in the main, Honest John was a coarse
creature.

"Eh!" he said to me, " did you see how
heavily she moved ': It was like an elephant
waltzing."

An elephant waltzing! My cheeks like coals!
Every eye upon me! I could not stand it, and
fled from the room— crying, I believe. They must
have thought me going mad. Honest John came
to soothe me, but cautiously and with a sort of
wonder. It was proposed that for the morning
pastime we should visit a palace— the Crystal,
or some such thing: "make a day of it," as
Honest John said. I agreed. I was indifferent;
they might lead where they would; nay, I even
assumed a sort of wild and ghastly merriment
discordant with my habitual character. It was
done to hide the grim despair that was working
under my jacket. I saw every minute they knew
not what was come over me (how should they?),
and John all through the day kept his eye
carefully upon me.

We went to the Palace. I saw it; that is,
they saw it. The despair and blankness was
growing upon me more and more. I refused
food. I declined buns and "cream tarts," a
delicacy I was known to be partial to. I was
pining to be alone again. But as it grew towards
evening, and the darkness was closing in, and the
street-lamps began to be lighted, the blankness
and desolation seemed to come on me as with a
rush— for I knew that very soon the ambrosial
pink light would be turned on, and the celestial
Divine creature would once more descend. The
thought made me ache again. We were coming
home in a cab. Honest John precipitated our
movements with a good-natured apology, for that
he was obliged to be back in good time to take
Mrs. Honest John to a family dinner at old
Backslider's.

The people were hurrying by very fast;
gas-light was flaring in the shop windows on their
faces as they went by. When suddenly a plot, a
wild daring scheme, appalling almost in the
stupendously bold character of its proportions,
leaped into my head. I would do it, or, in
reality, sicken and die. It must end.

In a moment my spirits rose. I astounded
them by the sudden change. I laughed
boisterously. I saw Honest John glancing at me a
little nervously. I became almost exultant, but
am ashamed to think into what a little monster
of craft I became suddenly transformed. I
accounted for the alteration in my demeanour
by an admission that the sickness with which I
had been charged had altogether passed away,
and that I was now restored to comparative
health. I pretended to have had nothing heavy
on my mind but pudding.

I thought they would never go to that dinner.
But at last they did. Then I hurriedly matured
my guilty scheme. I took the Contemporary
Boy aside and unfolded to him the details. He
was first appalled, then stupified, by the daring
of the undertaking. When he recovered himself,
he declined to take part in it; until, in my
desperation having recourse to awful threats, he
gave way. The scheme was a wicked,
nefarious, stolen visit to the scene of last night's
celestial joys. I made him a partner in
infamy.

Eluding the vigilance of the servants, we set
out. But the night was wet and stormy, and our
available capital, putting every strain upon our
resources, was barely equal to the price of
two pit tickets; a cab was not to be thought
of. I wrapped myself up proudly in a stoical
indifference (and also in the little shrunken
garment known to us as a great-coat), and said I
did not care. The Contemporary Boy said he did,
and held back reluctantly. I had to use violence
to bring the Contemporary Boy on.

We asked the way "to the theatre." Rough
men invariably answered us bluntly, " Wot
theatre?" I replied gently, the Contemporary
Boy trembling at my side, " The theatre where
the Pantomime is." He replied in the same
rough way, "That warn't much help.
Howsomever" (I distinctly remember the use of this
odd word), " howsomever, he supposed it were
the theayter in Beak-street?" The Contemporary
Boy said, boldly, that was it. Then we
must take the first turning to the right, then to
the left by the public-'ouse, &c.

The rain was now beginning to pour down
very steadily, and we took the first turning to
the right, &c., then to the left, &c., and then
broke down. We had to ask again. Rain increasing.
Contemporary Boy beginning to cry, like a
beastly baby as he was, at his saturation. But I
should have recollected that he had not the Great
Purpose within him, which I had, to bear him
up. We asked again, but this time people
declined to stop to answer our inquiries. We
were fast growing pulpy; and now, in addition
to the responsibility resting on me, I had the
additional burden cast upon me of dragging my
companion along.

It was growing serious, but still I held on.
After nearly an hour's walking and an hour's
drenching, we reached the theatre the rough man
had directed us to. And here we broke down
altogether. We knew from the outside that it
was not the one.

I was still equal to the situation, and was
calmly asking "the way to the theatre," in the
same general terms (to which it was much more
difficult to obtain an answer, as we were now
actually at a theatre), when the Contemporary
Boy, utterly disregarding the decencies of life,
broke out with such noise— sobs accompanied
with stampings in the open streets— as to attract
public attention. I had a weight of care on me
at this moment, for there was a tumult of grief
in my breast, as of the aim of this fatal expedition
being yet so far off; thinking, too, how by
this time the peerless queen would have nearly
reached the close of her too, too short career. A
humane bystander taking interest in my situation
and witnessing the insane behaviour of the