Oh, the jam and the mustard, my pippin, the crimsing, the blue,
and the gold!
Scissorree, CHARLIE, rainbows ain't in it, and prisums is out in
the cold.
I do like a picteresk poster, as big as a bloomin' back yard,
With the colour slopped on quite regardless; if that ain't 'Igh
'Art, wy it's 'ard.

'Owsomever I mustn't feeloserphise. Off to Olympia I 'ooks,
To see Venice the Bride of the Sea, as set forth in them sixpenny
books.
Bless his twirly merstache, he's a twicer, this IMRE KIRALFY, dear
boy,
And he give me a two hours' _spektarkle_ old LEIGHTON hisself
might enjoy.

Bit puzzling the "Pageant" is, CHARLIE, until that Synopsis you've
read;
Wish I'd mugged it all up overnight; but I carn't get it straight
in my 'ead.
Sort o' mixture of _Shylock_ and BYRON, with bits of _Othello_
chucked in,
Muddled up with "Chioggian wars," as seemed mostly blue fire and
bright tin.

But the scenes wos 'splendiferous, CHARLIE. About arf a mile o'
stage front,
With some thousands of 'eroes and supers, as seemed all the time
on the 'unt.
Lor! 'ow they did scoot up and down that there stage at the