Boldero (looking at his watch). Good heavens! we shall miss our train, and I've promised to look in on Irving to-night. He'd never forgive me if I didn't turn up.
[Smiles of quiet intelligence appear on the faces of the other Amateurs, accompanied with a few winks, which like "laughter in Court," are "immediately suppressed." Exeunt omnes, severally, each pleased with himself, and more or less disgusted with everybody else.
Miss Amelia (to Kitty). What a funny lot! Are they like that every year?
Miss Kitty. Yes, always. But (confidentially) they do come out strong for a "ben."
[They retire to their lodgings for a little quiet tea and a rest.
A MID-WINTER'S NIGHT'S DREAM.
Surely Augustus Druriolanus has triumphed and beaten the record! For the last nine years it has been the cry, "There never was so good a Pantomime as this one," and now again the shout is repeated. Jack and the Beanstalk is the eleventh of the series, and the best. "How it is done?" only Augustus can answer. The Annual (no longer, alas! written by the gentle and genial E. L. B.) has an excellent book. It contains something of all sorts. Now we have Shakspeare's fairy-land with Oberon, Titania, and Puck, then Harry Nicholl's Royal Palace with Mr. Herbert Campbell and Miss Harriet Vernon, then Madame Katti Lanner's Market Place, with a number of the most promising of her pupils (of all ages too, from the tiny child to the "ceased-growing-a-long-while-ago") then Mrs. Simpson's Back Garden, with Mr. George Conquest junior as a giant, Mr. Dan Leno as a widow, and the Brothers Griffiths as the Cow Company Limited, and lastly, controlling the whole, we have Mr. Augustus Harris who is seen at his very best when we reach the Giant's Library and the realms of Olympus.
And this Pantomime is not only beautiful but amusing. It has two grand processions, but this year, by good stage-management, neither is tedious. The Shakspearean Heroines do a little play-acting between whiles, and the gods and goddesses, or rather their attendants, manœuvre before the eye becomes weary of watching their approach. For instance, Mars has scarcely time to swagger down to the foot-lights in the most appropriate and approved fashion, before he finds himself called upon to stand near a private box on the prompt side, to be well out of the way of his dancing terpsichorean satellites. Lady Macbeth has hardly "taken the daggers" before King Lear (Mr. Lorraine) is bringing a furtive tear to the eyes of all beholders (one tear is sufficient at Christmastide) by his touching pantomime in the presence of his three fair daughters.