class="smcap">Harry, how you connect the two subjects. There is a vast difference between this planet and a Pantomime.

Harry. Indeed, Sir, there is; for our planet is entirely round, and this Pantomime is remarkably flat.

Mr. Barlow. Beware of such wholesale condemnations, my dear Harry; this Pantomime has already given delight to some twenty thousand persons, every one, it may be, as good as yourself.

Tommy was much pleased, however, at Harry's application of a scientific fact, and expressed his determination of learning Astronomy at once, in order that he might be as ready as Harry on any suitable occasion.

On quitting the theatre, Mr. Barlow promised the box-keeper a sixpence, whereat the poor man could scarcely refrain from embracing his benefactor. So they left.

Next Night—covent Garden.—Here they saw the Pantomime of Blue Beard. As each new Scene presented itself to their view, they were vehemently enraptured, and thought that no expression of praise could suffice to express their pleasure.

Mr. Barlow. Certainly the scenery is very beautiful.

Harry. The ladies are indeed lovely!

Mr. Barlow. They are mortal.

Tommy. O, here is Blue Beard's procession! I know the story! And here are the Camels, and—O!—a White Elephant!

Mr. Barlow. The Camel, my dear Tommy, is found chiefly in burning climates. In his temper he is gentle and tractable, and his patience in being——

Audience. Hush! Order! Turn him out!

Harry. Indeed, Sir, they are alluding to you! Would it not be better to remain silent, and watch a Scene which gives everyone so much gratification?

Mr. Barlow perceived the sense of this remark, and confined himself to explaining to Tommy, in an undertone, that Mr. Macdermott, who played Blue Beard, had been, till lately, an actor at the Grecian Theatre, where he was considered "funny;" but that here his humour seemed to be limited to an imitation of one Mr. Clarke, an actor of burlesque parts most favourably known to playgoers; and, indeed, the audience seemed to be largely of Mr. Barlow's mind, for it was not until Mr. Blue Beard danced, which he did cleverly, that they testified their approbation of his drolleries.

Mr. Barlow. This Scene of the Amazons' Encampment will attract the whole town. It is indeed a magnificent spectacle.

Tommy. There must be thousands on the stage!

Mr. Barlow smiled at this, and was about to demonstrate, mathematically, the improbability of more than three hundred of the corps de ballet being on the scene at once, when his attention was attracted to the Grand Transformation Scene by vociferous applause, in which he was conscientiously able to join. On their quitting the theatre, at eleven o'clock, the boys were loud in their praises of what they had seen.

Harry. How diverting were those French dancers! and the Shadows!

Tommy. And the Clown with the two boys! and their fiddles and musical bells!

Mr. Barlow. You are right. With the comic scenes and the Clown came the fun peculiar to this species of amusement, of which there was, amid all the glitter and splendour, a lack. And perhaps this is as it should be; for why term the Harlequinade "the Comic Scenes," unless they are so by comparison with the previous portion of the Pantomime?

Harry. Your observation, Sir, reminds me of the entertaining story of Sophronius and Kydaspes, which Tommy has not yet heard.

Harry was about to commence the tale without further parley, when it was discovered that Tommy had slipped out of the room, and had, it was supposed, retired to bed. Mr. Barlow therefore intimated that, as he had heard the story before, it would be better if they both followed their young friend's example.

Harry submitted to this arrangement; and when the two boys were assured that their worthy preceptor was asleep, they took his latchkey, and sallied forth to enjoy themselves at Evans's supper-rooms.

A VIRTUOUS VESTRY.

E it known that a sort of Fair or miscellaneous Market is held in the New Cut (excuse mention of such a place) every Sunday morning. There do people of the baser sort buy their Sunday dinners, and other matters which they fancy they want. The Lambeth Vestry, justly indignant at such goings on, appealed to Colonel Henderson to put a stop to them. That haughty and sarcastic official declared that he should do nothing of the sort, unless the shopkeepers who keep their shops open on Sundays were also obliged to respect the day of rest. We pity the Colonel's want of logical power. What is there in common between a respectable shopkeeper, who pays rates, and a low person who wheels a barrow, or rents the flap over a cellarage? The Vestry scorned such terms, and have been taking the names of the vendors at this fair, and such addresses as the miserable creatures could give. Summonses have been issued, but the matter stands over for a few weeks.

At the end of that time, Mr. Punch cordially trusts that the Lambeth Vestry will sternly carry out their plan for promoting the respectability of the New Cut, and if Colonel Henderson again refuses to help them, let appeal be made to Mr. Bruce. There is not the least pretence for holding the Fair. Let the people in and about the New Cut buy their fish, meat, and the rest of their luxuries on Saturday. What is to prevent them from doing so. Wages are always paid at an early hour on Saturday, and by four o'clock on that day the wife of an artisan has always received from her husband the bulk of his earnings, less perhaps by a trifle which she playfully returns to him, that he may have a pipe and a pint before going to bed. He would be considered a bad fellow if he did not give her the money, or if she had to coax it out of him late, or to take it from his pocket when he had sunk into the gentle slumber of intoxication. That he should surlily refuse it, and strike her, and force her to wait until morning brought better temper, is too monstrous an idea. "Our flesh and blood" never does this sort of thing.

Let the Wife therefore make her purchases on Saturday. Let her take her fish and meat home. We are perfectly aware that they are perishable articles, but we suppose that they can be put into the pantry down-stairs, or that, if domestics or cats are distrusted, the food can be placed in the refrigerator. That article is cheap enough, anyhow, and a very good one can be got for three or four guineas, and it is the affectation of ignorance to say that ice is not at hand, for we know that the Wenham Lake carts go round several times a week—this we state from our own knowledge, and we hate sentimentality. By this means not only will offence to the refined natures of the Lambeth Vestry be avoided, but the vendors of the articles will be released from work, and enabled to attend places of worship. To their own declaration that but for Sunday trade they must go to the workhouse, we lend a deaf ear. Morality cannot yield to Necessity. A prudent man