Chorus of Arab Stall-Keepers. Come an look! Alaha-ba-li-boo! Eet is verri cold to-day! I-ah-rish Brandi! 'Ere Miss! you com' 'ere! No pay for lookin'. Alf a price! Verri pritti, verri nah-ice, verri cheap verri moch! [And so on.]

Chorus of British Saleswomen. Will you allow me to show you this little novelty, Sir? 'Ave you seen the noo perfume sprinkler? Do come and try this noo puzzle—no 'arm in lookin', Sir. Very nice little novelties 'ere, Sir! 'Eard the noo French Worltz, Sir? every article is very much reduced, &c., &c.

AT THE FOLIES-BERGÈRE.

Scene—A hall in the grounds. Several turnstiles leading to curtained entrances.

Showman (shouting). Amphitrite, the Marvellous Floatin' Goddess Just about to commence! This way for the Mystic Gallery—three illusions for threepence! Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon; the Oriental Beauty in the Table of the Sphinx, and the Wonderful Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream. Only threepence! This way for the Mystic Marvel o' She! Now commencing!

A Female Sightseer (with the air of a person making an original suggestion) Shall we go in, just to see what it's like?

Male Ditto. May as well, now we are 'ere. (To preserve himself from any suspicion of credulity). Sure to be a take-in o' some sort.

[They enter a dim apartment, in which two or three people are leaning over a barrier in front of a small Stage; the Curtain is lowered, and a Pianist is industriously pounding away at a Waltz.

The F. S. (with an uncomfortable giggle). Not much to see so far, is there?

Her Companion. Well, they ain't begun yet.

[The Waltz ends, and the Curtain rises, disclosing a Cavern Scene. Amphitre, in blue tights, rises through the floor.

Amphitre (in the Gallic tongue). Mesdarms et Messures, j'ai l'honnoor de vous sooayter le bong jour! (Floats, with no apparent support, in the air, and performs various graceful evolutions, concluding by reversing herself completely.) Bong swore, Mesdarms et messures, mes remercimongs!

[She dives below, and the Curtain descends.

The F. S. Is that all? I don't see nothing in that!

Her Comp. (who, having paid for admission, resents this want of appreciation). Why, she was off the ground the 'ole of the time, wasn't she? I'd just like to see you turnin' and twisting about in the air as easy as she did with nothing to 'old on by!

The F. S. I didn't notice she was off the ground—yes that was clever. I never thought o' that before. Let's go and see the other things now.

Her Comp. Well, if you don't see nothing surprising in 'em till they're all over, you might as well stop outside, I should ha' thought.

The F. S. Oh, but I'll notice more next time—you've got to get used to these things, you know.

[They enter the Mystic Gallery, and find themselves in a dim passage, opposite a partitioned compartment, in which is a glass case, supported on four pedestals, with a silver crescent at the back. The illusions—to judge from a sound of scurrying behind the scenes—have apparently been taken somewhat unawares.

The Female Sightseer (anxious to please). They've done that 'alf-moon very well, haven't they?

Voice of Showman (addressing the Illusions). Now then, 'urry up there—we're all waiting for you.

[The face of "Atalanta, the Silver Queen of the Moon," appears strongly illuminated, inside the glass-box, and regards the spectators with an impassive contempt—greatly to their confusion.

The Male S. (in a propitiatory tone). Not a bad-looking girl, is she?

Atalanta, the Queen of the Moon (to the Oriental Beauty in next compartment). Polly, when these people are gone, I wish you'd fetch me my work!

[The Sightseers move on, feeling crushed. In the second compartment the upper portion of a female is discovered, calmly knitting in the centre of a small table, the legs of which are distinctly visible.

The Female S. Why, wherever has the rest of her got to?

The Oriental Beauty (with conscious superiority). That's what you've got to find out.

[They pass on to interview "Galatea, or Pygmalion's Dream," whose compartment is as yet enveloped in obscurity.

A Youthful Showman (apparently on familiar terms with all the Illusions). Ladies and Gentlemen, I shell now 'ave the honour of persentin' to you the wonderful Galatear or Livin' Statue; you will 'ave an oppertoonity of 'andling the bust for yourselves, which will warm before your eyes into living flesh, and the lovely creecher live and speak. 'Ere, look sharp, earn't yer! (To Galatea.)

Pygmalion's Dream (from the Mystic gloom). Wait a bit till I've done warming my 'ands. Now you can turn the lights up ... there, you've bin and turned 'em out now, stoopid! The Y. S. Don't you excite yourself. I know what I'm doin'. (Turns the lights up, and reveals a large terra-cotta Bust.) At my request, this young lydy will now perceed to assoom the yew and kimplexion of life itself. Galatear, will you oblige us by kindly coming to life?

[The Bust vanishes, and is replaced by a decidedly earthly Young Woman in robust health.

The Y. S. Thenk you. That's all I wanted of yer. Now, will you kindly return to your former styte?

[The Young Woman transforms herself into a hideous Skull.

The Y. S. (in a tone of remonstrance). No—no, not that ridiklous fice! We don't want to see what yer will be—it's very loike yer, I know but still—(the skull changes to the Bust.) Ah, that's more the stoyle! (Takes the Bust by the neck and hands it round for inspection.) And now, thenking you for your kind attention, and on'y 'orskin one little fyvour of you, that is, that you will not reveal 'ow it is done, I will now bid you a very good evenin', Lydies and Gentlemen!

The F. S. (outside). It's wonderful how they can do it all for threepence, isn't it? We haven't seen She yet!

Her Comp. What! 'aven't you seen wonders enough? Come on, then. But you are going it you know!

[They enter a small room, at the further end of which are a barrier and proscenium with drawn hangings.

The Exhibitor (in a confidential tone, punctuated by bows). I will not keep you waiting, Ladies and Gentlemen, but at once proceed with a few preliminary remarks. Most of you, no doubt, have read that celebrated story by Mr. Rider 'Aggard, about a certain She-who-must-be-obeyed, and who dwelt in a place called KÔr, and you will also doubtless remember how she was in the 'abit of repairing at certain intervals, to a cavern, and renooing her youth in a fiery piller. On one occasion, wishing to indooce her lover to foller her example, she stepped into the flame to encourage him—something went wrong with the works, and she was instantly redooced to a cinder. I fortunately 'appened to be near at the time (you will escuse a little wild fib from a showman, I'm sure!) I 'appened to be porsin by, and was thus enabled to secure the ashes of the Wonderful She, which—(draws hangings and reveals a shallow metal Urn suspended in the centre of scene) are now before you enclosed in that little urn. She—where are you?

She (in a full sweet voice from below). I am 'ere!

Showman. Then appear!

[The upper portion of an exceedingly comely Young Person emerges from the mouth of the Urn.

The F. S. (startled). Lor, she give me quite a turn!

Showman. Some people think this is all done by mirrors, but it is not so; it is managed by a simple arrangement of light and shade. She will now turn slowly round, to convince you that she is really inside the urn and not merely beyind it. (She turns round condescendingly.) She will next pass her 'ands completely round her, thereby demonstrating the utter impossibility of there being any wires to support her. Now she will rap on the walls on each side of her, proving to you that she is no reflection, but a solid reality, after which she will tap the bottom of the urn beneath her so that you may see it really is what it purports to be. (She performs all these actions in the most obliging manner.) She will now disappear for a moment. (She sinks into the Urn.) Are you still there, She?

She (from the recess of the Urn). Yes.

Showman. Then will you give us some sign of your presence? (a hand and arm are protruded and waved gracefully). Thank you. Now you can come up again. (She reappears.) She will now answer any questions any lady or gentleman may like to put to her, always provided you won't ask her how it is done—for I'm sure she wouldn't give me away, would you, She?

She(with a slow bow and gracious smile). Certingly not.

The F. S. (to her Companion). Ask her something—do.

Her Comp. Go on! I ain't got anything to ask her—ask her yourself!

A Bolder Spirit (with interest). Are your feet warm?

She. Quite—thenks.

The Showman. HOW old are you, She?

She (impressively). Two theousand years.

'Arry. And quite a young thing, too!

A Spectator (who has read the Novel). 'Ave you 'eard from Leo Vincey lately?

She (coldly). I don't know the gentleman.

Showman. If you have no more questions to ask her, She will now retire into her Urn thenking you all for your kind attendance this morning, which will conclude the entertainment.

[Final disappearance of She. The Audience pass out, feeling—with perfect justice—that they have "had their money's worth."