This Duke of Gooseberry visits, “quite unbeknown,”—­being, for this occasion only, the Duke of Disguisebury,—­his own property, the Island of St. Endellion, just to see, we suppose, what sort of people the Quaker family may be from which his mistress, the Dancing Quakeress (and how funny she used to be at the Music Halls and at the Gaiety!), has sprung.  For some reason or other, the Dancing Quakeress has gone to stay a few weeks with her family in the country, and while this hypocritical Daughter of HERODIAS is with her Quaker belongings at prayers in the Meeting House, the spirit moveth her to come out, and to come out uncommonly strong, as, within a yard or so of the building, she laughs and talks loudly with Gooseberry, and then in a light-hearted way she treats the Dook to some amateur imitations of ELLEN TERRY, finishing up with a reminiscence of KATE VAUGHAN; all of which al fresco entertainment is given for the benefit of the aforesaid Gooseberry within sound of the sermon and within sight of the Meeting House windows.  Suddenly her rustic Quaker lover, a kind of Ham Peggotty, lounges out of the Conventicle, which, as these persons seem to leave and enter just when it suits them, ought rather to be called a Chapel-of-Ease,—­and, like the clown that he is, says in effect, “I’m a-looking at yer!  I’ve caught yer at it!” Dismay of Dook and Dancer!! then Curtain on a most emphatically effective situation.

[Illustration:  Two “Regular Dawgs” having a tete-a-tete.]

The Second Act is far away the best of the lot, damaged, however, by vain repetitions of words and actions.  To the house where Miss Dancing Girl is openly living under the protection of Gooseberry, the Duke’s worthy Steward actually brings his virtuous and ingenuous young daughter!  If ever there were a pair of artful, contriving, scheming humbugs, it is this worthy couple.  Because the Duke saved her from being run over by his own horses, therefore she considers herself at liberty to limp after him, and round him, and about him, on every possible occasion, to say sharp, priggish things to him, to make love to him, and in the Third Act so craftily to manage as to spot him just as he is about to drink off a phial of poison, which operation, being preceded by a soliloquy of strong theatrical flavour and considerable length, gives the lame girl a fair chance of hobbling down the stairs and arresting the thus “spotted Nobleman’s” arm at the critical moment.  Curtain, and a really fine dramatic situation.  “Which nobody can deny.”

[Illustration:  ACT III.  Pantaloon David Peggotty Gladstone Ives.]

It is in this same Third Act that the fine old crusted melodramatic curse is uncorked, and a good imperial quart of wrath is poured out on his dancing daughter’s head by the heavy father, who, in his country suit, forces his way into the gilded halls of the Duke’s mansion, past the flunkeys, the head butler, and all the rest of the usual pampered menials.  An audience that can accept this old-fashioned cheap-novel kind of clap-trap, and witness, without surprise, the marvellous departure of all the guests, supperless, for no assigned cause, or explicable reason, not even an alarm of fire having been given, will swallow a considerable amount.