Close under the Parade Watt a large circle has been formed, consisting chiefly of Women on chairs and camp-stools, with an inner ring of small children, who are all patiently awaiting the arrival of a troupe of Niggers.  At the head of one of the flights of steps leading up to the Parade, a small and shrewish Child-nurse is endeavouring to detect and recapture a pair of prodigal younger Brothers, who have given her the slip.

Sarah (to herself).  Wherever can them two plegs have got to? (Aloud; drawing a bow at a venture) ALBERT!  ’ENERY!  Come up ’ere this minnit. I see yer!

’Enery (under the steps—­to Albert).  I say—­d’ye think she do?—­’cos if—­

Albert.  Not she!  Set tight. [They sit tight.]

Sarah (as before).  ’ENERY!  ALBERT!  You’ve bin and ’alf killed little GEORGIE between yer!

’Enery (moved, to Albert).  Did you ’ear that, BERT?  It wasn’t me upset him—­was it now?

Albert (impenitent).  ’Oo cares!  The Niggers’ll be back direckly.

Sarah.  AL-BERT!  ’ENERY!  Your father’s bin down ’ere once after you.  You’ll ketch it!

Albert (sotto voce).  Not till Father ketches us, we shan’t.  Keep still, ’ENERY—­we’re all right under ’ere!

Sarah (more diplomatically).  ’ENERY!  ALBERT!  Father’s bin and left a ‘ap’ny apiece for yer.  Ain’t yer comin’ up for it?  If yer don’t want it, why, stay where you are, that’s all!

Albert (to ’Enery).  I knoo we ‘adn’t done nothin’.  An’ I’m goin’ up to git that ap’ny, I am.

’Enery.  So’m I. [They emerge, and ascend the steps—­to be pounced upon immediately by the ingenious SARAH.

Sarah.  ’Ap’ny, indeed!  You won’t git no ’apence ’ere, I can tell yer—­so jest you come along ’ome with me!

[Illustration:  “Come to these legs!”]

    [Exeunt ALBERT and ’ENERY, in captivity, as the Niggers
    enter the circle.

Bones. We shall commence this afternoon by ’olding our Grand Annual Weekly Singing Competition, for the Discouragement of Youthful Talent.  Now then, which is the little gal to step out first and git a medal? (The Children giggle, but remain seated.) Not one?  Now I arsk you—­What is the use o’ me comin’ ‘ere, throwin’ away thousands and thousands of pounds on golden medals, if you won’t take the trouble to stand up and sing for them?  Oh, you’ll make me so wild, I shall begin spittin’ ’alf-sovereigns directly—­I know I shall! (A little Girl in a sun-bonnet comes forward.) Ah, ’ere’s a young lady who’s bustin’ with melody, I can see.  Your name, my dear?  Ladies and Gentleman, I have the pleasure to announce that Miss CONNIE COCKLE will now appear.  Don’t