Voces Populi

FEMALE ARTISTE (SINGS REFRAIN).
WITH TWENTY-FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE SECOND EDITION
Richard Clay and Sons, Limited, LONDON AND BUNGAY.

Scene— A Suburban Hall. The Performance has not yet begun. The Audience is limited and low-spirited, and may perhaps number—including the Attendants—eighteen. The only people in the front seats are a man in full evening dress, which he tries to conceal under a caped coat, and two Ladies in plush opera-cloaks. Fog is hanging about in the rafters, and the gas-stars sing a melancholy dirge. Each casual cough arouses dismal echoes. Enter an intending Spectator, who is conducted to a seat in the middle of an empty row. After removing his hat and coat, he suddenly thinks better—or worse—of it, puts them on again, and vanishes hurriedly.
First Sardonic Attendant ( at doorway ). Reg'lar turnin' em away to-night, we are!
Second Sardonic Attendant. He come up to me afore he goes to the pay-box, and sez he— Is there a seat left? he sez. And I sez to 'im, Well, I think we can manage to squeeze you in somewhere. Like that, I sez.
Herr V. K. ( in a mixed accent ). Lyties and Shentilmans, pefoor I co-mence viz my hillusions zis hevenin' I 'ave most hemphadically to repoodiate hall assistance from hany spirrids or soopernatural beins vatsohever. All I shall 'ave ze honour of showing you will be perform by simple Sloight of 'and or Ledger-dee-Mang! ( He invites any member of the Audience to step up and assist him, but the spectators remain coy. ) I see zat I 'ave not to night so larsh an orjence to select from as usual, still I 'ope—( Here one of the obvious Confederates slouches up, and joins him on the platform. ) Ah, zat is goot! I am vair much oblige to you, Sare. ( The Confederate grins sheepishly. ) Led me see—I seem to remember your face some'ow. ( Broader grin from Confederate. ) Hah you vos 'ere last night?—zat exblains it! But you 'ave nevaire assist me befoor, eh? ( Reckless shake of the head from Confederate. ) I thought nod. Vair vell. You 'ave nevaire done any dricks mit carts—no? Bot you will dry? You never dell vat you gan do till you dry, as ze ole sow said ven she learn ze halphabet. ( He pauses for a laugh—which doesn't come. ) Now, Sare, you know a cart ven you see 'im? Ah, zat is somtings alretty! Now I vill ask you to choose any cart or carts out of zis back. ( The Confederate fumbles. ) I don't vish to 'urry you—but I vant you to mike 'aste—&c., &c.