Very Stout Person in the Amphitheatre Stalls. I say, look here—­I paid two shillings for this seat, and the back’s coming off.

Cour.  Gen. Perhaps, Sir, you have been leaning with a weight it is unable to bear.

Very S.P. Never mind about that.  As I pay two shillings for my seat, I expect you to stop the show until it’s mended.

Cour.  Gen. As the show (as you call it, Sir) costs about two pounds a minute, I fear that would be rather an extravagant proceeding.  If I may suggest, I would counsel you to change your seat to a more perfect one.

Very S.P. I like that! and get turned out by someone who had reserved it.  No, thankee!  But there, after all, I am rather heavy, so let’s say no more about it.

Cour.  Gen. I am infinitely obliged to you.

    [Exit.  The Opera continues until the commencement of the
    last Act, when there is a frantic cry for the Manager.  The
    Courteous Gentleman again appears before the Curtain.

Voices from the Cheaper Parts of the House. Here, cut it short!  Let’s get to the end.  Let’s see how the story finishes!

Cour.  Gent. I am at your disposal.

Spokesman. Well, look here, Mister.  There’s a lot of us here who want to catch the 11.40 train, so can’t you cut the performance?

Cour.  Man. Although your proposal, Sir, may cause some trouble and complications, I will honestly do my best. [Bows and exit.

Curtain.

* * * * *

TO THE ROLLER-SKATING FIEND.

[Illustration]

  O Boy!—­O injudicious boy!—­
    Who, swayed by dark and secret reasons,
  Dost love thine elders to annoy
    At sundry times and frequent seasons,
  Why hast thou left thy tempting top—­
    Thy penny-dreadful’s gory garble—­
  Thy blue-and-crimson lollipop—­
    Thy aimlessly meandering marble?

  Thy catapult, so sure of aim,
    In cold neglect, alas! reposes,
  And even “tip-cat’s” cherished game
    No longer threatens eyes and noses;
  Thy tube of tin (projecting peas)
    At length has ceased from irritating;
  But how much worse than all of these
    Thy latest craze—­for roller-skating!

  For, mounted on twin engines dread,
    Thou rushest (with adventures graphic)
  Where even angels fear to tread,
    Because there’s such a lot of traffic. 
  At lightning-speed we see thee glide,
    (With malice every narrow shave meant),
  And charge thine elders far and wide,
    Or stretch them prone upon the pavement.

  Round corners sharp thou lov’st to dart,
    (Thou skating imp!  Thou rolling joker!)
  And hit in some projecting part
    The lawyer staid, or solemn broker. 
  Does pity never mar thy glee,
    When upright men with torture double? 
  Oh, let our one petition be
    That thou may’st come to grievous trouble!