The party then adjourned to the servants' hall, where, after a merry time over a cup of tea, Thompson was called upon to entertain the company with imitations of celebrated tragic actors. The hall table was pushed against the wall, and an Indian screen, borrowed from the drawing-room, placed thereon. As if by previous invitation, a number of ladies and gentlemen in the same rank of life as their entertainers, shortly arrived, and the servants' hall at "Portland Villa" was soon densely crowded. Among the visitors of distinction were Mr. Noble, the "young man from the painter's." William, from the grocer's, Mr. Slab, the fishmonger, and several good-looking domestics from the adjoining houses, with their "shadows," the latter being young men of mild and obedient dispositions, who were sometimes allowed to bask in the sunshine of their smiles. The sergeant, who was by this time quite reconstructed, agreed to act as Jerry's dresser and general assistant during the performance. The house was rummaged for properties, and the heap piled up behind the screen somewhat puzzled Thompson, who dressed and redressed four or five times before he quite made up his mind which selection would become him best. Every available chair in the house was brought into the hall, and when the supply in that direction failed, some were fetched in from the neighbouring residences by the obedient "shadows." The band consisted of a violin and flute, assisted by the sergeant, who operated upon a snare drum, which some lunatic had brought from the attic. As the space was limited, the musicians were stowed away behind the screen, much to the annoyance of Thompson, who could hardly turn when dressing, and their din prevented the sergeant hearing his directions. Precisely as the hall clock struck nine the band was "taken worse." The overture was rather peculiar. First the "shadow" who played the violin called out, "The Red, White, and Blue," and then proceeded to indulge the company with a "spiral agony," which sounded very much like the Old Hundredth played in jerks. After getting well warmed to his work, he was suddenly stopped by a prolonged roll on the drum, put in by the sergeant, who, thinking the air was becoming "thready," came to his assistance. The flutist now essayed "The last Rose of Summer," delivered note by note in a laboured and painful manner. He also was assisted by the military; and when the latter found "he was going it seriously, and didn't mean to stop," he finished him off with a ran-tan-tan upon the drum, which quite electrified the audience, and a hearty round of applause followed. When the last sound had died away the sergeant unslung the drum, marched from behind the screen, stood at attention, made the orthodox military salute, and spoke as follows:--