Volume 103 — ALL ROUND THE FAIR.

No. IV.

The Irish Giant Baby "At Home."

The exterior of the Show is painted to represent a Cottage, and bears the highly improbable name of "Polly O'Gracious," with an even less credible announcement that this is the identical "little cot where she was born." Inside is an ordinary tent, with a rough platform at the further end, whereon is an empty chair, at which a group of small Boys, two or three young Women, and some middle-aged Farm-labourers, have been solemnly and patiently staring for the last quarter of an hour.

First Farm Labourer (to Second). I bin in 'ere 'bout erf an hour, I hev, and ain't seed nowt so fur!

Second F. L. Same 'ere! Seems to take 'em a proper good time a-gittin' o' this 'ere baby claned up!

First F. L. Ah, it do. But look at the size on her!

Second F. L. Size! They cudn't be no slower not with a hellyphant!

[The tedium is relieved by a very audible dispute outside between the Driver of the Baby's Caravan and the Wife of the Conjuror next door, who appears to have excited the Driver's displeasure by consenting to take the money in the absence of the Baby's proprietress.

The Driver (with dignity). I consider it a bloomin' liberty, and a downright piece of himpertinence, you comin' 'ere interferin' with with my business—and so I tell yer!

The Lady (with more dignity). I'm not taking no liberties with nobody—she ast me to it, or I shoudn't be 'ere—I don't want to take the money, not without bein' ast to do so. She come and ast me to take her place while she was away, and in course I wasn't goin' to say no.

Driver. Don't you tork to me. I know what you are, puttin' yerself forward whenever yer can—a goin' tellin' the people on the road as you was the Baby's mother!

The Lady. I never said no such thing! Why should I want to tell sech a story for?

Driver. Arsk yourself—not me. And p'raps you never said you 'ad valuable property in our waggin' neither.

Lady (apparently cut to the heart by this accusation). It's a false'ood! I never 'ad no valuable property in your waggin', nor yet nobody else's; and I'll thank you to keep your distance, and not go raggin' me.

Driver (edging nearer), I'll keep my distance. But don't you make no mistake—I'm not to be played with! I'm sick o' your goin's on. And then(reviving a rankling and mysterious grievance) to think o' you a comin' mincin' up on the road with yer(mimicking), "Oh, yus, Mrs. Fairchild, there's a blacksmith jest across the way!" What call 'ad you got to shove your nose in like that, eh? you're a interferin' cat, that's what you are!

[The Conjuror's Lady is moved to the verge of tears and assault, and her wrath is only assuaged by the arrival of the missing Proprietress, who patches up a temporary peace; presently the hangings at the back are parted, and an immensely stout child, dressed in an infant's frock, waddles in, hoists herself on the platform and into the chair, from which she regards the Spectators with stolid composure; the small boys edge back, nudge one another and snigger furtively; the girls say "Oh, lor!" in a whisper, and a painful silence follows.

A Middle-aged Labourer (feeling the awkwardness of the situation). 'Ow old may you be, Missy?

The Giant Baby (with a snap). Ten!

[She gazes all round with the hauteur peculiar to a phenomenon, and her visitors are only relieved from the strain by the timely appearance of the Exhibitor, a Mulatto lady, who gives a brief biographical sketch of the Infant's career, with details of her weight and measurements. Then Miss Polly sings a stanza of "Little Annie Rooney" in a phonographic manner, dances a few ponderous steps, and identifies the most sheepish youth in the audience—much to his embarrassment—as her sweetheart, after which her audience is permitted to shake hands with her and depart.

A Prize Lottery.

A Young Man in a light suit, and a paste pin in a dirty white necktie, has arrived with a chest, from which he extracts a quantity of small parcels in coloured tissue-paper.

The Young Man (as a group collects around him). Now, I'm 'ere to orfer those among yer who 'ave the courage to embark in speckilation an unrivalled opportunity of enriching themselves at next to no expense. Concealed in each o' these small porcels is a prize o' more or less value, amongst them bein', I may tell yer, two 'undred threepenny pieces, not to mention 'igher coins up to 'arf a sov'rin. Mind, I promise nothing—I only say this: that those who show confidence in me I'll reward beyond their utmost expectations.( To an Agricultural Labourer in the circle.) 'Ere, you Sir, 'ave you ever seen me before in all your life?

"Concealed in each o' these small porcels is a prize o' more or less value."

The Agricultural Labourer (with a conscientious fear of committing himself). I may 'ave.

The Young Man. You may 'ave! 'Ave you? 'Ave I ever seen you? Come now!

The Agr. L. (cautiously). I carn't answer fur what you've seen, Sir.

The Y. M. Well, are you a friend o' mine?

The A. L. (after inward searchings). Not as I'm aweer on.

The Y. M. Then take this packet.(The A. L. grins and hesitates.) Give me a penny for it.(The A. L. hangs back.) Do as I say! (His tone is so peremptory that the A. L. hastens to obey.) Now don't open that till I tell you, and don't go away—or I shall throw the money after yer. (The A. L. remains in meek expectation; Old Billy Fairplay, and a Spotty-faced Man, happen to pass; and join the group out of innocent curiosity.) Will you give me a penny for this, Sir? (To the Spotty-faced One, who shakes his head.) To oblige Me! (This is said in such an insinuating tone, that it is impossible to resist him.) Now you've shown your confidence in me, will you open that packet and show the company what it contains.

The Spotty-faced Man (undoing the packet). There's nothink inside o' mine—it's a reg'lar do!

[Roars of laughter.

The Y. M. Quite right—there was nothink inside o' thet partickler packet. I put it there a-purpose, as a test. But I don't want nobody to go away dissatisfied with my manner o' doin' business, and, though I ain't promised yer nothing, I'll show yer I'm better than my word, and them as trusts me'll find no reason to repent of 'aving done so. 'Ere's your original penny back, Sir, and one, two, three more atop of that—wait, I ain't done with yer yet—'ere's sixpence more, because I've took a fancy to yer face—and now I 'ope you're satisfied!

The Sp.-F. M. (in an explanatory undertone to his neighbours). I knew it's on'y them as comes last thet gits left, d'yer see!

[Several bystanders hasten to purchase.

Old Billy Fairplay (in an injured tone). There ain't on'y a three-penny-bit in mine!

The Y. M. 'Ark at 'im—there's a discontented ole josser for yer! I carn't put 'arf a sov'rin' in all o' the packets, not and make my expenses. P'raps you'll 'ave better luck next time.

[The packets are in more demand than ever.

The Agr. L. May I open this 'ere packet now, Master?

The Y. M. If you don't tell nobody what's in it, you may. I've sold as many as I keer to a' ready.

The Agr. L. (opening the parcel, and finding a toy-watch of the value of one farthing sterling). 'Ere, I'll give yer this back—'tain't no good to me!

The Y. M. (with concern). I'm reelly very sorry, Sir, I've given you a wrong 'un by mistake. I quite fancied as——Allow me to apologise, and, as a proof I 'aven't lost your good opinion, give me a penny for this one.

[He selects a packet with great care from the heap.

The A. L. You don't take me in no moor—I'd sooner make ye a present o' the penny!

The Y. M. (wounded). Don't talk like that, Sir—you'll be sorry for it afterwards! (In a whisper.) It's all right this time, s'elp me!

The A. L. I know as it's a kitch o' some sort ... —hows'ever, jest this once. (He purchases another packet, and is rewarded by an eyeglass, constructed of cardboard and coloured gelatine, which he flings into the circle in a fury.) 'Tis nobbut a darned swindle—and I've done wi' ye! Ye're all a pack o' rogues together!

[Exit, amidst laughter from the rest, whose confidence, however, has been rewarded by very similar results.

The Y. M. He don't know what he's lost by givin' way to his narsty temper—but there, I forgive 'im! (He begins to replace the remaining parcels in the chest; one packet escapes his notice, and is instantly pounced upon by a sharp, but penniless urchin.) Now, Gentlemen, I'm 'ere reppersentin' two Charitable Institootions—the Blind Asylum, and the Idjut Orfins—but I'm bloomin' sorry to say that, this time, arter I've deducted my little trifling commission, there'll be a bloomin' little to 'and over to either o' them deservin' Sercieties; so, thenkin' you all, and wishin' you bloomin' good luck, and 'appiness and prosperity through life, I'll say good-bye to yer.

The Sharp Urchin (after retiring to a safe distance with his booty.) Theer's summat inside of 'un—I can 'ear un a-rartlin' ... 'ow many moor wrops! 'Tis money, fur sartin!... (Removes the last wrapping.) Nawthen but a silly owld cough-drop! (He calls after the Young Man, who is retreating with Mr. Fairplay, and his spotty friend.) I've a blamed good mind to 'ave th' Lar on ye fur that, I hev—a chatin' foaks i' sech a way! Why don't ye act honest?

[Is left masticating the cough-lozenge in speechless indignation.