lays about him on every side. Members are knocked
over one another. Tremendous confusion! Fights!--and Curtain.

* * * * *

ACT THREE.

The Editor's Ante-Chamber. Several of the Ministers waiting to see him;
some with glittering stars, blue ribbons, &c. A door opens (centre), and
an eminent Stockjobber is kicked into the middle of the scene, and
falls--a huge bag of sovereigns in each hand. Bags burst, and the gold
strews the stage. "_I offered L500,000 for leave to put in one
article._" Proud tribute to the British Press. Porters sweep up the
gold, and throw it out at window, and the Stockjobber after it. Enter
LORD ASTERISK dragging the beautiful lady. "_Ha! you here, my lords! But
'tis well. She appealed to the "Times" and I have brought her hither._"
Lady on her knees--back hair down. "_I am innocent--indeed I am
innocent._" "_I am not to be juped, Madam._" "_I swear it._" "_I believe
you not. Your adorers, in disguise, have been staining the pure streets
of our proud Metropolis with ruffianism. But in vain, Madam._" "_In
vain! Wretched me!_" "_Now by all that is sulphureous_"--(he draws the
sword usually worn by the British aristocrat)--"HOLD!!!" Awful
appearance of the EDITOR. "_Mistaken nobleman! She came but to save her_
BROTHER, LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY. _He has spoken in the House to-night, and
knowing what a dreadful fool he is, she wished his speech suppressed,
that_ your brother-in-law's _idiotcy might not be published all over the
world_." "_Her brother! And those Guardsmen!_" "_Her cousins._" "_Ow!
ow! ow! Can you forgive me_, CORONETTINA?" "_Am I not your wife,
dearest?_" The EDITOR, moved, tears up LORD NAMBY MACPAMBY'S speech.
"_One husk will not be missed amid so much chaff._"

* * * * *

AFFECTING DENOUEMENT!

[Illustration: "OFF WITH HIS HEAD!"]

* * * * *

LESSON FOR INNOCENT CABMEN.

Sing a song of Sixpence,
"A pocket-full!" says I.
Four-and-twenty farthings?
That's all my eye!
But my eye was opened--
A summons he did seek;
And wasn't that a pretty case
To bring before the Beak?

The Beak was on his judgment-seat
A fining swell coves money;
And _Punch_ was perch'd 'longside him,
Grinning precious funny.
FITZROY had, in the Commons,
Been pickling us a rod;
And off went the prison van,
And took me to Quod!

* * * *