o counting the money from a purse, so large
her small hands could hardly hold it on the window seat. While she did
this, the song went on to explain:

"Miss Ki Hi was short and squat,
She had money and he had not;
So off to her he resolved to go,
And play her a tune on his little banjo."

During the chorus to this verse Chan was seen tuning his instrument in
the garden, and at the end sallied gallantly forth to sing the following
tender strain:

"Whang fun li,
Tang hua ki,
Hong Kong do ra me!
Ah sin lo,
Pan to fo,
Tsing up chin leute!"

Carried away by his passion, Chan dropped his banjo, fell upon his
knees, and, clasping his hands, bowed his forehead in the dust before
his idol. But, alas!--

"Miss Ki Hi heard his notes of love,
And held her wash-bowl up above;
It fell upon the little man,
And this was the end of Chingery Chan."

Indeed it was: for, as the doll's basin of real water was cast forth by
the cruel charmer, poor Chan expired in such strong convulsions that his
head rolled down among the audience. Miss Ki Hi peeped to see what had
become of her victim, and the shutter decapitated her likewise, to the
great delight of the children, who passed around the heads, pronouncing
a "Potato" pantomime "first-rate fun."

Then they settled themselves for the show, having been assured by
Manager Thorny that they were about to behold the most elegant and
varied combination ever produced on any stage. And when one reads the
following very inadequate description of the somewhat mixed
entertainment, it is impossible to deny that the promise made was nobly
kept.

After some delay and several crashes behind the curtain, which mightily
amused the audience, the performance began with the well-known tragedy
of "Blue-beard"; for Bab had set her heart upon it, and the young folks
had acted it so often in their plays that it was very easy to get up
with a few extra touches to scenery and costumes. Thorny was superb as
the tyrant with a beard of bright blue worsted, a slouched hat and long
feather, fur cloak, red hose, rubber boots, and a real sword which
clanked tragically as he walked. He spoke in such a deep voice, knit his
corked eyebrows, and glared so frightfully, that it was no wonder poor
Fatima quaked before him as he gave into her keeping an immense bunch of
keys with one particularly big, bright one, among them.

Bab was fine to see, wi