Lady Randolph proceeded to say, "Alas!
Hereditary evil was the cause of my misfortunes," he nudged George
Warrington, and looked so droll, that the young man burst out laughing.

The magic of the scene was destroyed after that. These two gentlemen
went on cracking jokes during the whole of the subsequent performance,
to their own amusement, but the indignation of their company, and
perhaps of the people in the adjacent boxes. Young Douglas, in those
days, used to wear a white satin "shape" slashed at the legs and body,
and when Mr. Barry appeared in this droll costume, the General vowed it
was the exact dress of the Highlanders in the late war. The Chevalier's
Guard, he declared, had all white satin slashed breeches, and red
boots--"only they left them at home, my dear," adds this wag. Not one
pennyworth of sublimity would he or George allow henceforth to Mr.
Home's performance. As for Harry, he sate in very deep meditation over
the scene; and when Mrs. Lambert offered him a penny for his thoughts,
he said, "That he thought, Young Norval, Douglas, What-d'ye-call-'em,
the fellow in white satin--who looked as old as his mother--was very
lucky to be able to distinguish himself so soon. I wish I could get
a chance, Aunt Lambert," says he, drumming on his hat; on which mamma
sighed, and Theo, smiling, said, "We must wait, and perhaps the Danes
will land."

"How do you mean?" asks simple Harry.

"Oh, the Danes always land, pour qui scait attendre!" says kind Theo,
who had hold of her sister's little hand, and, I dare say, felt its
pressure.

She did not behave unkindly--that was not in Miss Theo's nature--but
somewhat coldly to Mr. George, on whom she turned her back, addressing
remarks, from time to time, to Harry. In spite of the gentlemen's scorn,
the women chose to be affected. A mother and son, meeting in love and
parting in tears, will always awaken emotion in female hearts.

"Look, papa! there is an answer to all your jokes!" says Theo, pointing
towards the stage.

At a part of the dialogue between Lady Randolph and her son, one of the
grenadiers on guard on each side of the stage, as the custom of those
days was, could not restrain his tears, and was visibly weeping before
the side-box.

"You are right, my dear," says papa.

"Didn't I tell you she always is?" interposes Hetty.

"Yonder sentry is a better critic than we are, and a touch of nature
masters us all."

"Tamen usque recurrit!" cries the young s