Slowgoe. Here’s a letter from the Times; from a gentleman whose wife and party was asked sixpence at St Paul’s on Lord Mayor’s Day, because “she was told when once in, they might see the Lord Mayor’s show there, when it came back in three or four hours.”
Nutts. Well, Mother Church is now and then a good ’un at a bargain, for certain. Nice ways that to turn a penny with the men in armour—nice way of showing a mayor and a mayor’s coach-horses at threepence a peep.
Limpy. Well, it’s just struck me that if Mr Taylor of the Surrey ’Logical Gardens don’t mind what he’s at, the nobs of St Paul’s will next summer get quite the better on him.
Slowgoe. I can’t see that. I don’t defend St Paul’s in the matter of the show, but I don’t see how that venerable building is to be opposed to the lions and tigers at feedin’-time.
Limpy. In this way, I mean. At the ’Logical Gardens, you know, there is always a “grand display of fireworks.” Very well. Admittance one shilling. Very well. Now if the folks of St Paul’s took it into their heads, couldn’t they admit the public to the top of the church, where they might have a comfortable view of the ’ruption and the rockets, all at half-price?—for a little sixpence?
Slowgoe. Humph! I don’t think they’d do that.
Tickle. Well, I don’t know; when they make a peep-show of a mayor’s gold coach and liveries, I wouldn’t trust ’em with Wesuvius. Sorry am I to say it; sorry am I to believe that any church could so forget itself as to think of making a penny by fireworks.
Mrs Nutts. Don’t talk in that wicked way, Mr Tickle; but you’ve learnt it all from my husband. And—sorry am I to say it, but though I’m his wife, he’s no more religion than a tombstone; for, however near he may be to a church, he’s not a bit the better for it.
Nutts. (Solemnly.) Mrs Nutts, it is one of the few grievances of the marriage state, that a woman may take away her husband’s character, and the poor man have no remedy for it.
Tickle. None: unless he pays himself heavy damages out of his own pocket.