“Delancy, my dear,” cries Slang, entering the room with a reel, “how's your precious health? Give us your hand! When ARE we to be married? Make room for me on the sofa, that's a duck!” “Get along, Slang,” says Mrs. Crump, addressed by the manager by her maiden name (artists generally drop the title of honour which people adopt in the world, and call each other by their simple surnames)--“get along, Slang, or I'll tell Mrs. S.!” The enterprising manager replies by sportively striking Mrs. Crump on the side a blow which causes a great giggle from the lady insulted, and a most good-humoured threat to box Slang's ears. I fear very much that Morgiana's mother thought Mr. Slang an exceedingly gentlemanlike and agreeable person; besides, she was eager to have his good opinion of Mrs. Walker's singing. The manager stretched himself out with much gracefulness on the sofa, supporting two little dumpy legs encased in varnished boots on a chair. “Ajax, some tea to Mr. Slang,” said my Lady, looking towards that gentleman with a countenance expressive of some alarm, I thought. “That's right, Ajax, my black prince!” exclaimed Slang when the negro brought the required refreshment; “and now I suppose you'll be wanted in the orchestra yonder. Don't Ajax play the cymbals, Sir George?” “Ha, ha, ha! very good--capital!” answered the knight, exceedingly frightened; “but ours is not a MILITARY band. Miss Horsman, Mr. Craw, my dear Mrs. Ravenswing, shall we begin the trio? Silence, gentlemen, if you please; it is a little piece from my opera of the 'Brigand's Bride.' Miss Horsman takes the Page's part, Mr. Craw is Stiletto the Brigand, my accomplished pupil is the Bride;” and the music began. “THE BRIDE. “My heart with joy is beating, My eyes with tears are dim; “THE PAGE. “Her heart with joy is beating Her eyes are fixed on him; “THE BRIGAND. “My heart with rage is beating, In blood my eye-balls swim!” What may have been the merits of the music or the singing, I, of course, cannot guess. Lady Thrum sat opposite the tea-cups, nodding her head and beating time very gravely. Lord Roundtowers, by her side, nodded his head too, for awhile, and then fell asleep. I should have done the same but for the manager, whose actions were worth of remark. He sang with all the three singers, and a great deal louder than any of them; he shouted bravo! or hissed as he thought proper; he criticised all the points of Mrs. Walker's person. “She'll do, Crump, she'll do--a splendid arm--you'll see her eyes in the shilling gallery! What sort of a foot has she? She's five feet three, if she's an inch! Bravo--slap up--capital--hurrah!” And he concluded by saying, with the aid of the Ravenswing, he would put Ligonier's nose out of Joint!