_A Rough (to Policeman)._ Keep moving? ah, _I'll_ move! [_Kicks him on the knee-cap. Policeman draws truncheon and hits back._ _Crowd (indignantly)._ Boo! Coward! Strikin' a unarmed man--down with 'im! [_They beat brutal Constable to a jelly._ _The Truculent Ruffian (to Quiet Obs.)_ Are you game for a merry ole lark? _Quiet Obs._ You _try_ me--that's all! _T. R._ Then, as them cowards of cops 'ave as much on their 'ands as they kin do with, now's the time for a bit of a loot! Pass the word to them mates o' yourn--"Pall Mall and no tyranny!" _Quiet Obs._ I've done it--they're only waiting for _you._ _T. R. (suddenly producing red handkerchief)._ There--_now_, boys! "Remember Mitchelstown and no brutal perlice!" Foller me! _Quiet Obs. (arresting him)._ No, you'll follow us, please--you won't do no good kicking, all right, mates, we've got him. _T. R._ Oh, please, I didn't know you was a Policeman, Sir, or I shouldn't ha' spoke! Strike me dead I was on'y in fun! (_Whimpers._) And I've a good ole mother at 'ome, Sir. _The Person in Search of Sensation._ What, another arrest? and simply for showing a red handkerchief! I shall write and describe these atrocities. How abominably these police are behaving--actually defending themselves, the blackguards! [_A Policeman accidentally lifts his arm, whereupon about fifty youths scurry like rabbits; in the rush, the Person in search of Sensation is hustled and slightly trampled on. He becomes annoyed, and hits out right and left--eventually striking a Constable in his excitement._ _Const. (who has been without sleep for the last two days and has just had his cheek laid open by a stone)._ 'Ere, you come along with me, you're one of the wust, you are! _The Person._ But I assure you, I just came to see what there was to be seen! _Const._ Well, you come along with me, and you'll see a Magistrit presently. [The Person _resists; struggle; arrival of reinforcements; exit party, in "frog's-marching" order, conveying him to fresh sensations._ _The Lover of Liberty (emerging from crush)._ My hat ruined, my coat split down the back, and my watch gone! I _told_ the crowd I was with them heart and soul--and they hit me in the stomach! What do we keep our police _for_, I want to know? _Professional (emerging in opposite direction)._ Three red clocks, two pusses, and a white slang, I ain't done so dusty! 'Ooray for the right o' Free Meetin', _I_ sez! _Genuine Unemployed (wearily)._ Well, I dunno as I see what good all this 'ere is a goin' to do _hus_! [_And no more does Mr. Punch._ * * * * * FROM MR. HENRY IRVING'S NOTE-BOOK. (_Published without permission._)