"We shall see, Sir, we shall see," said TIME. "I don't think I'm particularly difficult to amuse." By this time they had entered the dazzling hall, and, reclining on sumptuous seats, were prepared to bestow their best attention upon the proceedings. A stout man with a fair wig, a dyed moustache and a blue chin, occupied the stage. He was engaged in representing a Member of the Seriocomican aristocracy with irresistible powers of social fascination, and he wore a loose-caped cloak over garments of closely-fitting black, which opened in front to display a mass of crumpled white, amidst which scintillated an enormous jewel. In his hand he held a curious black disc, with which he beat time to a ditty, of which _Mr. Punch_ only succeeded in catching the following refrain:-- "Oh, I 'ave sech a w'y with the loydies! All the dorlins upon me are gorn! For they soy--'Yn't he noice! you can tell by his vice, He's a toff and a gentleman born!'" And here the singer suddenly caused the black disc to expand with a faint report to a cylindrical form of head-dress, which he placed upon one side of his head, amidst thunders of approval. But TIME seemed rather depressed than exhilarated by this performance. "He ought to be kicked off the stage," he muttered. "I'd do it myself if I was younger!" "You would make a mistake," said _Mr. Punch_; "he is just the person that a Music Hall audience idolises as their highest ideal of a man and gentleman--in Seriocomix." "At least," said TIME, "you wouldn't stand such an outrageous cad as that in any of _your_ Music Halls, I hope?" A deeper tinge stole into _Mr. Punch's_ already highly-coloured countenance. "Certainly not," he replied, with perhaps the slightest suspicion of a gulp. "Our 'Lion Comiques' are without exception, persons of culture and education, and, if they sing of love at all, it is only to treat the subject in a chaste and chivalrous spirit. They are worthy examples to all young people who are privileged to listen to their teachings." "I wish you could send one or two out to Seriocomix, then, as missionaries," said TIME. "I wish we could send them _all_," rejoined _Mr. Punch_, feelingly, and they went on to another Music Hall. Here TIME had no sooner perceived the artist who was upon the stage than he exclaimed indignantly, "Disgraceful, Sir. This man is in no condition to entertain a respectable audience--he is _intoxicated_, Sir--look at his _tie_!" "I think not," said _Mr. Punch_, after observing him attentively through his opera-glass; "he merely affects to be so because the point and humour of the song depend on it. But he has evidently forced himself to make a close study of the symptoms, or he could hardly have produced so marvellous an imitation. Art does demand these sacrifices. You will observe that he represents another Music-Hall ideal--the hero who can absorb the largest known quantity of ardent spirits, and whose prowess has earned for him the proud title of the Boozer King."