mechanism, and
all the little figures would stop dead with arms outstretched, whilst
the beheaded doll rolled off the board and was lost to view, no doubt
preparatory to going through the same gruesome pantomime again.

It was very thrilling, and very terrible: a certain air of hushed awe
reigned in the booth where this mechanical wonder was displayed.

The booth itself stood in a secluded portion of the grounds, far from
the toll gates, and the band stand and the noise of the merry-go-round,
and there were great texts, written in red letters on a black ground,
pinned all along the walls.

"Please spare a copper for the starving poor of Paris."

A lady, dressed in grey quilted petticoat and pretty grey and black
striped paniers, could be seen walking in the booth from time to time,
then disappearing through a partition beyond. She would emerge again
presently carrying an embroidered reticule, and would wander round among
the crowd, holding out the bag by its chain, and repeating in tones
of somewhat monotonous appeal: "For the starving poor of Paris, if you
please!"

She had fine, dark eyes, rather narrow and tending upwards at the outer
corners, which gave her face a not altogether pleasant expression.
Still, they were fine eyes, and when she went round soliciting alms,
most of the men put a hand into their breeches pocket and dropped a coin
into her embroidered reticule.

She said the word "poor" in rather a funny way, rolling the "r" at the
end, and she also said "please" as if it were spelt with a long line of
"e's," and so it was concluded that she was French and was begging for
her poorer sisters. At stated intervals during the day, the mechanical
toy was rolled into a corner, and the lady in grey stood up on a
platform and sang queer little songs, the words of which nobody could
understand.

"Il etait une bergere et ron et petit pataplon...."

But it all left an impression of sadness and of suppressed awe upon the
minds and susceptibilities of the worthy Richmond yokels come with
their wives or sweethearts to enjoy the fun of the fair, and gladly
did everyone emerge out of that melancholy booth into the sunshine, the
brightness and the noise.

"Lud! but she do give me the creeps," said Mistress Polly, the pretty
barmaid from the Bell Inn, down by the river. "And I must say that I
don't see why we English folk should send our hard-earned pennies to
those murdering ruffians over the water. Bein' starvin