le himself with the rails of a chair,
and to jump over it, and crawl under it, and fall down with it, and do
everything but sit upon it, and then to make a cravat of his legs, and
tie them round his neck, and then to illustrate the ease with which a
human being can be made to look like a magnified toad--all which feats
yielded high delight and satisfaction to the assembled spectators.
After which, the voice of Mrs. Pott was heard to chirp faintly forth,
something which courtesy interpreted into a song, which was all very
classical, and strictly in character, because Apollo was himself a
composer, and composers can very seldom sing their own music or anybody
else's, either. This was succeeded by Mrs. Leo Hunter's recitation of
her far-famed 'Ode to an Expiring Frog,' which was encored once, and
would have been encored twice, if the major part of the guests, who
thought it was high time to get something to eat, had not said that it
was perfectly shameful to take advantage of Mrs. Hunter's good nature.
So although Mrs. Leo Hunter professed her perfect willingness to recite
the ode again, her kind and considerate friends wouldn't hear of it on
any account; and the refreshment room being thrown open, all the
people who had ever been there before, scrambled in with all possible
despatch--Mrs. Leo Hunter's usual course of proceedings being, to issue
cards for a hundred, and breakfast for fifty, or in other words to feed
only the very particular lions, and let the smaller animals take care of
themselves.

'Where is Mr. Pott?' said Mrs. Leo Hunter, as she placed the aforesaid
lions around her.

'Here I am,' said the editor, from the remotest end of the room; far
beyond all hope of food, unless something was done for him by the
hostess.

'Won't you come up here?'

'Oh, pray don't mind him,' said Mrs. Pott, in the most obliging
voice--'you give yourself a great deal of unnecessary trouble, Mrs.
Hunter. You'll do very well there, won't you--dear?'

'Certainly--love,' replied the unhappy Pott, with a grim smile. Alas for
the knout! The nervous arm that wielded it, with such a gigantic force
on public characters, was paralysed beneath the glance of the imperious
Mrs. Pott.

Mrs. Leo Hunter looked round her in triumph. Count Smorltork was busily
engaged in taking notes of the contents of the dishes; Mr. Tupman was
doing the honours of the lobster salad to several lionesses, with a
degree of grace which no brigand ever exhibite