BOAT-RACE DAY.

The Reader will kindly imagine that he has crossed Hammersmith Bridge, and is being carried along by a jostling stream of sightseers towards Mortlake.  The banks are already occupied—­although it still wants half an hour to the time fixed for the start—­by a triple row of the more patient and prudent spectators.  On the left of the path, various more or less Shady Characters have established their “pitches,” and are doing their best to beguile the unsophisticated.

First Shady Character (presiding over a particoloured roulette board with a revolving and not unmanageable index).  Three to one any colour you like!  Fairest game in the world!  I’m a backin’ I’m a layin’....  Pop it on, you sportsmen! (Two Sportsmen—­a couple of shop-boys—­“pop it on,” in coppers.) Yaller was your colour—­and it is a yaller cap, sure enough! I’m a payin’ this time.  Try it again! (They do.) Blue’s your fancy this turn, my lord.  And green it is!  Good ole Hireland for ever!  Twenty can play at this game as well as one!  Don’t be afraid o’ yer luck—­’ave another go. Red did you put your coppers on?  And it’s yaller again—­and you lose! (The Sportsmen pass on—­with empty pockets.) Fairest game in the world!

Second S.C. (who has been conducting a Confidence Auction from a barrow and egg-box).  Well, I ’ope you’re all satisfied, and if you ain’t —­(candidly)—­it don’t make no bloomin’ difference to me, for I’m orf—­these premises is comin’ down fur alterations. [He gets off the barrow, shoulders the egg-box, and departs in search of fresh dupes.

A Vendor. Now all you who are fond of a bit o’ fun and amusement, jest you stop and invest a penny in this little article I am now about to introdooce to your notice, warranted to make yer proficient in the ’ole art and practice of Photography in the small space of five seconds and a arf—­and I think you’ll agree with me as it ain’t possible to become an expert photographer at a smaller expense than the sum of one penny.  ’Ere I ’old in my ‘and a simple little machine, consistin’ of a small sheet of glorss in a gilt frame.  I’ve been vaccinated five ’underd-and-forty-one times, never been bit by a mad dog in my life, and all these articles have been thoroughly fumigated before leaving the factory, therefore you’ll agree with me you needn’t be afraid o’ catchin’ the Inflooenza.  They tell me it’s nearly died out now—­and no wonder, with everythink a cure for it—­but this article is a certain remedy.  All you’ve got to do is to bite off a corner of the glorss, takin’ care to be near a public ’ouse at the time, chew the glorss into small fragments, enter the public ’ouse, call for a pot o’ four ale, and drink it orf quick.  It operates in this way—­the