l, he may possibly put up for the Professorship against you,
and, though you _are_ an uncommonly clever man of letters--for a
Norwegian--it's not wholly improbable that he may cut you out!

_George._ But, look here, good Lord, Judge BRACK!--(_gesticulating_)--that
would show an incredible want of consideration for me! I married on my
chance of _getting_ that Professorship. A man like LOeVBORG, too, who hasn't
even been respectable, eh? One doesn't do such things as that!

_Brack._ Really? You forget we are all realistic and unconventional persons
here, and do all kinds of odd things. But don't worry yourself! [_He
goes out._

_George_ (_to Hedda_). Oh, I say, HEDDA, what's to become of our Fairyland
now, eh? We can't have a liveried servant, or give dinner-parties, or have
a horse for riding. Fancy that!

_Hedda_ (_slowly, and wearily_). No, we shall really have to set up as
Fairies in reduced circumstances, now.

_George_ (_cheering up_). Still, we shall see Aunt JULIE every day, and
_that_ will be something, and I've got back my old slippers. We shan't be
altogether without some amusements, eh?

_Hedda_ (_crosses the floor_). Not while I have _one_ thing to amuse myself
with, at all events.

_George_ (_beaming with joy_). Oh, Heaven be praised and thanked for that!
My goodness, so you have! And what may _that_ be, HEDDA, eh?

_Hedda_ (_at the doorway, with suppressed scorn_). Yes, GEORGE, you have
the old slippers of the attentive Aunt, and I have the horse-pistols of the
deceased General!

_George_ (_in an agony_). The pistols! Oh, my goodness! _what_ pistols?

_Hedda_ (_with cold eyes_). General GABLER'S pistols--same which I
shot--(_recollecting herself_)--no, that's THACKERAY, not IBSEN--a _very_
different person. [_She goes through the back Drawing-room._

_George_ (_at doorway, shouting after her_). Dearest HEDDA, _not_ those
dangerous things, eh? Why, they have never once been known to shoot
straight yet! Don't! Have a catapult. For _my_ sake, have a catapult!
[_Curtain._

* * * * *

Bow-Wow!

The RAIKES' teeth were bared--a most terrible sight!--
At the Messenger Companies. Now all seems joy
For the Public, the P.O., the Co., and the Boy!
The Dog in the Manger JOHN BULL did affright,
But--his bark is perhaps rather worse than his bite!

* * * * *

[Illustration: SONS OF BRITANNIA; OR, THE UNITED SERVICE.