(Robin—sharply.)—“Stick it in your ’at, then.”
(Blobby takes off his billycock, thrusts the remnant of food therein, and puts it on.)
Enter the brass band of the neighbouring village, (the bandsmen being boys), which plays a selection of airs, and sends a few of the smaller ragamuffins to sleep.
(Sir Richard Brandon, confidentially to his friend.)—“It is an amazing sight.”
(Host.)—“Would that it were a more common sight!”
Enter more domestics with more tea, buns, and fruit; but the army is glutted, and the pockets are brought into requisition: much pinning being a necessary consequence.
(Lilly Snow, softly.)—“It’s like ’eaven!”
(Hetty, remonstratingly.)—“Oh! Lilly, ’eaven is quite different.”
(Dick Swiller.)—“I’m sorry for it. Couldn’t be much ’appier to my mind.”
(Host.)—“Now, dear boys and girls, before we close the proceedings of this happy day, my excellent friend, your missionary, Mr Seaward, will say a few words.”