still, we done better than I expected, after all that crushing. I thought my ribs was gone once--but it was on'y the umberella's. You pretty comfortable where _you_ are, eh, Father?

FATHER. Oh, I'm right enough, I am.

JIMMY (_their Son; a small, bullet-headed boy, with a piping voice_). If _Father_ is, it's more nor what _I_ am. I can't see nothen, I can't!

HIS MOTHER. Lor' bless the boy! there ain't nothen to _see_ yet; you'll see well enough when the Curting goes up. (_Curtain rises on opening scene._) Look, Jimmy, ain't _that_ nice, now? All them himps dancin' round, and real fire comin' out of the pot--which I 'ope it's quite safe--and there's a beautiful fairy just come on, dressed so grand, too!

JIMMY. I can't see no fairy--nor yet no himps--nor nothen!

[_He whimpers._

HIS MOTHER (_annoyed_). Was there ever such a aggravating boy to take anywheres! Set quiet, do, and don't fidget, and look at the hactin'!

JIMMY. I tell yer I can't _see_ no hactin', Mother. It ain't my fault--it's this lady in front o' me, with the 'at.

MOTHER (_perceiving the justice of his complaints_). Father, the pore boy says he can't see where he is, 'cause of a lady's 'at in front.

FATHER (_philosophically_). Well, _I_ can't 'elp the 'at, can I? He must put up with it, that's all!

MOTHER. No--but I thought, if you wouldn't mind changing places with him--you're taller than him, and it wouldn't be in your way 'arf so much.

FATHER. It's always the way with you--never satisfied, _you_ ain't! Well, pass the boy across--I'm for a quiet life, I am. (_Changing seats._) Will _this_ do for you?

[_He settles down immediately behind a very large, furry, and feathery hat, which he dodges for some time, with the result of obtaining an occasional glimpse of a pair of legs on the stage._

FATHER (_suddenly_). D----the 'at!

MOTHER. You can't wonder at the _boy_ not seeing! P'raps the lady wouldn't mind taking it off, if you asked her?

FATHER. Ah! (_He touches_ THE OWNER OF THE HAT _on the shoulder_.) Excuse me, Mum, but might I take the liberty of asking you to kindly remove your 'at? [THE OWNER OF THE HAT _deigns no reply_.

FATHER (_more insistently_). Would you 'ave any objection to oblige me by taking off your 'at, Mum? (_Same result._) I don't know if you _'eard_ me, Mum, but I've asked you twice, civil enough, to take that 'at of yours off (_pathetically_). I'm a playin' 'Ide and Seek be'ind it 'ere! [_No answer._

THE MOTHER. People didn't ought to be allowed in the Pit with sech 'ats! Callin' 'erself a lady--and settin' there in a great 'at and feathers like a 'Ighlander's, and never answering no more nor a stuffed himage!

FATHER (_to the Husband of_ _The Owner of the Hat_). Will you tell your good lady to take her 'at off, Sir, please?

THE OWNER OF THE HAT (_to her Husband_). Don't you do nothing of the sort, Sam, or you'll _'ear_ of it!

THE MOTHER. Some people are perlite, I must say. Parties might _beyave_ as ladies when they come in the Pit! It's a pity her 'usband can't teach her better manners!

THE FATHER. _'Im_ teach her! 'E knows better. 'E's got a Tartar there, _'e_ 'as!

THE OWNER OF THE HAT. Sam, are you going to set by and hear me insulted like this?

HER HUSBAND (_turning round tremulously_). I--I'll trouble you to drop making these personal allusions to my wife's 'at, Sir. It's puffickly impossible to listen to what's going on on the stage with all these remarks be'ind!

THE FATHER. Not more nor it is to _see_ what's going on on the stage with that 'at in front! I paid 'arf-a-crown to see the Pantermime, I did; not to 'ave a view of your wife's 'at!... 'Ere, Maria, blowed if I can stand this 'ere game any longer. Jimmy must change places again, and if he can't see, he must jest stand up on the seat, that's all!

[JIMMY _is transferred to his original place, and mounts upon the seat_.

A PITTITE BEHIND JIMMY (_touching up_ JIMMY'S _Father with an umbrella_). Will you tell your little boy to set down, please, and not block the view like this?

JIMMY'S FATHER. If you can indooce that lady in front to take off her 'at, I will--but not before. Stay where you are, Jimmy, my boy.

THE PITTITE BEHIND. Well, I must stand myself then, that's all. I mean to see, _somehow_! [_He rises._

PEOPLE BEHIND HIM (_sternly_). Set down there, will yer?

[_He resumes his seat expostulating._

JIMMY. Father, the gentleman behind is a pinching of my legs!

JIMMY'S FATHER. Will you stop pinching my little boy's legs! He ain't doing _you_ no 'arm--is he?

THE PINCHING PITTITE. Let him sit down, then!

JIMMY'S FATHER. Let the lady take her 'at off!

MURMURS BEHIND. Order, there! Set down! Put that boy down! Take orf that 'at! Silence in front, there! Turn 'em out! Shame! ... &c., &c.

THE HUSBAND OF THE O. OF THE H. (_in a whisper to his Wife_). Take off the blessed 'at, and have done with it, do!

THE O. OF THE H. What--_now_! I'd sooner _die_ in the 'at!

[An ATTENDANT _is called_.

THE ATTENDANT. Order, there, Gentlemen, please--unless you want to get turned out! No standing allowed on the seats--you're disturbing the performance 'ere, you know!

[JIMMY _is made to sit down, and weeps silently_; _the hubbub gradually subsides--and_ THE OWNER OF THE HAT _triumphs--for the moment_.

JIMMY'S MOTHER. Never mind, my boy, you shall have Mother's seat in a minute. I dessay, if all was known, the lady 'as reasons for keeping her 'at on, pore thing!

THE FATHER (_perceiving her drift_). Ah, I never thought o' that. So she may. Very likely her 'at won't _come_ off--not without her _'air_!

THE MOTHER. Ah, well, we mustn't be 'ard on her, if that's so.

THE O. OF THE H. (_removing the obstruction_). I 'ope you're satisfied _now_, I'm sure?