P.A.-M. (earnestly).  I hope, Sir, that in the cause of Art you do not object, that—­

Master W.S. (interrupting).  Oh, no!  It makes little difference to me what you do. My author’s fees ceased years ago!  But look here, What do you mean by this? (Produces Press-cutting of advertisement and reads)—­“Theatre Royal, Haymarket, Prospective Arrangements.  Owing to the continued success of Hamlet, it has been decided (by arrangement with the Author) to postpone” another play.  Now, Master TREE, or as I may call ye, “Master up a Tree,” what have you to say to that?  You see your advertisement has caught my eye.  I am here to answer it!

P.A.-M. Most wonderful!  I do not know how or wherefore my pen slipped, but slip it did, indeed.  However, I apologise.  Is that enough?

Master W.S. More than enough!

    Enter the Ghost of HAMLET’s Father suddenly.

Ghost (with a glance at W.S.).  Ah, the Governor here already! 
Still, I may have my chance as well as he!  I gave the plot of
Hamlet!  Why shouldn’t I have another shot? (To P.A.-M.)—­
        But that I am forbid
        To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
        I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word
        Would harrow up thy soul.

P.A.-M. (eagerly).  The very thing for a melodrama.  Delighted to make your acquaintance—­hem—­in the Spirit!

Master W.S. Nay, good Master Player, this is scarcely business!  If anything in that line is to be done, I should do it. (To Ghost of HAMLET’s Father).  Begone, Sirrah!

Ghost. Nay, this is professional jealousy! (To P.A.-M.).  I find thee apt—­

    [A book falls, and Master WM. SHAKSPEARE and Ghost of
    HAMLET’s Father vanish together.

P.A.-M. (opening his eyes).  Was I dreaming? (With a recollection of “The Red Lamp") I wonder! [Left wondering.

* * * * *

TAKING A SIGHT AT RINGANDKNOCK.

(BY RUDDIER STRIPLING.)

After the roughness of the Atlantic, in which to my taste there is far too much water moving about, I stepped on to America with considerable relief.  I was quite satisfied, after that excellent dinner, the first I had enjoyed since Liverpool slid away eastward, to walk aimlessly through the streets till I fell into the arms of a broad-shouldered, pug-nosed, Irish New York policeman.  I remember no more till New York passed away on a sunny afternoon, and then I fell asleep again and slept till the brakeman, conductor, Pullman-car conductor, negro porter and newsboy somehow managed to pull me out into the midnight temperature of 80 below freezing.  It was just like having one’s head put under the pump, but it did not quite revive me, for I mistook my host in his sleigh for a walrus, and tried to harpoon him with my umbrella.  After matters had been explained, we went off, at least I did, and never woke up till I fell out into a snow-drift, just as we turned a corner at our journey’s end.