Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and let her know that, although she stood in the presence of the original Jarley, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the inscription, “One hundred figures the full size of life,” and then another scroll, on which was written, “The only stupendous collection of real wax-work in the world,” and then several smaller scrolls with such inscriptions as, “Now exhibiting within”--“The genuine and only Jarley”--“Jarley’s unrivalled collection”--“Jarley is the delight of the Nobility and Gentry”--“The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.” When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the shape of handbills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies; as, “Believe me if all Jarley’s wax-work so rare”--“I saw thy show in youthful prime”--“Over the water to Jarley”; while, to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view to the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favorite air of “If I had a donkey,” beginning: If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go To see Mrs. JARLEY’S wax-work show, Do you think I’d acknowledge him? Oh no no! Then run to Jarley’s---- --besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of Canterbury and a Dissenter on the subject of church-rates, but all having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted at half-price. When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs. Jarley rolled them up and, having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the child in triumph. “Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any more,” said Mrs. Jarley, “after this.” “I never saw any wax-work, ma’am,” said Nell. “Is it funnier than Punch?” “Funnier!” said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. “It is not funny at all.” “Oh!” said Nell, with all possible humility. “It isn’t funny at all,” repeated Mrs. Jarley. “It’s calm and--what’s that word again--critical?--no--classical, that’s it--it’s calm and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so like life, that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you’d hardly know the difference. I won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen wax-work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life that was exactly like wax-work.” “Is it here, ma’am?” asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this description. “Is what here, child?” “The wax-work, ma’am.”