_I._--The sovereign? There is something to be said on that. For do you suppose that one may not from time to time find even by the side of him, a dainty foot, a pretty neck, a bewitching nose, that makes him execute his pantomime. Whoever has need of another is indigent, and assumes a posture. The king postures before his mistress, and before God he treads his pantomimic measure. The minister dances the step of courtier, flatterer, valet, and beggar before his king. The crowd of the ambitious cut a hundred capers, each viler than the rest, before the minister. The abbe, with his bands and long cloak, postures at least once a week before the patron of livings. On my word, what you call the pantomime of beggars is only the whole huge bustle of the earth.... _He._--But let us bethink ourselves what o'clock it is, for I must go to the opera. _I._--What is going on? _He._--Dauvergne's _Trocqueurs_. There are some tolerable things in the music; the only pity is that he has not been the first to say them. Among those dead, there are always some to dismay the living. What would you have? _Quisque suos patimur manes._ But it is half-past five, I hear the bell ringing my vespers. Good day, my philosopher; always the same, am I not? _I._--Alas, you are; worse luck. _He._--Only let me have that bad luck for forty years to come! Who laughs last has the best of the laugh. THE END. _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh._