ll replied that she thought that it was very pleasant indeed. Instead
of speaking again, the lady of the caravan sat looking at the child for
a long time in silence, then getting up, brought out a roll of canvas
about a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor, and spread open
with her foot until it nearly reached from one end of the caravan to
the other.

"There, child," she said, "read that."

Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the
inscription, "JARLEY'S WAX-WORK."

"Read it again," said the lady complacently.

"Jarley's Wax-Work," repeated Nell.

"That's me," said the lady. "I am Mrs. Jarley."

The lady of the caravan then unfolded another scroll, whereon was the
inscription, "One hundred figures the full size of life," then several
smaller ones with such inscriptions as, "The genuine and only Jarley,"
"Jarley is the delight of the nobility and gentry," "The royal family
are the patrons of Jarley." When she had exhibited these to the
astonished child, she brought forth hand-bills, some of which were
couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies, as, "Believe me, if
all Jarley's Wax-Work so rare," "I saw thy show in youthful prime,"
"Over the water to Jarley." While others were composed with a view to
the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favorite air
of "If I had a donkey," beginning:

"If I know'd a donkey what wouldn't go
To see MRS. JARLEY'S wax-work show,
Do you think I'd acknowledge him?
Oh, no, no!
Then run to Jarley's"--

besides other compositions in prose, all having the same moral--namely,
that the reader must make haste to Jarley's, and that children and
servants were admitted at half price, Mrs. Jarley then rolled these
testimonials up, and having put them carefully away, sat down and looked
at the child in triumph.

"I never saw any wax-work, ma'am," said Nell. "Is it funnier than
Punch?"

"Funnier!" said Mrs. Jarley, in a shrill voice. "It is not funny at
all."

"Oh!" said Nell, with all possible humility.

"It isn't funny at all," repeated Mrs. Jarley. "It's calm and classical.
No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings, like
your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging
air of coldness and gentility; and so life-like, that if wax-work only
spoke and walked about, you'd hardly know the difference."

"Is it here, ma'am?" asked Nell, whose curiosity was aw