OUTSIDE.

A crowd is staring stolidly at the gorgeously gilded and painted entrance, with an affectation of superior wisdom to that of the weaker-minded, who sneak apologetically up the steps from time to time. A tall-hatted orchestra have just finished a tune, and hung their brazen instruments up like joints on the hooks above them.

A Woman Carrying an Infant (to her Husband). Will 'ee goo in, Joe?

Joe (who is secretly burning to see the show). Naw. Sin it arl afoor arfen enough. Th' outside's th' best on it, I reckon.

His Wife (disappointed). Saw 'tis, and naw charge for lookin' at 'en neither.

The Proprietor. Ladies and Gentlemen, Re-mem-bar! This is positively the last opportunity of witnessing Denman's Celebrated Menagerie—the largest in the known world! The Lecturer is now describing the animals, after which Mlle. Cravache and Zambango, the famous African Lion-tamers, will go through their daring feats with forest-bred lions, tigers, bears, and hyenas, for the last time in this town. Remembar—the last performance this evening!

Joe (to his Wife). If ye'd like to hev a look at 'em, I wun't say nay to et.

His Wife. I dunno as I care partickler 'bout which way 'tis.

Joe (annoyed). Bide where 'ee be then.

His Wife. Theer's th' child, Joe, to be sure.

Joe. Well we bain't a gooin' in, and so th' child wun't come to no 'arm, and theer's a hend on it!

His Wife. Nay, she'd lay in my arms as quiet as quiet. I wur on'y thinkin', Joe, as it 'ud be somethin' to tell her when she wur a big gell, as her daddy took her to see th' wild beasties afoor iver she could tark—that's arl I wur meanin', Joe. And they'll let 'er goo in free, too.

Joe. Ay, that'll be fine tellin's fur 'er, sure 'nough. Come arn, Missus, we'll tek th' babby in—happen she'll niver git th' chance again.

[They mount the steps eagerly.

INSIDE.

Joe's Wife (with a vague sense of being defrauded). I thart thee'rd ha' bin moor smell, wi' so many on 'em!

Joe. They doan't git naw toime for it, I reckon, allus on the rord as they be.

The Lecturer. Illow me to request yar kind hattention for a moment. (Stand back there, you boys, and don't beyave in such a silly manner!) We har now arrived at the Haswail, or Sloth Bear, described by Buffon as 'aving 'abits which make it a burden to itself. (Severely.) The Haswail. In the hajoinin' cage observe the Loocorricks, the hony hanimal to oom fear is habsolootly hunknown. When hattacked by the Lion, he places his 'ed between his fore-legs, and in that position awaits the honset of his would-be destroyer.

Joe's Wife. I thart it wur th' hostridge as hacted that away.

Joe. Ostridges ain't gotten they long twisted harns as iver I heard on.

His Wife (stopping before another den). Oh, my blessed! 'Ere be a queer-lookin' critter, do 'ee look at 'en, Joe. What'll he be now?

Joe. How do 'ee suppose as I be gooin' to tell 'ee the name of 'en? He'll likely be a sart of a 'arse. [Dubiously.

His Wife. They've a let' en git wunnerful ontidy fur sure. 'Ere, Mister (to Stranger) can you tell us the name of that theer hanimal?

Stranger. That—oh, that's a Gnu.

Joe's Wife. He says it be a noo.

Joe. A noo what?

His Wife. Why, a noo hanimal, I s'pose.

Joe. Well, he bain't naw himprovement on th' hold 'uns, as I can see. They'd better ha' left it aloan if they couldn't do naw better nor 'im. Dunno what things be coming to, hinventin' o' noo hanimals at this time o' day.

BEFORE ANOTHER CAGE.

A Boozed and Argumentative Rustic. I sez as that 'un's a fawks, an' I'm ready to prove it on anny man.

A Companion (soothingly). Naw, naw, 'e baint naw fawks. I dunno what 'tis,—but 'tain't naw fawks nawhow.

B. and A. Rustic. I tell 'ee 'tis a fawks, I'm sure on it. (To Mild Visitor) Bain't 'e a fawks, Master, eh?

Mild Visitor. Well, really, if you ask me, I should say it was a hyena.

The Rustic's Comp. A hyanna! ah, that's a deal moor like; saw 'tis!

The Rustic. A pianner? Do 'ee take me vur a vool? I'll knack th' 'ed arf o' the man as plays 'is priskies wi' me, I wull! Wheer be 'e? Let me get at 'en!

[Mild V. not being prepared to defend his opinion by personal combat, discreetly loses himself in crowd.

ON THE ELEPHANT'S BACK.

Second Boy. Sit a bit moor forrard, Billy, cann't 'ee!

First Boy. Cann't, I tell 'ee, I be sittin' on th' scruff of 'is neck as 'tis.

Third Boy. I can see my vaither, I can. 'Ere, vaither, vaither, look at me—see wheer I be!

Fourth Boy (a candid friend). Shoot oop, cann't 'ee', ya young gozzle-'ead! Think ya vaither niver see a hass on a hellyphant afoor!

Fifth Boy. These yere helliphants be main straddly roidin'. I wish 'e wudn't waak honly waun haff of 'en at oncest, loike. What do 'ee mean, a kitchin' old o' me behind i' that way, eh, Jimmy Passons!

Sixth Boy. You'd ketch 'old 'o hanything if you was like me, a slidin' down th' helliphant's ta-ail.

Fifth Boy. If 'ee doan't let go o' me, I'll job th' helliphant's ribs, and make 'un gallop, I will, so now, Jimmy Passons!

IN FRONT OF THE LIONS' DEN DURING PERFORMANCE.

Various Speakers. Wheer be pushin' to? Car that manners screouging like that!... I cann't see nawthen, I cann't wi' all they 'ats in front.... What be gooin' arn, do 'ee know?... A wumman gooin' in along 'o they lions and tigerses? Naw, ye niver mane it!... Bain't she a leatherin' of 'un too!... Now she be a kissin' of 'un—maakin' it oop loike.... John, you can see better nor me—what be she oop to now?... Puttin' 'er 'ed inside o' th' lion's? Aw, dear me, now—there's a thing to be doin' of! Well, I'd ruther it was 'er nor me, I know that.... They wun't do 'er naw 'arm, so long's she kips 'er heye on 'em.... What do 'ee taak so voolish vor? How's th' wumman to kip 'er heye on 'em, with 'er 'ed down wan on 'em's throat, eh?... Gracious alive! if iver I did!... Oh, I do 'ope she bain't gooin' to let off naw fire-arms, I be moor fear'd o' pistols nor any tigers.... Theer, she's out now! She be bold fur a female, bain't her?... She niver maade 'em joomp through naw bla-azin' 'oops, though.... What carl would she hev fur doin' that? Well, they've a drared 'er doin' of it houtside', that's arl I know.... An' they've a drared Hadam outside a naamin' of th' hanimals—but ye didn't expect to see that doon inside', did 'ee?... Bob, do 'ee look at old Muster Manders ovver theer by th' hellyphant. He's a maakin' of 'isself that familiar—putting biskuts 'tween his lips and lettin' th' hellyphant take 'em out wi's troonk!... I see un—let un aloan, th' hold doitler, happen he thinks he's a feedin' his canary bird!