Motto—slightly modified from Gray's "Elegy"—for Stoddart's Eleven.—"Still in those 'ashes' live their wonted fire."
SATURDAY NIGHT IN THE EDGWARE ROAD.
For over half a mile the pavement on the East side of the road is thronged with promenaders, and the curbstone lined with stalls and barrows, and hawkers of various wares. Marketing housewives with covered baskets oscillate undecidedly from stalls to shops, and put off purchasing to the last possible moment. Maids-of-all-work perambulate arm in arm, exchanging airy badinage with youths of their acquaintance, though the latter seem to prefer the society of their own sex. A man with a switchback skittle-board plays gloomy games by himself to an unspeculative group of small boys. The tradesmen stand outside their shops and conduct their business with a happy blend of the methods of a travelling showman and a clown.
Burlesque Butcher. Now then all o' you there! Buy, buy, buy! Jest give yer minds to spendin' yer money! (In a tone of artless wonder.) Where does the Butcher git this luverly meat? What can I do fur you now, Marm? (Triumphantly, after selling the scrag-end of a neck of mutton.) Now we're busy!
Farcical Fishmonger (with two Comic Assistants). Ahar! (To crowd.) Come 'ere, you silly young snorkers! I've the qualitee! I've the qualitay! Keep takin' money!
First Comic Assistant. Ahye! Foppence a pound nice plaice! Kippers two fur three 'apence. We're the Perfeshnal Curers! What are yer all goin' to do? Sort 'em out cheap!
Second C. A. I don't mind. What care I? (Bursting into song.) "'Ow, she rowled me 'ed, and rumbled in the 'ay!" On me word, she did, ladies!