Miss S.—Lord, what nice men! their words are sweet as honey; And, stranger still, they won't take ready money. I fork'd a five-pound flimsy out in vain— They're civil men, and I'll look in again. Snags (beseechingly).—Madam, your card? Mags (with deep emotion). And, might I humbly press For Miss Juliana Smashaway's address? 1st App.—Accept these gloves. 2nd App. This tabinet from me.

Clipclose, jun. (enters hastily—appears thunderstruck—starts—pulls off a ring, and, rushing forward, exclaims as he presents it,)

And this from your devoted Robert C.! Miss S.—Why, this flogs all, and Banaher's[103] beat hollow. Gemmen, adieu!      (She bows, retiring.) Clerks and Apprentices (dolorously).—She's gone! Mr. C. (passionately.)       And I will follow!

Exit Miss Smashaway; Clipclose after her. She jumps into a yellow cab, and he into a green one. Both start at a killing pace for Blackfriars' Bridge; yellow cab upsets a pieman, and green demolishes an establishment of "all hot." Clerks, shopmen, and apprentices strike their foreheads with considerable violence, and return behind the counters despondingly. Distant music from a barrel-organ. Scene closes.

Scene IV.—Mrs. Clipclose's Boudoir.

Mrs. C. in sea-green satin, putting on a cottage bonnet with artificial flowers. Lavender-coloured gloves upon the toilet, and selon la règle, a fresh pocket-handkerchief. Netty in attendance.

Annette.—Upon my life, the gemmen's hearts you'll fleece! What is so handsome as a green pelisse? Mrs. C.—Now for my love. Should Mr. C. return, Tell him I dine with Mrs. Simon Byrn. Annette.—Yes, ma'am.

(Jeremiah Scout enters the boudoir unannounced.)

Mrs. C. (indignantly.)—How's this? Why, Scout, you're monstrous rude! Jeremiah (with strong exertion.)—Down, my full heart! I hope I don't intrude? The saddest news, alas, to tell I'm come! (A long and harrowing pause.) Your husband's tapp'd by Tappington, the bum!

Trio—Mrs. C., Annette, and Jerry.—(Bobbing Joan.)
Jer.
My master's off to jail.
Mrs C.
Bolts and chains will bind him.
Netty.
Well! there's a comfort left;
One still knows where to find him.
Mrs. C.
Grief for him, I'm sure,
This tender heart will smother.
Jer.
I know a certain cure,
And that's to try another.
Trio.
Tar-a-la-ra-la, tar-a-la-ra-loo-dy.
Mrs. C.
At the thought I'll faint.
Annette.
My lady's over-nice, sir!
Mrs. C.
Although the cure is quaint,
I'll follow your advice, sir.
Jer.
I don't, then, make too free?
Mrs. C.
No, sir; upon my honour!
Annette.
I'm ready for a spree.
Mrs. C.
And I for Captain Connor.
Grand Chorus.
Tar-a-la-ra-la.