our wife played charmingly, Mr. Frimmely.”

Mr. Frimmely smiles, and tries to look as if the merit of her acting was due entirely to his instruction.

Madame Regniati. I don't suppose you chose her dress for her.

Mr. Orby Frimmely (still as if he HAD done so, but allowed her the credit of it). No, no; Mrs. Frimmely has a great taste for theatricals.

Miss Adelaide Cherton (to Miss Medford). Oh, I am sure we ought to be so much obliged to you for playing.

Miss Ada. Oh, it was so good. I really wonder how you could manage to accompany them as you did. Miss Medford (quite unaffectedly). I am so glad I was able to do it, as I've only been accustomed to play to my brother's singing, that is when he doesn't do it himself.

The Signor (delighted). Oh, my Jo! I 'ave not laugh so much for a long time.

Milburd (who has put on evening dress and joined us, is evidently immensely pleased). No! (Diffidently.) It seemed to go very well.

Mrs. Frampton (a middle-aged lady, coming up to him). I really must congratulate you, Mr. Milburd. I'm a great play-goer, and I haven't seen anything at any one of the London theatres equal to it. You really ought to produce it in Town.

Milburd (foreseeing an extinguisher over Shakespeare). Do you think it good enough?

Mrs. Frampton. Good enough!—why—I was only saying to my daughter—(Julia—Mr. Milburd (introduction))—wasn't I, Julia?

Julia (rather stupidly, but still exhibiting caution). What, mamma?

Mrs. Frampton. Why about Mr. Milburd's capital little farce.

Julia (easily taking up her cue). Oh, yes! (ecstatically.) I was so delighted—and where did you get that wonderful dress?

Milburd (carelessly). Oh, I got it at the costumier's. I had it for another part some time ago.

Jovial Stout Gentleman (refreshing himself, and seeing Captain Byrton). Hallo! Old Bouncer. By Jove! Capital, sir! Capital!

Byrton (much pleased). Did you know me when I came on?

Jovial Stout Person. Know you? Ha! ha! (Skilfully evading the question, and pretending to quote.) “Rataplan, Ratalan!”—eh? Ha! ha!

[They drink.

Mrs. Orby Frimmely appears, gentlemen and ladies crowd about her.

“Oh, charming! Such an admirable costume. You really must let me have a sketch of it.”

Mr. Muntson (an Elderly Beau, with a literary-club reputation). My dear Mrs. Frimmely, I've been saying to your husband, that the stage has positively suffered a loss in your not being ... as they say ... on the boards.

Mrs. Orby Frimmely (thinks that his opinion, at all events, is worth having, and says) I'm so glad you liked it.

Mr. Muntson (sees that he has created a most favourable impression and continues). It was delightful. All the vivacity of the French stage—of course you know the French stage well?—(Mrs. Frimmely nods. She has seen Schneider in “La Grande Duchesse,” and takes in a French illustrated paper)—You have—you know the expression—vous avez du chic. (Mrs. Frimmely makes a little curtsey. Elderly Mr. Muntson thinks that Mr. Frimmely is quite out of the race now that he has stept in. He goes on.) We have no actresses now—and if you went on to the stage it would simply be a triumph.

Mrs. Frimmely (gradually becoming convinced as to what her vocation in life certainly ought to be). But this little part I played to-night ... it is nothing ... You can't judge from that.

Muntson. I can, perfectly. I have seen—let me see—I recollect Mrs. Humby and...

[Here he begins to be tedious. Mrs. Frimmely wants to talk about herself, not about other people. She welcomes Boodels.

Boodels. We have to thank you—most sincerely—for the great treat you've given us.

Mr. Muntson. I've just been saying that it reminded me—

[Begins an anecdote. Medford (in a corner with Myself; he gives me his private opinion). The piece would never have gone down without the music.

Myself (rather pooh-poohing it all). No ... of course not.

Having neither acted nor appeared in any way, except as representative host to do the honours, which, I find, did themselves easily, I am a little bitter. Nobody knew exactly who I was, nor seemed to take any interest in me at all, except old Mrs. Frampton, who thought I was a waiter, and asked me to order her carriage punctually.

Medford. Milburd is so obstinate. You know at first he wouldn't introduce those tunes.

Myself. (Who want to go and talk to Ada Cherton.) Wouldn't he?

Medford. No. (With the air of a genuine critic.) Milburd couldn't touch Cox. Not his line at all. Between ourselves, Chilvern was best as the Waiter.

Myself (decidedly). Oh, a long way. (This is because he was an unimportant character comparatively. With very little to do, that little he did as if it wasn't in a play at all, but merely a bit of fun with the audience.) Cazell (who is enthusiastic about theatricals after his performance of Don Boxos,—comes up to Medford). I say! I tell you what we ought to do. We ought to get up a good big piece for all of us. (He sees himself in some particular character.)

Medford. Yes (reflectively), we might easily do—let me see—there's the Game of Speculation.

Myself. Ah, yes! I remember. Charles Mathews played in it (I add as a hit at Medford) admirably; and (to crush him with a final blow) inimitably!

Medford (tolerantly). Yes ... Charley (he never met this excellent comedian, of course; but this is Medford all over) has got some good “business” in the piece ... but (diffidently) I think I make some points which would rather astonish him. For instance, when, &c. &c.

[Here Medford begins telling us how he is far in advance of every professional actor. Luckily the Signor comes up, and changes the conversation. After a few minutes, Medford shows the Signor his conjuring-trick of the shilling in the glass.

The Signor (entering the drawing-room). O! my Jo! (Everyone turns expecting to hear some startling intelligence. Quite unaware of the excitement he has caused, the Signor continues in his usual high key—appealing to everyone.) O! have you seen de leet-tel shillings, and (smiling all over his face) ze glass; eet ees so clev-ver (without a pause), I nev-ver see so clev-ver ting-in my-life!

Madame (severely). What are you talking about, Mr. Regniati?

The Signor. O, my dear, eet ess Mees-ter-Med-for; he ees so clev-ver! he put ze shillings in ze glass, an' zen he go avays.

Milburd. Do it, Medford.

Medford (his chance at last—modestly). Oh, it's nothing. I dare say most of you have seen it. I'll do it, with pleasure. Will anybody lend me a shilling?

The Signor (delighted, exclaiming to everyone). O, eet ees so clev-ver! Dat leet-tel Medfor', he ees so clev-ver!

(Dat leet-tel Med-for' is half a head, at least, taller than the Signor.)

Medford (refusing a coin from Boodels). No. I must ask the ladies. Will any lady here, lend me a shilling?

Enter our Butler.

Our Butler. Sir Thomas Bobyns's carriage. Lady Bobyns (to Boodels. She ought to address me, as president, but she doesn't). We really must be going; we've got ten miles to drive, you know; enjoyed themselves so much, &c., &c.

General disturbance in consequence of Lady Bobyns being an uncommonly fine woman, and not to be moved without a considerable amount of rustle.

The party now leaving, consists of Sir Thomas Bobyns, Lady Bobyns, and Miss Bobyns. Milburd and Cazell are most assiduous in their attentions to Miss Bobyns, in order that she may be ‘quite warm’ before she starts.

There is also a considerable amount of delay, in the hall, consequent upon the ceremony of packing up Sir Thomas for his long journey—a melancholy phrase—and Lady Bobyns' great fear lest her husband should take cold.

Sir Thomas looks something between the diver at the Polytechnic in his armour, an Esquimaux, an old Watchman, and a monk.

Here is the result.

They have gone. But other carriages are waiting at the door, and there is a general move. As the last person departs, we see Medford standing at a table in the drawing-room, with a tumbler and a shilling.