Several scenes follow, in all of which the heroic lover, the dark villain, and the despairing maiden, figure conspicuously, and the scenic resources of this magnificent establishment are displayed to the utmost advantage--the omnipresent square-legged table being equal to any emergency--being an ornament of elegant proportions in the palace, then an appropriate fixture in the lowly cot of the "poor but honest parents" of heroic lovers. It is used by the King to sign a death-warrant on, and is then transferred to the kitchen, where it makes a convenient platform upon which the low-comedy servant dances a hornpipe--it then reappears in the country-house of a powerful villain, who uses it by night for a bedstead--and it then makes its final appearance in the King's private library, prior to its eventual resurrection in the farce, where barmaid has it covered with pewter beer-mugs and platters of cold victuals. And the same two ubiquitous chairs go through every gradation of fortune, turn up in all sorts of unexpected places, are always forthcoming when we least expect to see them--are chairs of state or humble stools, as occasion may require--are put to all sorts of uses--appear in varied unexpected capacities, and finally, when we think their Protean transformations are at last exhausted, they re-appear, covered with flannel ermine and Turkey red calico, doing duty as thrones for the King and Queen, and we are expected to honor them accordingly. The end draws nigh--brigands begin to appear in every other scene--dark lanterns, long swords, and broad cloaks are in the ascendant. Terrible thunder-storm prevails--the dashing rain is imitated as closely as dried peas and No. 1 shot can be expected to do it--the pendant sheet iron does its duty nobly, and the home-made thunder is a first-rate article. The plot thickens, so does the weather--heroic young lover is in a peck of troubles--has a clandestine moonlight, midnight meeting with injured damsel, and they resolve to kill themselves and take the chances of something "turning up" in another world. Comic servant eats whole mince pies, drinks innumerable bottles of wine, and devours countless legs of mutton and plum-puddings at a sitting. Villain is triumphant--blood and murder seem to be victorious over innocence and virtue--when suddenly "a change comes o'er the spirit of their dreams." Heroic lover resolves not to die, but to distinguish himself--fights a single-handed combat with seven robbers--stabs three, kicks one into a mill-pond, and throws the rest over a precipice--distressed maid is pursued by bandit chief--is rescued by heroic lover, who catches her in his arms and jumps with her through a trap-door over a picket fence. Hero is unexpectedly discovered to be a Prince, which fact is made known to the world by his old nurse, who comes from some unknown region, and whose word everybody seems to set down as gospel.