s tender hand and answered frank and free-ee
"If this be Vanity who'd be wise? If this be Vanity who'd be wise?
If this be Vanity who'd be wi-ise (Crescendo.) Vanity let it be!"

MRS. G. (Defiantly to the grey of the evening sky.) "Vanity let it be!"

ECHO. (Prom the Fagoo spur.) Let it be!

FATIMA

And you may go in every room of the house and see everything that is
there, but into the Blue Room you must not go.--The Story of Blue Beard.

SCENE.--The GADSBYS' bungalow in the Plains. Time, 11 A. M. on a
Sunday morning. Captain GADSBY, in his shirt-sleeves, is bending over a
complete set of Hussar's equipment, from saddle to picketing-rope, which
is neatly spread over the floor of his study. He is smoking an unclean
briar, and his forehead is puckered with thought.

CAPT. G. (To himself, fingering a headstall.) Jack's an ass. There's
enough brass on this to load a mule--and, if the Americans know anything
about anything, it can be cut down to a bit only. 'Don't want the
watering-bridle, either. Humbug!-Half a dozen sets of chains and pulleys
for one horse! Rot! (Scratching his head.) Now, let's consider it all
over from the be-ginning. By Jove, I've forgotten the scale of weights!
Ne'er mind. 'Keep the bit only, and eliminate every boss from the
crupper to breastplate. No breastplate at all. Simple leather strap
across the breast-like the Russians. Hi! Jack never thought of that!

MRS. G. (Entering hastily, her hand bound in a cloth.) Oh, Pip, I've
scalded my hand over that horrid, horrid Tiparee jam!

CAPT. G. (Absently.) Eb! Wha-at?

MRS. G. (With round-eyed reproach.) I've scalded it aw-fully! Aren't you
sorry? And I did so want that jam to jam properly.

CAPT. G. Poor little woman! Let me kiss the place and make it well.
(Unrolling bandage.) You small sinner! Where's that scald? I can't see
it.

MRS. G. On the top of the little finger. There!--It's a most 'normous big
burn!

CAPT. G. (Kissing little finger.) Baby! Let Hyder look after the jam.
You know I don't care for sweets.

MRS. G. In-deed?--Pip!

CAPT. G. Not of that kind, anyhow. And now run along, Minnie, and leave
me to my own base devices. I'm busy.

MRS. G. (Calmly settling herself in long chair.) So I see. What a mess
you're making! Why have you brought all that smelly leather stuff into
the house?

CAPT. G. To play with. Do you mind, dear?

MRS. G. Let me play too. I'd like it.

CAPT. G. I'm afraid you wouldn't. Pussy--Don