Scene—The Serpentine. On the bank, several persons are having their skates put on; practised Skaters being irritable and impatient, and others curiously the reverse, at any delay in the operation.

Chorus of Unemployed Skate-Fasteners. 'Oo'll 'ave a pair on for an hour? Good Sport to-day, Sir! Try a pair on, Mum! (to any particularly stout Lady). Will yer walk inter my porler, Sir? corpet all the w'y! 'Ad the pleasure o' puttin' on your skites last year, Miss! Best skates in London, Sir! [Exhibiting a primÆval pair.

The Usual Comic Cockney (to his Friend, who has undertaken to instruct him). No 'urry, old man—this joker ain't arf finished with me yet! (To Skate-Fastener.) Easy with that jimlet, Guv'nor. My 'eel ain't 'orn, like a 'orse's 'oof! If you're goin' to strap me up as toight as all that, I shell 'ave to go to bed in them skites!... Well, what is it now?

Skate-Fastener. Reg'lar thing fur Gen'lm'n as 'ires skates ter leave somethink be'ind, jest as security like—anythink'll do—a gold watch and chain, if yer got sech a thing about yer!

The C. C. Oh, I dessay—not me!

Skate-F. (wounded). Why, yer needn't be afroid! I shorn't run away—you'll find me 'ere when yer come back!

The C. C. Ah, that will be noice! But all the sime, a watch is a thing that slips out of mind so easy, yer know. You might go and forgit all about it. 'Ere's a match-box instead; it ain't silver!

Skate-F. (with respect). Ah, you do know the world, you do!

The C. C. Now, Alf, old man, I'm ready for yer! Give us 'old of yer 'and.... Go slow now. What's the Vestry about not to put some gravel down 'ere? It's downright dangerous! Whoo-up! Blowed if I ain't got some other party's legs on!... Sloide more? Whadjer torking about! I'm sloidin' every way at once, I am!... Stroike out? I've struck sparks enough out of the back o' my 'ed, if that's all!... Git up? Ketch me! I'm a deal syfer settin' dayown, and I'll sty 'ere! [He stays.

A Nervous Skater (hobbling cautiously down the bank—to Friend). I—I don't know how I shall be in these, you know—haven't had a pair on for years. (Striking out.) Well, come—(relieved)—skating's one of those things you never forget—all a question of poise and equi—confound the things! No, I'm all right, thanks—lump in the ice, that's all! As I was saying, skating soon comes back to—thought I was gone that time! Stick by me, old fellow, till I begin to feel my—Oh, hang it all!... Eh? surely we have been on more than five minutes! Worst of skating is, your feet get so cold!... These are beastly skates. Did you hear that crack? Well, you may stay on if you like, but I'm not going to risk my life for a few minutes' pleasure! [He returns to bank.

The Fond Mother (from bank, to Children on the ice). That's right. Alma, you're doing it beautifully—don't walk so much! (To French Governess). Alma fay bocoo de progray, may elle ne glisse assez—nayse par, Ma'amzell?

Mademoiselle. C'est Ella qui est la plus habile, elle patine dejÀ trÈs bien—et avec un aplomb!

The F. M. Wee-wee; may Ella est la plus viaile, vous savvy. Look at Ella, Alma, and see how she does it!

Mad. Vous marchez toujours—toujours, Alma; tÂchez donc de glisser un petit peu—c'est beaucoup plus facile!

Alma. Snay pas facile quand vous avez les skates toutes sur un cÔtÉ—comme moi, Ma'amzell!

F. M. Ne repondy À Ma'amzell, Alma, and watch Ella!

Ella. Regardez-moi, Alma. Je puis voler vÎte—oh, mais vÎte ... oh I have hurt myself so!

Alma (with sisterly sympathy.) That's what comes of trying to show off, Ella, darling! [Ella is helped to the bank.

A Paternal Skate-Fastener. 'Ere you are, Missie—set down on this 'ere cheer—and you, too, my little dear—lor, they won't do them cheers no 'arm, Mum, bless their little 'arts! Lemme tyke yer little skites orf, my pooties. I'll be keerful, Mum—got childring o' my own at 'ome—the moral o' your two, Mum!

The F. M. (to Governess). Sayt un homme avec un bong ker. Avez-vous—er—des cuivres, Ma'amzell?

The P. S. (disgustedly). Wot?—only two bloomin' browns fur tykin' the skites orf them two kids' trotters! I want a shellin' orf o' you fur that job, I do.... "Not another penny?" Well, if you do everythink as cheap as you do yer skiting, you orter be puttin' money by, you ought! That's right, tyke them snivellin' kids 'ome—blow me if ever I—&c., &c., &c. [Exit party, pursued by powerful metaphors.

The Egotistic Skater (in charge of a small Niece). Just see if you can get along by yourself a little—I'll come back presently. Practise striking out.

The Niece. But, Uncle, directly I strike out, I fall down!

The E. S. (encouragingly). You will at first, till you get into it—gives you confidence. Keep on at it—don't stand about, or you'll catch cold. I shall be keeping my eye on you! [Skates off to better ice.

The Fancy Skater (to less accomplished Friend). This is a pretty figure—sort of variation of the "Cross Cut," ending up with "The Vine"; it's done this way (illustrating), quarter of circle on outside edge forwards; then sudden stop——(He sits down with violence). Didn't quite come off that time!

The Friend. The sudden stop came off right enough, old fellow!

The F. S. I'll show you again—it's really a neat thing when it's well done; you do it all on one leg, like this——

[Executes an elaborate back-fall.

His Friend. You seem to do most of it on no legs at all, old chap!

The F. S. Haven't practised it lately, that's all. Now here's a figure I invented myself. "The Swooping Hawk" I call it.

His Friend (unkindly—as the F. S. comes down in the form of a St. Andrew's Cross). Y—yes. More like a Spread Eagle though, ain't it?

Pretty Girl (to Mr. Ackmey, who has been privileged to take charge of herself and her Plain Sister). Do come and tell me if I'm doing it right, Mr. Ackmey. You said you'd go round with me!

The Plain S. How can you be so selfish, Florrie? You've had ever so much more practice than I have! Mr. Ackmey, I wish you'd look at my left boot—it will go like that. Is it my ankle—or what? And this strap is hurting me so! Couldn't you loosen it, or take me back to the man, or something? Florrie can get on quite well alone, can't she?

Mr. A. (temporising feebly). Er—suppose I give each of you a hand, eh?

The Plain S. No; I can't go along fast, like you and Florrie. You promised to look after me, and I'm perfectly helpless alone!

The Pretty S. Then, am I to go by myself, Mr. Ackmey?

Mr. A. I—I think—just for a little, if you don't mind!

The Pretty S. Mind? Not a bit! There's Clara Willoughby and her brother on the next ring, I'll go over to them. Take good care of Alice, Mr. Ackmey. Good-bye for the present.

[She goes; Alice doesn't think Mr. A. is "nearly so nice as he used to be."

The Reckless Rough. Now then, I'm on 'ere. Clear the way, all of yer! Parties must look out fur themselves when they see me a comin', I carn't stop fur nobody!

[Rushes round the ring at a tremendous pace.

An Admiring Sweeper (following his movements with enthusiasm). Theer he goes—the Ornimental Skyter! Look at 'im a buzzin' round! Lor, it's a treat to see 'im bowlin' 'em all over like a lot er bloomin' ninepins! Go it, ole Franky, my son—don't you stop to apollergise!... Ah, there he goes on his nut agen! 'E don't care, not 'e!... Orf he goes agin!... That's another on 'em down, and ole Franky atop—'e'll 'ave the ring all to 'isself presently! Up agin! Oh, ain't he lovely! I never see his loike afore nowheres.... Round yer go—that's the stoyle! My eyes, if he ain't upset another—a lydy this time—she's done 'er skytin fur the d'y any 'ow! and ole Frank knocked silly.... Well, I ain't larfed ser much in all my life! [He is left laughing.