"No, I shouldn't call it a tableau," said Aunt Louisa; "I should call it a song scena." How on earth did she hear that phrase? She never goes to music-halls. I would as soon expect to hear her speak of "featuring." "A song scena," she went on, "the hero of which is the KAISER; and I shall want half-a-dozen gentlemen to assist." The busy fingers knitted away and the gold spectacles were fixed on us with bland benignity. Aunt Louisa writing a song scena and ordering a chorus, just like Mr. GEORGE EDWARDES, was not the least of the miracles produced by this war. A company of six of us volunteered, of whom I was one. Another was Mr. Herbert Foley, who has made private theatricals his life study. "Anything I can do to help you in coaching the performers and so on," he said, "I shall be only too pleased to do. You know I'm no chicken at this sort of thing." "Thank you," said Aunt Louisa, "but I think I can manage." "All right," replied Mr. Foley, "but, of course----. Want of experience----" "First of all," said Aunt Louisa, "I must choose a Kaiser. Someone who can act." We all became very self-conscious. Our expressions said severally, "No one can act as well as I, but it's rotten form to push oneself forward." Aunt Louisa scanned us narrowly and, much to everybody else's surprise, picked out Tommy Thurlow. To my mind she could not have made a worse choice; but, as it happened, her judgment was sound. Foley seemed piqued. "Then what do _we_ do?" he asked. "You are chorus men," said she. "Chorus!" said Foley. "Isn't that the right word? I know so little about these things. Perhaps I ought to have said 'supers.'" She then told us what to do, knitting all the while. On the evening Aunt Louisa's song scena was the success of the show. It was called "The Haunted Kaiser," and it began with a distracted demented Tommy Thurlow, with the familiar Potsdam moustache and an excellent wig from London, rushing on with his fingers in his ears. No doubt as to who it was--the WAR LORD in a state bordering on delirium. Having calmed down a little, he began to sing:-- For years and years I'd waited, Preparing for _The Day_---- The day that meant for Germany A universal sway. Alas, alack, For my set back! At this point a number of tea-trays were smitten resonantly "off." Tommy dramatically heard them and sang:-- What's that that smites upon my ear, The sound of cruel guns I hear, That sound of fear? More tea-tray. The British, French and Russians They are murdering my Prussians: Why did I make this war? They're in my way by day, by night: In vain, in vain I take to flight, I'll hear them evermore---- Those guns! Those guns! Tremendous applause, while Tommy prepared for the second verse and Aunt Louisa's great effect. Alas! for my ambition, My glory passed away! What is there left of Germany But misery to-day? Alack, alas, For such a pass!