"That's right, Ajax, my black prince!" exclaimed Slang when the negro
brought the required refreshment; "and now I suppose you'll be wanted in
the orchestra yonder. Don't Ajax play the cymbals, Sir George?"

"Ha, ha, ha! very good--capital!" answered the knight, exceedingly
frightened; "but ours is not a MILITARY band. Miss Horsman, Mr. Craw,
my dear Mrs. Ravenswing, shall we begin the trio? Silence, gentlemen, if
you please; it is a little piece from my opera of the 'Brigand's Bride.'
Miss Horsman takes the Page's part, Mr. Craw is Stiletto the Brigand, my
accomplished pupil is the Bride;" and the music began.

"THE BRIDE.

"My heart with joy is beating,
My eyes with tears are dim;

"THE PAGE.

"Her heart with joy is beating
Her eyes are fixed on him;

"THE BRIGAND.

"My heart with rage is beating,
In blood my eye-balls swim!"

What may have been the merits of the music or the singing, I, of course,
cannot guess. Lady Thrum sat opposite the tea-cups, nodding her head
and beating time very gravely. Lord Roundtowers, by her side, nodded his
head too, for awhile, and then fell asleep. I should have done the same
but for the manager, whose actions were worth of remark. He sang with
all the three singers, and a great deal louder than any of them; he
shouted bravo! or hissed as he thought proper; he criticised all the
points of Mrs. Walker's person. "She'll do, Crump, she'll do--a splendid
arm--you'll see her eyes in the shilling gallery! What sort of a
foot has she? She's five feet three, if she's an inch! Bravo--slap
up--capital--hurrah!" And he concluded by saying, with the aid of the
Ravenswing, he would put Ligonier's nose out of Joint!

The enthusiasm of Mr. Slang almost reconciled Lady Thrum to the
abruptness of his manners, and even caused Sir George to forget that
his chorus had been interrupted by the obstreperous familiarity of the
manager.

"And what do YOU think, Mr. Bludyer," said the tailor, delighted that
his protegee should be thus winning all hearts: "isn't Mrs. Walker a
tip-top singer, eh, sir?"

"I think she's a very bad one, Mr. Woolsey," said the illustrious
author, wishing to abbreviate all communications with a tailor to whom
he owed forty pounds.

"Then, sir," says Mr. Woolsey, fiercely, "I'll--I'll thank you to pay me
my little bill!"

It is true there was no connection between Mrs. Walker's singing and
Woolsey's