Volume 103 — THE MENAGERIE RACE.

SCENE—The terrace in front of Hauberk Hall, which the LARKSPURS have taken for the Summer. TIME—An August afternoon. Miss STELLA LARKSPUR—a young lady with great energy and a talent for organisation—has insisted upon all the Guests taking part in a Menagerie Race.

The Rev. Ninian Headnote, the Local Curate (to Mr. PLUMLEY DUFF—after uneasily regarding Miss STELLA, as she shakes up some pieces of folded paper in a hat). Can you give me any idea of the precise nature of this amusement—er—nothing resembling a gambling transaction, I suppose?—or I really—

Mr. Plumley Duff. Well, I'm given to understand that we shall each be expected to take an animal of some sort, and drive it along with a string tied to its leg. Sounds childish—to me.

The Curate (relieved). Oh, exactly, I see. Most entertaining, I'm sure! (He coos.) What wonderful ingenuity one sees in devising ever-fresh pastimes, do we not? Indeed, yes!

Miss Stella. There, I've shuffled all the animals now. (Presenting the hat.) Mr. HEADNOTE, will you draw first?

The Curate. Oh, really. Am I to take one of these? Charmed! (He draws.) Now I wonder what my fate—(Opening the paper.) The Monkey! (His face falls.) Is there a Monkey here? Dear me, how very interesting!

Dick Gatling (of H.M. Gunboat "Weasel"). Brought him over my last cruise from Colombo. No end of a jolly little beast—bites like the—like blazes, you know!

Miss Stella (to her Cousin). Now, DICK, I won't have you taking away poor Jacko's character like that. He's only bitten BINNS—and, well, there was the gardener's boy—but I'm sure he teased him. You won't tease him, will you, Mr. HEADNOTE?

The Curate. I—I shouldn't dream of it, Miss STELLA,—on the contrary, I—(To himself.) Was it quite discreet to let myself be drawn into this? Shall I not risk lowering my office by publicly associating myself with a—a Monkey? I feel certain the Vicar would disapprove strongly.

Dick (to Colonel KEMPTON). Drawn your animal yet, Sir?

The Colonel (heatedly). Yes, I have—and I wish I'd kept out of this infernal tomfoolery. Why the mischief don't they leave a man in peace and quietness on a hot afternoon like this? Here am I, routed out of a comfortable seat to go and drive a confounded White Rabbit, Sir! Idiotic, I call it!

The Curate. Pardon me, Colonel KEMPTON; but if you object to the Rabbit, I would not at all mind undertaking it myself—and you could take my Monkey—

The Colonel. Thanks—but I won't deprive you. A Rabbit is quite responsibility enough for me!

The Curate (to himself, disappointed). He's afraid of a poor harmless Monkey—and he an Army man, too! But I don't see why I—

Miss Gussie Grissell. Oh, Mr. HEADNOTE, isn't it ridiculous! They've given me a Kitten! It makes me feel too absurdly young!

The Curate (eagerly). If you would prefer a—a more appropriate animal, there's a Monkey, which I am sure—(To himself, as Miss G. turns away indignantly). This Monkey doesn't seem very popular—there must be someone here who—I'll try the American Lady—they are generally eccentric. (To Mrs. HEBER K. BANGS.) I hope Fortune has been kind to you, Mrs. BANGS?

Mrs. Bangs. Well, I don't know; there are quadrupeds that can trot faster over the measured mile than a Tortoise, and that's my animal.

The Curate (with sympathy). Dear me! That is a trial, indeed, for you! But if you would prefer something rather more exciting, I should be most happy, I'm sure, to exchange my Monkey—

Dick Gatling (bustling up). Hallo, what's that? No, no, Mrs. BANGS—be true to your Tortoise. I tell you he's going to romp in—Æsop's tip, don't you know? I've backed you to win or a place. I say, what do you think I've drawn—the Mutton! Just my luck!

The Curate. DICK, just come this way a moment—I've a proposition to make; it's occurred to me that the Monkey would feel more—more at home with you, and, in short, I—

Mr. Plumley Duff (plaintively, to Miss CYNTHIA CHAFFERS). I shouldn't have minded any other animal—but to be paired off with a Goose!

Miss Chaffers (consolingly). You're better off than I am, at all events—I've got a Puppy!

Mr. Duff. Have you? (After a pause—sentimentally.) Happy Puppy!

Miss C. He'll be anything but a happy Puppy if he doesn't win.

Mr. Duff. Oh, but he's sure to. I know I would, if I was your Puppy!

Miss C. I'm not so sure of that. Don't they lodge objections, or something, for boring?

Mr. Fanshawe. Can anybody inform me whether I'm expected to go and catch my Peacock? Because I'll be hanged if—

The Curate. Oh, Miss STELLA, it's all right—Mr. GATLING thinks that it would be better if he undertook the Monkey himself; so we've arranged to—

Miss Stella. Oh, nonsense, DICK! I can't have you taking advantage of Mr. HEADNOTE's good-nature like that. What's the use of drawing lots at all if you don't keep to them? Of course Mr. HEADNOTE will keep the Monkey.

[The unfortunate Curate accepts his lot with Christian resignation.

Dick. Well, that's settled—but I say, STELLA, where's my Mutton's moorings—and what's to be the course?

Stella. The course is straight up the Avenue from the Lodge to the House, and I've told them to get all the beasts down there ready for us; so we'd better go at once.

THE START.

The Competitors. STELLA, my dear, mustn't Miss GRISSELL tell her kitten not to claw my Tortoise's head every time he pokes his poor nose out? It isn't fair, and it's damping all his enthusiasm!... Now, Colonel KEMPTON, it isn't the Puppy's fault—you know your Rabbit began it!... Hi, STELLA, hold on a bit, my Mutton wants to lie down. Mayn't I kick it up!... DUFF, old chap, your Goose is dragging her anchor again, back her engines a bit, or there'll be a foul.... Miss STELLA, I—I really don't think this Monkey is quite well—his teeth are chattering in such a very.... All right, padre, only his nasty temper—jerk the beggar's chain. More than that!

Chorus of Spectators at Lodge Gates. My word, I wonder what next the gentry'll be up to, I dew. Ain't Miss STELLA orderin' of 'en about! Now she's started 'en. They ain't not allowed to go 'ittin of 'en—got to go just wheeriver the animiles want. Lor, the guse is takin his genlm'n in among the treeses! Well, if iver I did! That theer tartus gits along, don't he? Passon don't seem com'fable along o' that monkey. I'll back the young sailor gent—keeps that sheep wunnerful stiddy, he do. There's the hold peacock puttin' on a bust now. Well, well, these be fine doin's for 'Auberk 'All, and no mistake. Make old Sir HALBERD stare if he was 'ere, &c., &c.

The Colonel (wrathfully to his Rabbit, which will do nothing but run round and round him). Stop that, will you, you little fool. Do you want to trip me up! Of all the dashed nonsense I ever—!

Mrs. Bangs. My! Colonel, you do seem to have got hold of a pretty insubordinate kind of a Rabbit, too!

The Colonel (looking round). Well, you aren't getting much pace out of your Tortoise either, if it comes to that!

Mrs. Bangs. He puts in most of his time in stoppages for rest and refreshment. I'm beginning to believe that old fable's a fraud. Anyway, it's my opinion this Tortoise isn't going to beat any hare—unless it's a jugged one.

Dick Gatling (in front, as his Sheep halts to crop the turf in a leisurely manner). We've not pulled up—only lying-to to take in supplies. We're going ahead directly. There, what did I tell you! Now she's tacking!

The Curate (in the rear). Poo' little Jacko, then—there, there, quietly now! Miss STELLA, what does it mean when it gibbers like that? (Sotto voce.) I wonder, if I let go the chain—

Mr. Duff (hauling his Goose towards Miss CHAFFERS). It's no use—I can't keep this beast from bolting off the course!

Miss C. Do keep it away from my Puppy, at all events. I know it will peck him, and he's perfectly happy licking my shoe—he's found out there's sugar-candy in the varnish.

Mr. Duff (solemnly). Yes, but I say, you know—that's all very well, but it's not making him race, is it? Now I am getting some running out of my Goose.

Miss C. Rather in-and-out-running, isn't it? (Cries of distress from the rear.) But what is the matter now? That poor dear Curate again!

The Curate (in agony). Here, I say, somebody! do help me! Miss STELLA, do speak to your monkey, please! It's jumped on my back, and it's pulling my hair—'ow!

[Most of the Competitors abandon their animals and rush to the rescue.

Dick Gatling (coming up later). Why on earth did you all jack up like that? You've missed a splendid finish! My Mutton was forging ahead like fun, when FANSHAWE's Peacock hoisted his sail, and drew alongside, and it was neck and neck. Only, as he had more neck than the Mutton, and stuck it out, he won by a beak. Look here, let's have it all over again!

[But the Monkey being up a tree, and the Colonel having surreptitiously got rid of his Rabbit among the bracken, and the Tortoise having retired within his shell and firmly declined to come out again, sport is abandoned for the afternoon, to the scarcely disguised relief of the Curate, who is prevented from remaining to tea by the pressure of parish-work.

THE ONLY MAN IN ROTTEN ROW.

SCENE FROM THE RAKE'S PROGRESS.