This is indeed a prize! [Meadows turns suddenly round, Your pardon, sir; Is this, the way to Newgate? MEADOWS. Why, indeed I scarce can say; I'm but a stranger here, I should not like to misdirect you. PRIGWELL. Thank you, I'll find the way to Newgate by myself. [Exit. MEADOWS (STILL MUSING). This is indeed a great Metropolis. ENTER BLIND VOCALIST. BLIND VOCALIST (SINGING). Hey, the bonny! (KNOCKS UP AGAINST MEADOWS, WHO EXIT). Ho! the bonny--(A PASSENGER KNOCKS UP AGAINST THE BLIND VOCALIST ON THE OTHER SIDE). Hey, the bonny--(A BUTCHER'S TRAY STRIKES THE BLIND VOCALIST IN THE CHEST)--breast knot. AS HE CONTINUES SINGING "HEY, THE BONNY! HO, THE BONNY," THE BLIND VOCALIST ENCOUNTERS VARIOUS COLLISIONS, AND HIS BREATH BEING TAKEN AWAY BY A POKE OR A PUSH BETWEEN EACH BAR, HE IS CARRIED AWAY BY THE STREAM OF PASSENGERS. ENTER BROWN AND JONES. MEETING, THEY STOP AND SHAKE HANDS MOST CORDIALLY FOR SEVERAL MINUTES. BROWN. How are you, JONES? JONES. Why, BROWN, I do declare 'Tis quite an age since you and I have met. BROWN. I'm quite delighted. JONES. I'm extremely glad. [An awkward pause BROWN. Well! and how are you? JONES. Thank you, very well; And you, I hope are well? BROWN. Quite well, I thank you. [Another awkward pause. JONES. Oh!--by the way--have you seen THOMSON lately? BROWN. Not very lately. (After a pause, and as if struck with a happy idea). But I met with SMITH-- A week ago. JONES. Oh! did you though, indeed? And how was SMITH? Brown. Why, he seemed pretty well [Another long pause; at the end of which both appear as if they were going to speak to each other. JONES. I beg your pardon. SMITH. You were going to speak? JONES. Oh! nothing. I was only going to say-- Good morning. SMITH. Oh! and so was I. Good-day. [Both shake hands, and are going off in opposite directions, when Smith turns round. Jones turning round at the same time they both return and look at each other. JONES. I thought you wished to speak, by looking back. BROWN. Oh no. I thought the same. BOTH TOGETHER. Good-by! Good-by! [Exeunt finally; and the conversation and the curtain drop together. PROCLIVIOR. (A slight Variation on LONGFELLOW'S "EXCELSIOR.") PUNCH. The shades of night were falling fast, As tow'rd the Haymarket there pass'd A youth, whose look told in a trice That his taste chose the queer device-- PROCLIVIOR! His hat, a wide-awake; beneath He tapp'd a cane against his teeth; His eye was bloodshot, and there rung, Midst scraps of slang, in unknown tongue, PROCLIVIOR!