to visit a Music Hall again. Then, having regard to my double
capacity of "Man About Town" and journalist (for I had written a
letter to The Era, complaining of the way pit doors were made to
open, and it had been inserted), I felt I had no longer any right to
neglect acquaintanceship with so important a feature in the life of
the people. Accordingly, one Saturday night, I wended my way to the
"Pav."; and there the first person that I ran against was my uncle.
He laid a heavy hand upon my shoulder, and asked me, in severe tones,
what I was doing there. I felt this to be an awkward question, for
it would have been useless trying to make him understand my real
motives (one's own relations are never sympathetic), and I was
somewhat nonplussed for an answer, until the reflection occurred to
me: What was HE doing there? This riddle I, in my turn, propounded
to him, with the result that we entered into treaty, by the terms of
which it was agreed that no future reference should be made to the
meeting by either of us--especially not in the presence of my aunt--
and the compact was ratified according to the usual custom, my uncle
paying the necessary expenses.

In those days, we sat, some four or six of us, round a little table,
on which were placed our drinks. Now we have to balance them upon a
narrow ledge; and ladies, as they pass, dip the ends of their cloaks
into them, and gentlemen stir them up for us with the ferrules of
their umbrellas, or else sweep them off into our laps with their coat
tails, saying as they do so, "Oh, I beg your pardon."

Also, in those days, there were "chairmen"--affable gentlemen, who
would drink anything at anybody's expense, and drink any quantity of
it, and never seem to get any fuller. I was introduced to a Music
Hall chairman once, and when I said to him, "What is your drink?" he