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Nicholas was up betimes in the morning; but he had scarcely begun todress, notwithstanding, when he heard footsteps ascending the stairs,and was presently saluted by the voices of Mr Folair the pantomimist,and Mr Lenville, the tragedian.

'House, house, house!' cried Mr Folair.

'What, ho! within there,' said Mr Lenville, in a deep voice.

'Confound these fellows!' thought Nicholas; 'they have come tobreakfast, I suppose. I'll open the door directly, if you'll wait aninstant.'

The gentlemen entreated him not to hurry himself; and, to beguile theinterval, had a fencing bout with their walking-sticks on the very smalllanding-place: to the unspeakable discomposure of all the other lodgersdownstairs.

'Here, come in,' said Nicholas, when he had completed his toilet. 'Inthe name of all that's horrible, don't make that noise outside.'

'An uncommon snug little box this,' said Mr Lenville, stepping intothe front room, and taking his hat off, before he could get in at all.'Pernicious snug.'

'For a man at all particular in such matters, it might be a trifletoo snug,' said Nicholas; 'for, although it is, undoubtedly, a greatconvenience to be able to reach anything you want from the ceiling orthe floor, or either side of the room, without having to move from yourchair, still these advantages can only be had in an apartment of themost limited size.'

'It isn't a bit too confined for a single man,' returned Mr Lenville.'That reminds me,--my wife, Mr Johnson,--I hope she'll have some goodpart in this piece of yours?'

'I glanced at the French copy last night,' said Nicholas. 'It looks verygood, I think.'

'What do you mean to do for me, old fellow?' asked Mr Lenville, pokingthe struggling fire with his walking-stick, and afterwards wiping it onthe skirt of his coat. 'Anything in the gruff and grumble way?'

'You turn your wife and child out of doors,' said Nicholas; 'and, in afit of rage and jealousy, stab your eldest son in the library.'

'Do I though!' exclaimed Mr Lenville. 'That's very good business.'

'After which,' said Nicholas, 'you are troubled with remorse till thelast act, and then you make up your mind to destroy yourself. But, justas you are raising the pistol to your head, a clock strikes--ten.'

'I see,' cried Mr Lenville. 'Very good.'

'You pause,' said Nicholas; 'you recollect to have heard a clockstrike ten in your infancy. The pistol falls from your hand--you areovercome--you burst into tears, and become a virtuous and exemplarycharacter for ever afterwards.'

'Capital!' said Mr Lenville: 'that's a sure card, a sure card. Get thecurtain down with a touch of nature like that, and it'll be a triumphantsuccess.'

'Is there anything good for me?' inquired Mr Folair, anxiously.

'Let me see,' said Nicholas. 'You play the faithful and attachedservant; you are turned out of doors with the wife and child.'

'Always coupled with that infernal phenomenon,' sighed Mr Folair;'and we go into poor lodgings, where I won't take any wages, and talksentiment, I suppose?'

'Why--yes,' replied Nicholas: 'that is the course of the piece.'

'I must have a dance of some kind, you know,' said Mr Folair. 'You'llhave to introduce one for the phenomenon, so you'd better make a PAS DEDEUX, and save time.'

'There's nothing easier than that,' said Mr Lenville, observing thedisturbed looks of the young dramatist.

'Upon my word I don't see how it's to be done,' rejoined Nicholas.

'Why, isn't it obvious?' reasoned Mr Lenville. 'Gadzooks, who can helpseeing the way to do it?--you astonish me! You get the distressed lady,and the little child, and the attached servant, into the poor lodgings,don't you?--Well, look here. The distressed lady sinks into a chair, andburies her face in her pocket-handkerchief. "What makes you weep, mama?"says the child. "Don't weep, mama, or you'll make me weep too!"--"Andme!" says the favourite servant, rubbing his eyes with his arm. "Whatcan we do to raise your spirits, dear mama?" says the little child."Ay, what CAN we do?" says the faithful servant. "Oh, Pierre!" saysthe distressed lady; "would that I could shake off these painfulthoughts."--"Try, ma'am, try," says the faithful servant; "rouseyourself, ma'am; be amused."--"I will," says the lady, "I will learnto suffer with fortitude. Do you remember that dance, my honest friend,which, in happier days, you practised with this sweet angel? It neverfailed to calm my spirits then. Oh! let me see it once again before Idie!"--There it is--cue for the band, BEFORE I DIE,--and off they go.That's the regular thing; isn't it, Tommy?'

'That's it,' replied Mr Folair. 'The distressed lady, overpowered by oldrecollections, faints at the end of the dance, and you close in with apicture.'

Profiting by these and other lessons, which were the result of thepersonal experience of the two actors, Nicholas willingly gave them thebest breakfast he could, and, when he at length got rid of them, appliedhimself to his task: by no means displeased to find that it was so mucheasier than he had at first supposed. He worked very hard all day,and did not leave his room until the evening, when he went down to thetheatre, whither Smike had repaired before him to go on with anothergentleman as a general rebellion.

Here all the people were so much changed, that he scarcely knew them.False hair, false colour, false calves, false muscles--they had becomedifferent beings. Mr Lenville was a blooming warrior of most exquisiteproportions; Mr Crummles, his large face shaded by a profusion ofblack hair, a Highland outlaw of most majestic bearing; one of theold gentlemen a jailer, and the other a venerable patriarch; the comiccountryman, a fighting-man of great valour, relieved by a touch ofhumour; each of the Master Crummleses a prince in his own right; and thelow-spirited lover, a desponding captive. There was a gorgeous banquetready spread for the third act, consisting of two pasteboard vases, oneplate of biscuits, a black bottle, and a vinegar cruet; and, in short,everything was on a scale of the utmost splendour and preparation.

Nicholas was standing with his back to the curtain, now contemplatingthe first scene, which was a Gothic archway, about two feet shorterthan Mr Crummles, through which that gentleman was to make his firstentrance, and now listening to a couple of people who were cracking nutsin the gallery, wondering whether they made the whole audience, when themanager himself walked familiarly up and accosted him.

'Been in front tonight?' said Mr Crummles.

'No,' replied Nicholas, 'not yet. I am going to see the play.'

'We've had a pretty good Let,' said Mr Crummles. 'Four front places inthe centre, and the whole of the stage-box.'

'Oh, indeed!' said Nicholas; 'a family, I suppose?'

'Yes,' replied Mr Crummles, 'yes. It's an affecting thing. There are sixchildren, and they never come unless the phenomenon plays.'

It would have been difficult for any party, family, or otherwise, tohave visited the theatre on a night when the phenomenon did NOT play,inasmuch as she always sustained one, and not uncommonly two or three,characters, every night; but Nicholas, sympathising with the feelings ofa father, refrained from hinting at this trifling circumstance, and MrCrummles continued to talk, uninterrupted by him.

'Six,' said that gentleman; 'pa and ma eight, aunt nine, governessten, grandfather and grandmother twelve. Then, there's the footman, whostands outside, with a bag of oranges and a jug of toast-and-water,and sees the play for nothing through the little pane of glass in thebox-door--it's cheap at a guinea; they gain by taking a box.'

'I wonder you allow so many,' observed Nicholas.

'There's no help for it,' replied Mr Crummles; 'it's always expected inthe country. If there are six children, six people come to hold them intheir laps. A family-box carries double always. Ring in the orchestra,Grudden!'

That useful lady did as she was requested, and shortly afterwards thetuning of three fiddles was heard. Which process having been protractedas long as it was supposed that the patience of the audience couldpossibly bear it, was put a stop to by another jerk of the bell, which,being the signal to begin in earnest, set the orchestra playing avariety of popular airs, with involuntary variations.

If Nicholas had been astonished at the alteration for the better whichthe gentlemen displayed, the transformation of the ladies was still moreextraordinary. When, from a snug corner of the manager's box, he beheldMiss Snevellicci in all the glories of white muslin with a golden hem,and Mrs Crummles in all the dignity of the outlaw's wife, and MissBravassa in all the sweetness of Miss Snevellicci's confidential friend,and Miss Belvawney in the white silks of a page doing duty everywhereand swearing to live and die in the service of everybody, he couldscarcely contain his admiration, which testified itself in greatapplause, and the closest possible attention to the business of thescene. The plot was most interesting. It belonged to no particular age,people, or country, and was perhaps the more delightful on that account,as nobody's previous information could afford the remotest glimmering ofwhat would ever come of it. An outlaw had been very successful in doingsomething somewhere, and came home, in triumph, to the sound of shoutsand fiddles, to greet his wife--a lady of masculine mind, who talkeda good deal about her father's bones, which it seemed were unburied,though whether from a peculiar taste on the part of the old gentlemanhimself, or the reprehensible neglect of his relations, did not appear.This outlaw's wife was, somehow or other, mixed up with a patriarch,living in a castle a long way off, and this patriarch was the fatherof several of the characters, but he didn't exactly know which, and wasuncertain whether he had brought up the right ones in his castle, or thewrong ones; he rather inclined to the latter opinion, and, being uneasy,relieved his mind with a banquet, during which solemnity somebody ina cloak said 'Beware!' which somebody was known by nobody (except theaudience) to be the outlaw himself, who had come there, for reasonsunexplained, but possibly with an eye to the spoons. There was anagreeable little surprise in the way of certain love passages betweenthe desponding captive and Miss Snevellicci, and the comic fighting-manand Miss Bravassa; besides which, Mr Lenville had several very tragicscenes in the dark, while on throat-cutting expeditions, which wereall baffled by the skill and bravery of the comic fighting-man (whooverheard whatever was said all through the piece) and the intrepidityof Miss Snevellicci, who adopted tights, and therein repaired to theprison of her captive lover, with a small basket of refreshments and adark lantern. At last, it came out that the patriarch was the manwho had treated the bones of the outlaw's father-in-law with so muchdisrespect, for which cause and reason the outlaw's wife repaired tohis castle to kill him, and so got into a dark room, where, after a gooddeal of groping in the dark, everybody got hold of everybody else, andtook them for somebody besides, which occasioned a vast quantity ofconfusion, with some pistolling, loss of life, and torchlight; afterwhich, the patriarch came forward, and observing, with a knowing look,that he knew all about his children now, and would tell them when theygot inside, said that there could not be a more appropriate occasionfor marrying the young people than that; and therefore he joined theirhands, with the full consent of the indefatigable page, who (being theonly other person surviving) pointed with his cap into the clouds, andhis right hand to the ground; thereby invoking a blessing and giving thecue for the curtain to come down, which it did, amidst general applause.

'What did you think of that?' asked Mr Crummles, when Nicholas wentround to the stage again. Mr Crummles was very red and hot, for youroutlaws are desperate fellows to shout.

'I think it was very capital indeed,' replied Nicholas; 'MissSnevellicci in particular was uncommonly good.'

'She's a genius,' said Mr Crummles; 'quite a genius, that girl.By-the-bye, I've been thinking of bringing out that piece of yours onher bespeak night.'

'When?' asked Nicholas.

'The night of her bespeak. Her benefit night, when her friends andpatrons bespeak the play,' said Mr Crummles.

'Oh! I understand,' replied Nicholas.

'You see,' said Mr. Crummles, 'it's sure to go, on such an occasion, andeven if it should not work up quite as well as we expect, why it will beher risk, you know, and not ours.'

'Yours, you mean,' said Nicholas.

'I said mine, didn't I?' returned Mr Crummles. 'Next Monday week. Whatdo you say? You'll have done it, and are sure to be up in the lover'spart, long before that time.'

'I don't know about "long before,"' replied Nicholas; 'but BY that timeI think I can undertake to be ready.'

'Very good,' pursued Mr Crummles, 'then we'll call that settled. Now,I want to ask you something else. There's a little--what shall I callit?--a little canvassing takes place on these occasions.'

'Among the patrons, I suppose?' said Nicholas.

'Among the patrons; and the fact is, that Snevellicci has had so manybespeaks in this place, that she wants an attraction. She had a bespeakwhen her mother-in-law died, and a bespeak when her uncle died; andMrs Crummles and myself have had bespeaks on the anniversary of thephenomenon's birthday, and our wedding-day, and occasions of thatdescription, so that, in fact, there's some difficulty in getting a goodone. Now, won't you help this poor girl, Mr Johnson?' said Crummles,sitting himself down on a drum, and taking a great pinch of snuff, as helooked him steadily in the face.

'How do you mean?' rejoined Nicholas.

'Don't you think you could spare half an hour tomorrow morning, to callwith her at the houses of one or two of the principal people?' murmuredthe manager in a persuasive tone.

'Oh dear me,' said Nicholas, with an air of very strong objection, 'Ishouldn't like to do that.'

'The infant will accompany her,' said Mr Crummles. 'The moment it wassuggested to me, I gave permission for the infant to go. There will notbe the smallest impropriety--Miss Snevellicci, sir, is the very soulof honour. It would be of material service--the gentleman fromLondon--author of the new piece--actor in the new piece--firstappearance on any boards--it would lead to a great bespeak, Mr Johnson.'

'I am very sorry to throw a damp upon the prospects of anybody, andmore especially a lady,' replied Nicholas; 'but really I must decidedlyobject to making one of the canvassing party.'

'What does Mr Johnson say, Vincent?' inquired a voice close to his ear;and, looking round, he found Mrs Crummles and Miss Snevellicci herselfstanding behind him.

'He has some objection, my dear,' replied Mr Crummles, looking atNicholas.

'Objection!' exclaimed Mrs Crummles. 'Can it be possible?'

'Oh, I hope not!' cried Miss Snevellicci. 'You surely are not socruel--oh, dear me!--Well, I--to think of that now, after all one'slooking forward to it!'

'Mr Johnson will not persist, my dear,' said Mrs Crummles. 'Think betterof him than to suppose it. Gallantry, humanity, all the best feelings ofhis nature, must be enlisted in this interesting cause.'

'Which moves even a manager,' said Mr Crummles, smiling.

'And a manager's wife,' added Mrs Crummles, in her accustomed tragedytones. 'Come, come, you will relent, I know you will.'

'It is not in my nature,' said Nicholas, moved by these appeals, 'toresist any entreaty, unless it is to do something positively wrong; and,beyond a feeling of pride, I know nothing which should prevent my doingthis. I know nobody here, and nobody knows me. So be it then. I yield.'

Miss Snevellicci was at once overwhelmed with blushes and expressions ofgratitude, of which latter commodity neither Mr nor Mrs Crummles was byany means sparing. It was arranged that Nicholas should call upon her,at her lodgings, at eleven next morning, and soon after they parted:he to return home to his authorship: Miss Snevellicci to dress for theafter-piece: and the disinterested manager and his wife to discuss theprobable gains of the forthcoming bespeak, of which they were to havetwo-thirds of the profits by solemn treaty of agreement.

At the stipulated hour next morning, Nicholas repaired to the lodgingsof Miss Snevellicci, which were in a place called Lombard Street, atthe house of a tailor. A strong smell of ironing pervaded the littlepassage; and the tailor's daughter, who opened the door, appeared inthat flutter of spirits which is so often attendant upon the periodicalgetting up of a family's linen.

'Miss Snevellicci lives here, I believe?' said Nicholas, when the doorwas opened.

The tailor's daughter replied in the affirmative.

'Will you have the goodness to let her know that Mr Johnson is here?'said Nicholas.

'Oh, if you please, you're to come upstairs,' replied the tailor'sdaughter, with a smile.

Nicholas followed the young lady, and was shown into a small apartmenton the first floor, communicating with a back-room; in which, as hejudged from a certain half-subdued clinking sound, as of cups andsaucers, Miss Snevellicci was then taking her breakfast in bed.

'You're to wait, if you please,' said the tailor's daughter, after ashort period of absence, during which the clinking in the back-room hadceased, and been succeeded by whispering--'She won't be long.'

As she spoke, she pulled up the window-blind, and having by this means(as she thought) diverted Mr Johnson's attention from the room to thestreet, caught up some articles which were airing on the fender, and hadvery much the appearance of stockings, and darted off.

As there were not many objects of interest outside the window, Nicholaslooked about the room with more curiosity than he might otherwise havebestowed upon it. On the sofa lay an old guitar, several thumbedpieces of music, and a scattered litter of curl-papers; together with aconfused heap of play-bills, and a pair of soiled white satin shoeswith large blue rosettes. Hanging over the back of a chair was ahalf-finished muslin apron with little pockets ornamented with redribbons, such as waiting-women wear on the stage, and (by consequence)are never seen with anywhere else. In one corner stood the diminutivepair of top-boots in which Miss Snevellicci was accustomed to enact thelittle jockey, and, folded on a chair hard by, was a small parcel, whichbore a very suspicious resemblance to the companion smalls.

But the most interesting object of all was, perhaps, the open scrapbook,displayed in the midst of some theatrical duodecimos that were strewnupon the table; and pasted into which scrapbook were various criticalnotices of Miss Snevellicci's acting, extracted from differentprovincial journals, together with one poetic address in her honour,commencing--

Sing, God of Love, and tell me in what dearth Thrice-gifted SNEVELLICCI came on earth, To thrill us with her smile, her tear, her eye, Sing, God of Love, and tell me quickly why.

Besides this effusion, there were innumerable complimentary allusions,also extracted from newspapers, such as--'We observe from anadvertisement in another part of our paper of today, that the charmingand highly-talented Miss Snevellicci takes her benefit on Wednesday,for which occasion she has put forth a bill of fare that might kindleexhilaration in the breast of a misanthrope. In the confidence that ourfellow-townsmen have not lost that high appreciation of public utilityand private worth, for which they have long been so pre-eminentlydistinguished, we predict that this charming actress will be greetedwith a bumper.' 'To Correspondents.--J.S. is misinformed when hesupposes that the highly-gifted and beautiful Miss Snevellicci, nightlycaptivating all hearts at our pretty and commodious little theatre,is NOT the same lady to whom the young gentleman of immense fortune,residing within a hundred miles of the good city of York, lately madehonourable proposals. We have reason to know that Miss Snevellicci ISthe lady who was implicated in that mysterious and romantic affair, andwhose conduct on that occasion did no less honour to her head and heart,than do her histrionic triumphs to her brilliant genius.' A copiousassortment of such paragraphs as these, with long bills of benefitsall ending with 'Come Early', in large capitals, formed the principalcontents of Miss Snevellicci's scrapbook.

Nicholas had read a great many of these scraps, and was absorbed in acircumstantial and melancholy account of the train of events which hadled to Miss Snevellicci's spraining her ankle by slipping on a piece oforange-peel flung by a monster in human form, (so the paper said,) uponthe stage at Winchester,--when that young lady herself, attired in thecoal-scuttle bonnet and walking-dress complete, tripped into the room,with a thousand apologies for having detained him so long after theappointed time.

'But really,' said Miss Snevellicci, 'my darling Led, who lives with mehere, was taken so very ill in the night that I thought she would haveexpired in my arms.'

'Such a fate is almost to be envied,' returned Nicholas, 'but I am verysorry to hear it nevertheless.'

'What a creature you are to flatter!' said Miss Snevellicci, buttoningher glove in much confusion.

'If it be flattery to admire your charms and accomplishments,' rejoinedNicholas, laying his hand upon the scrapbook, 'you have better specimensof it here.'

'Oh you cruel creature, to read such things as those! I'm almostashamed to look you in the face afterwards, positively I am,' said MissSnevellicci, seizing the book and putting it away in a closet. 'Howcareless of Led! How could she be so naughty!'

'I thought you had kindly left it here, on purpose for me to read,' saidNicholas. And really it did seem possible.

'I wouldn't have had you see it for the world!' rejoined MissSnevellicci. 'I never was so vexed--never! But she is such a carelessthing, there's no trusting her.'

The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the phenomenon,who had discreetly remained in the bedroom up to this moment, and nowpresented herself, with much grace and lightness, bearing in her handa very little green parasol with a broad fringe border, and no handle.After a few words of course, they sallied into the street.

The phenomenon was rather a troublesome companion, for first theright sandal came down, and then the left, and these mischances beingrepaired, one leg of the little white trousers was discovered to belonger than the other; besides these accidents, the green parasolwas dropped down an iron grating, and only fished up again with greatdifficulty and by dint of much exertion. However, it was impossible toscold her, as she was the manager's daughter, so Nicholas took it all inperfect good humour, and walked on, with Miss Snevellicci, arm-in-arm onone side, and the offending infant on the other.

The first house to which they bent their steps, was situated ina terrace of respectable appearance. Miss Snevellicci's modestdouble-knock was answered by a foot-boy, who, in reply to her inquirywhether Mrs Curdle was at home, opened his eyes very wide, grinned verymuch, and said he didn't know, but he'd inquire. With this heshowed them into a parlour where he kept them waiting, until the twowomen-servants had repaired thither, under false pretences, to see theplay-actors; and having compared notes with them in the passage, andjoined in a vast quantity of whispering and giggling, he at length wentupstairs with Miss Snevellicci's name.

Now, Mrs Curdle was supposed, by those who were best informed onsuch points, to possess quite the London taste in matters relating toliterature and the drama; and as to Mr Curdle, he had written a pamphletof sixty-four pages, post octavo, on the character of the Nurse'sdeceased husband in Romeo and Juliet, with an inquiry whether he reallyhad been a 'merry man' in his lifetime, or whether it was merely hiswidow's affectionate partiality that induced her so to report him. Hehad likewise proved, that by altering the received mode of punctuation,any one of Shakespeare's plays could be made quite different, and thesense completely changed; it is needless to say, therefore, that he wasa great critic, and a very profound and most original thinker.

'Well, Miss Snevellicci,' said Mrs Curdle, entering the parlour, 'andhow do YOU do?'

Miss Snevellicci made a graceful obeisance, and hoped Mrs Curdle waswell, as also Mr Curdle, who at the same time appeared. Mrs Curdle wasdressed in a morning wrapper, with a little cap stuck upon the topof her head. Mr Curdle wore a loose robe on his back, and his rightforefinger on his forehead after the portraits of Sterne, to whomsomebody or other had once said he bore a striking resemblance.

'I venture to call, for the purpose of asking whether you would put yourname to my bespeak, ma'am,' said Miss Snevellicci, producing documents.

'Oh! I really don't know what to say,' replied Mrs Curdle. 'It's not asif the theatre was in its high and palmy days--you needn't stand, MissSnevellicci--the drama is gone, perfectly gone.'

'As an exquisite embodiment of the poet's visions, and a realisation ofhuman intellectuality, gilding with refulgent light our dreamy moments,and laying open a new and magic world before the mental eye, the dramais gone, perfectly gone,' said Mr Curdle.

'What man is there, now living, who can present before us all thosechanging and prismatic colours with which the character of Hamlet isinvested?' exclaimed Mrs Curdle.

'What man indeed--upon the stage,' said Mr Curdle, with a smallreservation in favour of himself. 'Hamlet! Pooh! ridiculous! Hamlet isgone, perfectly gone.'

Quite overcome by these dismal reflections, Mr and Mrs Curdle sighed,and sat for some short time without speaking. At length, the lady,turning to Miss Snevellicci, inquired what play she proposed to have.

'Quite a new one,' said Miss Snevellicci, 'of which this gentleman isthe author, and in which he plays; being his first appearance on anystage. Mr Johnson is the gentleman's name.'

'I hope you have preserved the unities, sir?' said Mr Curdle.

'The original piece is a French one,' said Nicholas. 'There is abundanceof incident, sprightly dialogue, strongly-marked characters--'

'--All unavailing without a strict observance of the unities, sir,'returned Mr Curdle. 'The unities of the drama, before everything.'

'Might I ask you,' said Nicholas, hesitating between the respect heought to assume, and his love of the whimsical, 'might I ask you whatthe unities are?'

Mr Curdle coughed and considered. 'The unities, sir,' he said, 'are acompleteness--a kind of universal dovetailedness with regard to placeand time--a sort of a general oneness, if I may be allowed to use sostrong an expression. I take those to be the dramatic unities, so far asI have been enabled to bestow attention upon them, and I have readmuch upon the subject, and thought much. I find, running through theperformances of this child,' said Mr Curdle, turning to the phenomenon,'a unity of feeling, a breadth, a light and shade, a warmth ofcolouring, a tone, a harmony, a glow, an artistical developmentof original conceptions, which I look for, in vain, among olderperformers--I don't know whether I make myself understood?'

'Perfectly,' replied Nicholas.

'Just so,' said Mr Curdle, pulling up his neckcloth. 'That is mydefinition of the unities of the drama.'

Mrs Curdle had sat listening to this lucid explanation with greatcomplacency. It being finished, she inquired what Mr Curdle thought,about putting down their names.

'I don't know, my dear; upon my word I don't know,' said Mr Curdle. 'Ifwe do, it must be distinctly understood that we do not pledge ourselvesto the quality of the performances. Let it go forth to the world, thatwe do not give THEM the sanction of our names, but that we confer thedistinction merely upon Miss Snevellicci. That being clearly stated, Itake it to be, as it were, a duty, that we should extend our patronageto a degraded stage, even for the sake of the associations with whichit is entwined. Have you got two-and-sixpence for half-a-crown, MissSnevellicci?' said Mr Curdle, turning over four of those pieces ofmoney.

Miss Snevellicci felt in all the corners of the pink reticule, but therewas nothing in any of them. Nicholas murmured a jest about his being anauthor, and thought it best not to go through the form of feeling in hisown pockets at all.

'Let me see,' said Mr Curdle; 'twice four's eight--four shillingsa-piece to the boxes, Miss Snevellicci, is exceedingly dear in thepresent state of the drama--three half-crowns is seven-and-six; we shallnot differ about sixpence, I suppose? Sixpence will not part us, MissSnevellicci?'

Poor Miss Snevellicci took the three half-crowns, with many smiles andbends, and Mrs Curdle, adding several supplementary directions relativeto keeping the places for them, and dusting the seat, and sending twoclean bills as soon as they came out, rang the bell, as a signal forbreaking up the conference.

'Odd people those,' said Nicholas, when they got clear of the house.

'I assure you,' said Miss Snevellicci, taking his arm, 'that I thinkmyself very lucky they did not owe all the money instead of beingsixpence short. Now, if you were to succeed, they would give people tounderstand that they had always patronised you; and if you were to fail,they would have been quite certain of that from the very beginning.'

At the next house they visited, they were in great glory; for, there,resided the six children who were so enraptured with the public actionsof the phenomenon, and who, being called down from the nursery to betreated with a private view of that young lady, proceeded to poke theirfingers into her eyes, and tread upon her toes, and show her many otherlittle attentions peculiar to their time of life.

'I shall certainly persuade Mr Borum to take a private box,' said thelady of the house, after a most gracious reception. 'I shall onlytake two of the children, and will make up the rest of the party, ofgentlemen--your admirers, Miss Snevellicci. Augustus, you naughty boy,leave the little girl alone.'

This was addressed to a young gentleman who was pinching the phenomenonbehind, apparently with a view of ascertaining whether she was real.

'I am sure you must be very tired,' said the mama, turning to MissSnevellicci. 'I cannot think of allowing you to go, without first takinga glass of wine. Fie, Charlotte, I am ashamed of you! Miss Lane, mydear, pray see to the children.'

Miss Lane was the governess, and this entreaty was rendered necessary bythe abrupt behaviour of the youngest Miss Borum, who, having filched thephenomenon's little green parasol, was now carrying it bodily off, whilethe distracted infant looked helplessly on.

'I am sure, where you ever learnt to act as you do,' said good-naturedMrs Borum, turning again to Miss Snevellicci, 'I cannot understand(Emma, don't stare so); laughing in one piece, and crying in the next,and so natural in all--oh, dear!'

'I am very happy to hear you express so favourable an opinion,' saidMiss Snevellicci. 'It's quite delightful to think you like it.'

'Like it!' cried Mrs Borum. 'Who can help liking it? I would go to theplay, twice a week if I could: I dote upon it--only you're too affectingsometimes. You do put me in such a state--into such fits of crying!Goodness gracious me, Miss Lane, how can you let them torment that poorchild so!'

The phenomenon was really in a fair way of being torn limb from limb;for two strong little boys, one holding on by each of her hands, weredragging her in different directions as a trial of strength. However,Miss Lane (who had herself been too much occupied in contemplating thegrown-up actors, to pay the necessary attention to these proceedings)rescued the unhappy infant at this juncture, who, being recruited witha glass of wine, was shortly afterwards taken away by her friends, aftersustaining no more serious damage than a flattening of the pink gauzebonnet, and a rather extensive creasing of the white frock and trousers.

It was a trying morning; for there were a great many calls to make, andeverybody wanted a different thing. Some wanted tragedies, and otherscomedies; some objected to dancing; some wanted scarcely anything else.Some thought the comic singer decidedly low, and others hoped he wouldhave more to do than he usually had. Some people wouldn't promise to go,because other people wouldn't promise to go; and other people wouldn'tgo at all, because other people went. At length, and by little andlittle, omitting something in this place, and adding something inthat, Miss Snevellicci pledged herself to a bill of fare which wascomprehensive enough, if it had no other merit (it included among othertrifles, four pieces, divers songs, a few combats, and several dances);and they returned home, pretty well exhausted with the business of theday.

Nicholas worked away at the piece, which was speedily put intorehearsal, and then worked away at his own part, which he studied withgreat perseverance and acted--as the whole company said--to perfection.And at length the great day arrived. The crier was sent round, in themorning, to proclaim the entertainments with the sound of bell in allthe thoroughfares; and extra bills of three feet long by nine incheswide, were dispersed in all directions, flung down all the areas,thrust under all the knockers, and developed in all the shops. They wereplacarded on all the walls too, though not with complete success, for anilliterate person having undertaken this office during the indispositionof the regular bill-sticker, a part were posted sideways, and theremainder upside down.

At half-past five, there was a rush of four people to the gallery-door;at a quarter before six, there were at least a dozen; at six o'clock thekicks were terrific; and when the elder Master Crummles opened the door,he was obliged to run behind it for his life. Fifteen shillings weretaken by Mrs Grudden in the first ten minutes.

Behind the scenes, the same unwonted excitement prevailed. MissSnevellicci was in such a perspiration that the paint would scarcelystay on her face. Mrs Crummles was so nervous that she could hardlyremember her part. Miss Bravassa's ringlets came out of curl with theheat and anxiety; even Mr Crummles himself kept peeping through the holein the curtain, and running back, every now and then, to announce thatanother man had come into the pit.

At last, the orchestra left off, and the curtain rose upon the newpiece. The first scene, in which there was nobody particular, passedoff calmly enough, but when Miss Snevellicci went on in the second,accompanied by the phenomenon as child, what a roar of applause brokeout! The people in the Borum box rose as one man, waving their hatsand handkerchiefs, and uttering shouts of 'Bravo!' Mrs Borum and thegoverness cast wreaths upon the stage, of which, some fluttered into thelamps, and one crowned the temples of a fat gentleman in the pit, who,looking eagerly towards the scene, remained unconscious of the honour;the tailor and his family kicked at the panels of the upper boxestill they threatened to come out altogether; the very ginger-beerboy remained transfixed in the centre of the house; a young officer,supposed to entertain a passion for Miss Snevellicci, stuck his glassin his eye as though to hide a tear. Again and again Miss Snevelliccicurtseyed lower and lower, and again and again the applause came down,louder and louder. At length, when the phenomenon picked up one of thesmoking wreaths and put it on, sideways, over Miss Snevellicci's eye, itreached its climax, and the play proceeded.

But when Nicholas came on for his crack scene with Mrs Crummles, whata clapping of hands there was! When Mrs Crummles (who was his unworthymother), sneered, and called him 'presumptuous boy,' and he defied her,what a tumult of applause came on! When he quarrelled with the othergentleman about the young lady, and producing a case of pistols, said,that if he WAS a gentleman, he would fight him in that drawing-room,until the furniture was sprinkled with the blood of one, if not oftwo--how boxes, pit, and gallery, joined in one most vigorous cheer!When he called his mother names, because she wouldn't give up the younglady's property, and she relenting, caused him to relent likewise,and fall down on one knee and ask her blessing, how the ladies in theaudience sobbed! When he was hid behind the curtain in the dark, and thewicked relation poked a sharp sword in every direction, save where hislegs were plainly visible, what a thrill of anxious fear ran through thehouse! His air, his figure, his walk, his look, everything he said ordid, was the subject of commendation. There was a round of applauseevery time he spoke. And when, at last, in the pump-and-tub scene, MrsGrudden lighted the blue fire, and all the unemployed members of thecompany came in, and tumbled down in various directions--not becausethat had anything to do with the plot, but in order to finish off with atableau--the audience (who had by this time increased considerably) gavevent to such a shout of enthusiasm as had not been heard in those wallsfor many and many a day.

In short, the success both of new piece and new actor was complete, andwhen Miss Snevellicci was called for at the end of the play, Nicholasled her on, and divided the applause.