ordinary routine is in the least deviated from, and as nothing but the best and most _récherché menu_ was considered good enough for this worthy trio, my bill and my feelings after a three days’ experience may be easier imagined than described; added to all this, Georgina’s delicate health precluded her from abstaining from food for any length of time, and thus when we journeyed from one town to another a hamper of prog had to be invariably made up for sustaining nature in the transit. Good heavens! such appetites would have eaten one out of house and home, even if any profits had been made; but when the takings were absolutely “nil,” and the working expenses about £100 a week, it will not surprise the reader to learn that I lost £400 in less than a fortnight, and returned to London a sadder and a wiser man. I cannot omit one absurd feature in this “starring” tour which occurred in a town very far north, and which happily brought my disastrous tour to an abrupt and unexpected conclusion. The hour that the concert was to commence was eight; the audience had been respectfully solicited to be in their places by that hour—a request, I am bound to admit, the entire audience present considerately complied with—everything, in short, was done by visiting, puffing, advertising, and personally canvassing, that ingenuity and activity on my part could suggest; and at a quarter before eight I awaited behind the curtain (seeing, but unseen), with throbbing heart, the arrival of the vast crowds that I confidently expected. The fair and amiable one was seated on a fauteuil, radiant with smiles, and attired in a matchless robe of white water silk and ruffles—a kind of mixture between the “Marie Antoinette” and the “Gorgonzola” styles, or what the cross would be, if such styles do or ever have existed—(should any lady read this description she will, I trust, pardon any imperfections of detail.)