Grandfather. Yes, my dears, you will see the regular old-fashioned comic business that used to delight me when I was a boy. I remember when I was about your age, my dears, seeing TOM MATHEWS, and it was so amusing. He used to sing a song—
Chorus (interrupting as the Curtain rises). Hush, Grandpa! it's going to begin! (The party subside, and direct their attention to twenty sets or so of the most magnificent scenery, illustrated by gorgeous Processions. The hands of the clock revolve, leaving Eight and reaching Eleven, when Grand Transformation takes place, amidst various coloured fires. Then enter Old Christmas Clown.)
Old Christmas Clown. Here we are again! How are you to-morrow?
Chorus of Children. Oh, we are so tired! And we have heard that before!
Mother. And I am afraid we shall miss our train.
Father. And the roads are so bad!
Grandfather. Well, well, perhaps we had better go; but in my time we all used to enjoy it so much. (Aside.) And perhaps, after all, the red-hot poker business is rather stale at the end of the Nineteenth Century!
[Exeunt the Party, plus five-sixths of the Audience.