known counter-tenor, Mr. Done, and a _Gander_,
lineally descended from the Goose that laid golden eggs!
To conclude with a
GRAND CHORUS by the
Entire Orchestra of Converted Animals!!

But owing to the unavoidable absence (from illness) of the _Bulldog, who
has left off fighting_, Mr. Tonic has kindly undertaken, at a moment's
notice, to supply the '_bark!_'

The whole to conclude with a
_Screaming Farce of_
THE PULPIT SNATCHER

Mr. Saintly Smooth-face, . . . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!
Mr. Worming Sneaker, . . . . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!
Mr. All-grace No-works, . . . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!!
Mr. Elect-and-Chosen Apewell, . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!!!
Mr. Malevolent Prayerful, . . . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!!!!
Mr. Foist-himself Everywhere, . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!!!!!
Mr. Flout-the-aged Upstart, . . . MR. TRY-IT-ON!!!!!!!

Admission Free. _A Collection_ will be made at the Doors.
_Vivat Rex!_

This satire, though it presents the keenest edge of Milby wit, does not
strike you as lacerating, I imagine. But hatred is like fire--it makes
even light rubbish deadly. And Mr. Dempster's sarcasms were not merely
visible on the walls; they were reflected in the derisive glances, and
audible in the jeering voices of the crowd. Through this pelting shower
of nicknames and bad puns, with an _ad libitum_ accompaniment of groans,
howls, hisses, and hee-haws, but of no heavier missiles, Mr. Tryan walked
pale and composed, giving his arm to old Mr. Landor, whose step was
feeble. On the other side of him was Mr. Jerome, who still walked firmly,
though his shoulders were slightly bowed.

Outwardly Mr. Tryan was composed, but inwardly he was suffering acutely
from these tones of hatred and scorn. However strong his consciousness of
right, he found it no stronger armour against such weapons as derisive
glances and virulent words, than against stones and clubs: his conscience
was in repose, but his sensibility was bruised.

Once more only did the Evangelical curate pass up Orchard Street followed
by a train of friends; once more only was there a crowd assembled to
witness his entrance through the church gates. But that second time no
voice was heard above a whisper, and the whispers were words of sorrow
and blessing. That second time, Janet Dempster was not looking on in