_A Moralising Old Lady_ (_at Case O_). No. 1260. "Ball of Worsted
wound by WILLIAM COWPER, the poet, for Mrs. UNWIN." NO. 1261.
"Netting done by WILLIAM COWPER, the poet." How very nice, and what a
difference in the habit of literary persons _nowadays_, my dear!

IN THE CENTRAL HALL.--_MR. WHITEROSE, A JACOBITE FIN DE SIÈCLE, IS
SEATED ON A BENCH BESIDE A SEEDY STRANGER._

_The S.S._ (_half to himself_). Har, well, there's one comfort, these
'ere GUELPHS'll get notice to quit afore we're _much_ older!

_Mr. Whiterose_ (_surprised_). You say so? Then--you too are of the
Young England Party! I am rejoiced to hear it. You cheer me; it is a
sign that the good Cause is advancing.

_The S.S._ Advancin'? I believe yer. Why, I know a dozen and more as
are workin' 'art and soul for it!

_Mr. W._ You do? We are making strides, indeed! Our England has
suffered these usurpers too long.

_The S.S._ Yer right. But we'll chuck 'em out afore long, and it'll be
"Over goes the Show" with the lot, eh?

_Mr. W._ I had no idea that the--er--intelligent artisan classes were
so heartily with us. We must talk more of this. Come and see me. Bring
your friends--all you can depend upon. Here is my card.

_The S.S._ (_putting the card in the lining of his hat_). Right,
Guv'nor; we'll come. I wish there was more gents like yer, I do!