gravy. The old gentleman was in an awful
rage, rang the door-bell, and made such a
disturbance that we were obliged to stop the
performance. We began it all over again, however,
when he went away, taking the precaution to
station a policeman outside to warn the people
off when the chop was coming. Some one said
that the policeman caught the chop, and was
seen going off gnawing it, but I can't answer
for that. I only know that the crusty old
gentleman brought an action for the damage
done to his hat, and recovered four-and-nine-pence,
with costs.

The private pursuit of the drama in the more
select quarters of Twopenny Town has been
greatly conducive to matrimony. On several
occasions the mimic love of the stage has ripened
into the real article, and led to performances of
another kind, which, in respect of a procession
of maidens clad in white, and the employment
of grey horses, may not improperly be described
as spectacular and equestrian. If it be true
that a difference of disposition in man and wife
is necessary to preserve the true balance of
matrimonial happiness, then, I should say, our
stage-made marriages are likely to turn out well;
as, in most cases, they have been a union of
tragedy and comedy. We all thought for a
long time it was Mrs. Bouncer that Box was
sweet upon, and that lago (we play a selection—
usually the third act) had fixed his affections
upon Emilia. But it proved, in the end, to be
quite the contrary. Box got spliced to Emilia,
and Mrs. Bouncer was led to the hymeneal
altar by lago. This arrangement, otherwise
happy, was so far disadvantageous that it led
to the retirement of both parties from the
boards; Box being averse to Emilia playing
with strange Iagos, and lago being averse to
Mrs. Bouncer playing with strange Boxes. An
attempt was made to accommodate matters,
but without success. lago could not stoop to
low comedy, and Box found it wholly beyond
his power to elevate himself to the level of high
tragedy. The consequence is, that lago and
Box now confine themselves to solo recitations;
lago giving us Brutus and Cassius, and
Box his own serio-comic poem of the "Cheery
Periwinkle."

Is there anything else you would like to
mention? Music? Could a community desire
anything better than the Minerva Music Hall?
It has this advantage over the opera, that you
are not obliged to go in evening-dress. No one
but the head waiter wears a dress coat and a
white choker, and the prices are;—body of the
hall twopence, balcony fourpence, stalls ninepence.
The amount of talent which is displayed
for these moderate charges is immense. Look
at the bill—"Mr. and Mrs. Loppits, the charming
duettists; Signer and Signora Polloni, the
versatile dramatic operatic couple; Joe Barnes,
the comic; Gus Davis, the funny little man;
Mademoiselle Pettitoe, the charming ballerina
and transformation dancer; Paddy Fannagan,
the characteristic Irishman; and stunning Joe
Pollock, the pet of Twopenny Town." The mud-
bespattered brougham that you see waiting at
the door about half-past nine belongs to Mr.
and Mrs. Loppits, the charming duettists. I
am surprised that the proprietor does not
mention the brougham in the bills, for it is
almost as charming as Mr. and Mrs. Loppits
themselves. Ladies and gentlemen proceeding
to the body of the hall, twopence, pause to
gaze upon it with awe and admiration. Gentlemen,
whose means are inadequate to the body
of the hall, twopence, are content to remain
outside and pat Mr. and Mrs. Loppits' horse, by
the kind permission of Mr. and Mrs. Loppits'
coachman, a grave and dignified person, who
appears to ignore the music-hall, and to try to
look as if his connexion with Mr. and Mrs.
Loppits did not extend beyond the legitimate
duty of driving their brougham. I should
mention, that Mr. and Mrs. Loppits' horse is a
tall aristocratic looking animal, with a Roman
nose, and is known to some irreverent grooms in
the adjoining mews as Julius Cæsar.

I am inclined to think that our music-hall
was formerly a chapel. My reason for so thinking
is, that the body of the hall is furnished with
rows of narrow desks instead of tables. These
desks, though used at present as a resting-place
for pewter pots, seem to have been originally
designed to support hymn-books. The material
of the desks being plain deal, and the grain
coarse, I should say that the denomination was
methodistical and primitive. The clock in the
front of the gallery is of a sombre and severe
aspect, and the effort it makes to cover its face
with two hands and a half, seems to imply that
it is ashamed to keep time to the present goings
on. This disposes me to think that it may at
one time have been used to Sunday duty and
sermons.

Mr. and Mrs. Loppits are charming duettists
undoubtedly. They generally enact lovers: Mrs.
Loppits, strong minded, in a low-bodied pink
dress; Mr. Loppits, weak minded and bashful,
in a fluffy white hat and bed curtain trousers.
Mr. Loppits' assumption of bashfulness, by
putting his forefinger in his mouth and shaking
himself laterally, is much esteemed. The steadiness
of the chorus which comes in at the end of
the dialogue, as if Mr. and Mrs. Loppits had
been wound up for it, is also greatly admired.
Mr. and Mrs. Loppits "oblige again" three
times, and then depart down the body of the
hall witli two carpet-bags, followed by admiring
eyes until they disappear to enter their brougham.
The greatest favourite, and deservedly so, is
"Joe Barnes, the comic." Mr. Barnes comes
on in a little white hat with a little black band
round it, and wears a very short tartan jacket.
The humours which he expresses by cocking his
hat on the front of his head, the back of his head,
the side of his head, and by pulling it right over
his eyes, are as various as the chords of the
human heart. His hat may be said to sweep
the whole lyre of the comic muse. Mr. Joe
Barnes's favourite songs are Naughty Jemima
Brown, The Barber's Wife, and Fickle False
Matilda. All three point morals. Naughty