[_He pushes back sliding-door, and discovers HEDVIG aiming at the Wild Duck with the butt-end of the pistol. Tableau._ _Gina_ (_excitedly_). But don't you _see_? It's the pigstol--that fatal Norwegian weapon which, in Ibsenian dramas, _never_ shoots straight! And she has got it by the wrong end too. She will shoot herself! _Gregers_ (_quietly_). She will! Let the child make amends. It will be a most realistic and impressive finale! _Gina_. No, no--put down the pigstol, HEDVIG. Do you hear, child? _Hedvig_ (_still aiming_). I hear--but I shan't unless father tells me to. _Gregers_. HIALMAR, show the great soul I always _said_ you had. This sorrow will set free what is noble in you. Don't spoil a fine situation. Be a man! Let the child shoot herself! _Hialmar_ (_irresolutely_). Well, really I don't know. There's a good deal in what GREGERS says. Hm! _Gina_. A good deal of tomfool rubbish! I'm illiterate, I know. I've been a Wild Duck in my time, and I waddle. But for all that, I'm the only person in the play with a grain of common-sense. And I'm sure--whatever Mr. IBSEN or GREGERS choose to say--that a screaming burlesque like this ought _not_ to end like a tragedy--even in this queer Norway of ours! And it shan't, either! Tell the child to put that nasty pigstol down and come away, do! _Hialmar_ (_yielding_). Ah, well, I am a farcical character myself, after all. Don't touch a hair of that duck's head, HEDVIG. Come to my arms and all shall be forgiven! [_HEDVIG throws down the pistol,--which goes off and kills a rabbit--and rushes into her father's arms. Old EKDAL comes out of a corner with a fowl on each shoulder, and bursts into tears. Affecting family picture._ _Gregers_ (_annoyed_). It's all very pretty, I dare say--but it's not IBSEN! My real mission is to be the thirteenth at table. I don't know what I mean--but I fly to fulfil it! [_He goes._ _Hialmar_. And now we've got rid of _him_, HEDVIG, fetch me the deed of gift I tore up, and a slip of paper, and a penny bottle of gum, and we'll soon make a valid instrument of it again! [_He pastes the torn deed together as the Curtain slowly descends._ THE END (_with apologies as before_.) * * * * * WHY SHOULD LONDON WAIT? OR, THE SLIGHTED METROPOLIS AND THE DISAPPOINTED MEDICAL STUDENT. [Sir RICHARD QUAIN (seconding the proposal of Lord HERSCHELL "that the draft Supplemental Charter for the University of London be approved") said that with respect to Medical Degrees, those who were not in the profession could not realise the grievance which the Medical Students of London felt themselves to be sustaining by not being able to obtain their Degrees in the Metropolis. Hundreds of capable men were driven to seek in Scotland, at Newcastle, and elsewhere the Medical Degrees which they ought to have obtained in London.] [Illustration]