See Our Entertainment.

By T. W. ROBERTSON.

CHRISTMAS, '82.

NOTHING would be more delight-
ful. We should have pleasant occu-
pation for our six weeks' holiday;
we should be travelling every day,
see a lovely country-'

'And have lots of adventures.'
'Pay our expenses as we went.'
'Perhaps have some trifling bal-
ance to the good.'

Why trifling? Very likely make a couple of hundred each.'

'Couple of hundred-0, come!' 'Why not? Giving it six times a week, and clearing only 107. per night, that's 60l. a week. Six sixties three hundred and sixty. I put it at the lowest; supposing we take 201.' 'True. It will be great fun!' 'Great fun!'

The speakers were my old friend and schoolmate, Jack Bradley and myself. We had been thinking how we should spend the vacation accorded by a grateful country and the chiefs of our department. Accidentally, we mentioned the name of the late Albert Smith, which led naturally to that of Mr. Woodin, which led to Charles Mathews', which led to the German Reeds', John Parry's, the Howard Pauls', and Arthur Sketchley's.

Why not?' I said rapidly, as if under the influence of sudden inspiration. Why not go about and give an entertainment?'

And, indeed, why not? We had

*See note by the Editor on page 62.

E

seen all the entertainments, and it seemed easy enough to do-from the stalls.

Both Jack and I were rather celebrated as amateur actors. The back drawing-rooms of Bayswater and Kensington had long been the theatres of our triumphs. In the neighbourhood of Pimlico I was the Fechter, or Alfred Wigan, of private life, as Jack was the Mario, Giuglini, or Sims Reeves of Westbourne Grove. We often regretted that our obscure lot was cast in a humdrum, horse-in-themill Government office, and longed for the brilliant triumphs of the theatre-its large emoluments, incessant excitement, and consequent peace of mind, comfort, and enjoy

ment.

I am sorry to have to force upon my reader a knowledge of the full extent of my accomplishments, but the conduct of my story compels me. I was not only a famous actor (amateur), I was also an author. Yes; on me had fallen the mantle of Molière and of Shakespeare, and I served the Tragic and the Comic Muses in the double capacity. No one who knows them will accuse amateur actors of egotism, and I think I may fearlessly assert that I was equally excellent as creator as executant; and for the correctness of my statement, I refer my readers to the numerous circle of friends who have so often partaken of my mother's hospitality previous to my private public performances.

I was to write the entertainment, and to speak it. It was to be 'illustrated' with about a dozen songsEnglish, Scotch, Irish, Italian, French, German, and Welsh. We were not to assume characters or change our costume, but to act in our customary evening suits of solemn black. We arranged this as being not only an economical, but a gentlemanly, thing. If we were asked out-say to the lord-lieutenant's-we could slip away after dinner, delight our audiences for a couple of hours, and return.

And apropos of the lord-lieutenant: we did not venture to start in England, where we were known, nor in Scotland, where we had

relations; we therefore resolved to begin our campaign in Ireland-to commence in the provinces, gain confidence as we progressed to the cities, and finally bear down in triumph upon Dublin.

We often used to dispute as to who originated the idea of our tour. I need hardly say that the suggestion came from me.

'It was my notion,' Jack would say.

No; it was mine.' 'Mine.'

Poor Bradley had but one fault, and that was an extraordinary and monstrous egotism.

We sneaked up a dirty lane that led to a printing-office, and ordered our posters. They were in two long strips, on one of which was printed

'MELODIES OF M

and on the other.

'ANY LANDS, THIS EVENING.' which, with the words with Patter and Chatter on every Matter,' was the title of our entertainment-an alliterative jingle, which, printed in large capitals, wou'd look proudly in the bills. I shall never forget our delight at the first proof of our posters, which were on green and yellow paper-a delicate compliment to the opinions of all classes of our prospective patrons.

I wrote and committed to memory, Jack selected music, practised, and in time we were perfect. And with light hearts, heavy boxes, a few pounds in our porte-monnaies-not forgetting the glorious green and yellow posters we started for Dublin via Holyhead.

While walking down Dame-street, we met Desmond O'Sullivan, who had formerly been in our office. Desmond was a thorough Dublin man, with the Dublin man's hat, the Dublin man's back, and the Dublin man's look-half-benevolent, half-blagueur. To him we imparted our intentions.

Is it to give an entertainment ?' said he, highly amused with the idea.

We mentioned that we intended to throw off' at a town which I will call here Shandranaghan.

Desmond started.