owed, and the Manager only took
snuff out of his great gold box. It was only in the last scene, when
Rolla comes in staggering with the infant (Bingley is not so strong
as he was and his fourth son Master Talma Bingley is a monstrous large
child for his age)--when Rolla comes staggering with the child to Cora,
who rushes forward with a shriek, and says--"O God, there's blood upon
him!"--that the London manager clapped his hands, and broke out with an
enthusiastic bravo.

Then having concluded his applause, Mr. Dolphin gave his secretary a
slap on the shoulder, and said, "By Jove, Billy, she'll do!"

"Who taught her that dodge?" said old Billy, who was a sardonic old
gentleman. "I remember her at the Olympic, and hang me if she could say
Bo to a goose."

It was little Mr. Bows in the orchestra who had taught her the 'dodge'
in question. All the company heard the applause, and, as the curtain
went down, came round her and congratulated and hated Miss Fotheringay.

Now Mr. Dolphin's appearance in the remote little Chatteris theatre may
be accounted for in this manner. In spite of all his exertions, and the
perpetual blazes of triumph, coruscations of talent, victories of good
old English comedy, which his play-bills advertised, his theatre (which,
if you please, and to injure no present susceptibilities and vested
interests, we shall call the Museum Theatre) by no means prospered,
and the famous Impresario found himself on the verge of ruin. The great
Hubbard had acted legitimate drama for twenty nights, and failed to
remunerate anybody but himself: the celebrated Mr. and Mrs. Cawdor
had come out in Mr. Rawhead's tragedy, and in their favourite round
of pieces, and had not attracted the public. Herr Garbage's lions and
tigers had drawn for a little time, until one of the animals had
bitten a piece out of the Herr's shoulder; when the Lord Chamberlain
interfered, and put a stop to this species of performance: and the grand
Lyrical Drama, though brought out with unexampled splendour and success,
with Monsieur Poumons as first tenor, and an enormous orchestra, had
almost crushed poor Dolphin in its triumphant progress: so that great
as his genius and resources were, they seemed to be at an end. He was
dragging on his season wretchedly with half salaries, small operas,
feeble old comedies, and his ballet company; and everybody was looking
out for the day when he should appear in the Gazette.

One of the illustrious patron