_Slowgoe._ Is it true what I have heard, that the Duke of Wellington (a great man the Duke; only Catholic ’Mancipation is a little spick upon him)--is it true that the Duke’s to have a ’questrian statue on the Hyde Park arch? _Tickle._ Why, it _was_ true, only the cab and bus men have petitioned Parliament against it. They said it was such bad taste ’twould frighten their horses. _Slowgoe._ Shouldn’t wonder. And what’s become of it? _Tickle._ Why, it’s been at livery in the Harrow Road, eating its head off, these two months. Sent up the iron trade wonderful. Tenpenny nails are worth a shilling now. _Slowgoe._ Dear me, how trade fluctuates! And what _will_ Government do with it? _Tickle._ Why, Mr Hume’s going to cut down the army estimates--going to reduce ’em--our Life Guardsmen; one of the two that always stands at the Horse Guards; and vote the statue of the Duke there instead. Next to being on the top of a arch, the best thing, they say, is to be under it. Besides, there’s economy. For Mr Hume has summed it up; and in two hundred years, five weeks, two days, and three hours, the statue--bought at cost price, for the horse is going to the dogs--will be cheaper by five and twopence than a Life-Guardsman’s pay for the same time. _Slowgoe._ The Duke’s a great man, and it’s my opinion---- _Nutts._ Never have an opinion when you’re being shaved. If you whobble your tongue about in that way, I shall nick you. Sorry to do it; but can’t wait for your opinion. Have a family, and must go on with my business. Anything doing at the playhouses, Mr Nosebag? _Nosebag._ Well, I don’t know; not much. I go on sticking their bills in course, as a matter of business; but I never goes. Fash’nable hours--for now I always teas at seven--won’t let me. As I say, I stick their posters, but I haven’t the pride in ’em I used to have. _Tickle._ How’s that, Nosey? _Nosebag._ Why, seriously, they have so much gammon. I’ve stuck “Overflowing Houses” so often, I wonder I haven’t been washed off my feet. And then the “Tremendous Hits” I’ve contin’ally had in my eye--Oh, for a lover of the real drama--you don’t know my feelings! _Nutts._ The actors do certainly bang away in large type now. _Nosebag._ And the worst of it is, Mr Nutts, there seems a fate in it; for the bigger the type the smaller the player. I could show you a playbill with Mr Garrick’s name in it not the eighth of an inch. And now, if you want to measure on the wall “Mr Snooks as Hamlet,” why, you must take a three-foot rule to do it. Don’t talk on it. The players break my heart; but I go on sticking ’em of course. _Nutts._ To be sure. Business before feelings. Have you seen Miss Rayshall, the French actress at the St James’s? _Nosebag._ Not yet. I’m waiting till she goes to the ’Aymarket. _Tickle._ But she isn’t a-going there. _Nosebag._ Isn’t she? How can she help it? Being of the French stage, somebody’s safe to translate her.