Then, in Act III., there is a sandy desert—­where?—­Egypt?—­Heaven, AUGUSTUS HARRIS, and the scene-painter, only know—­and here comes on a mighty illigant shepherd with a pipe—­to play, not to smoke—­and one clever person near me was sure it was Miss EAMES in disguise, but it turned out to be Miss REGINA PINKERT, a piper of whom some present would willingly have paid to hear a little more; but she vanished, probably in search of her flock in the desert,—­by the way, an excellent place for golf this desert,—­and then in came Mireille and Taven, when the latter, I fancy, tells Mireille of the crime she has witnessed in the previous scene, which, I regret to say, I have omitted to mention from motives of delicacy.  But alas!  I can no longer conceal the fact.  In that previous scene Mr. Ourrias had behaved very badly in first losing his temper, and then sticking a dagger into poor Vincent Lubert, who fell down behind a rock, presumably dead.

The golf-ground is cleared off, and we are back again in front of the village church.  But at this moment a person, who knew all about it, whispered, “If you want to get your cab, and escape the crush, now’s the time, as the Opera is just over.”  So I hurried off, and to this moment I haven’t the faintest idea how it all ended, and I don’t quite understand how it began.  However, I have recorded my impressions, confused probably, but—­the music is very pretty, and Miss EAMES very charming.

* * * * *

PARENTAL AUTHORITY.

Typical British Father (according to the Home Secretary).  Now, come, JANE and JIM, bundle up to your work.  Look sharp!

Government Inspector.  No, Mr. SIKES, I think not.  Your youngsters have not touched eleven yet.

Typical British Father.  But they’re over ten.

Government Inspector.  That don’t matter.  The age is altered.  You’ll just send your young kids back to the Board School again.

Typical British Father.  Well, I call it downright robbery.  Why, they supports me, they do; and what more fitter work can you find for the kids, but to support their parients with the sweat of their brow.  Why, I thought the ’OME SECRETARY was all on our side.

Government Inspector.  Well, he’s been beat, that’s all.  The country don’t see the fun of sending children of tender years away from their proper training, to wear out their young bodies and poison their young systems in beastly close, ill-ventilated work-rooms, and all just to bring in an extra bit of money to enable their parents, like you, to laze and loaf at home, and, maybe, spend their hardly-earned wage on drink.  However, you’ll have to dock it, Mr. SIKES.

Typical British Father.  Well, I call it downright bloomin’ robbery.  It’s more.  It’s a invasion of the sacred rights of the British working man’s domestic home.  It’s a infringement of the liberty of the subject, that’s wot it is.  It’s a teaching the young ’uns rebellion against their natural protectors.  It’s a bloomin’ shame!