Limbs of the Law.
Part the Second.—Young Elizabethan Maidens in front of a bank of roses, and a fountain lighted up, as is the garden, with variegated lamps. "Figures look like Old Chelsea," my neighbour says. I return (because the variegated lamps and the illuminated fountains and the arbours appeal to bye-gone memories),—"Old Chelsea? Yes—Cremorne." Then the Maidens sing a dirge. Perhaps mourning, or Cre-morning, for the departure of lost glories. Then they open out gracefully, and discover the Columbine of Part the First with a lot of young men—(Oh!),—all seated together in the basin of the fountain. The young men in masks—(Aha!—now I see why this is called a Masque!—Now I am happy, whether Queen Elizabeth would have liked it or not!)—come out of the fountain, quite dry, rather unpolitely leaving poor Columbine still in the basin under the dripping water. Maids of the Inn can and do sing charmingly. The Masquers can and do dance. Plot no object. It's all elegant and graceful, but distinctly sad, as how can it be anything else to the accompaniment of that cracked piano, whose temporary absence must deprive Margate Sands of much harmless enjoyment. "They haven't smiled once," I say to my neighbour. "No more have I," he replies crustily, but then explains that Queen Elizabeth didn't like smiling unless she smiled first. The Masquing men are most anxious and attentive to their steps; the Ladies all delightful. Great applause. Encores. And during all this, the unfortunate Columbine remains sitting in the basin, with her feet in cold water, and her head apparently under a dripping douche. She must be of a most contented disposition, as whenever I catch sight of her she is smiling, somewhat vapidly it is true, but still smiling, and beating time on her knees, perhaps to keep herself as warm as possible in such a peculiarly damp situation.
The end is approaching: for the first time I notice some of the bolder Revellers begin to smile. At length re-enter the Giants, Great Grandfather Christmas & Co., and the Indians. They rescue Columbine from the fountain. Now I think I see the plot. I mention this to neighbour, triumphantly; but he says I mustn't talk while Royalty is leaving, as Elizabeth wouldn't like it. So we join in "God Save the Queen!" and it's all over. Exeunt omnes. Must get a book.