besides other compositions in prose, all having the same moral--namely, that the reader must make haste to Jarley's, and that children and servants were admitted at half price, Mrs. Jarley then rolled these testimonials up, and having put them carefully away, sat down and looked at the child in triumph.
"I never saw any wax-work, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than Punch?"
"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at all."
"Oh!" said Nell, with all possible humility.
"It isn't funny at all," repeated Mrs. Jarley. "It's calm and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings, like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so life-like, that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you'd hardly know the difference."
"Is it here, ma'am?" asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this description.
"Is what here, child?"
"The wax-work, ma'am."
"Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a collection be here? It's gone on in the other wans to the room where it'll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. You're going to the same town, and you'll see it, I dare say."
"I shall not be in the town, I think, ma'am," said the child.