O’WALKER. Why the fact is, I’ve tried my hand at a good many things: I thought it prudent not to make too great a dash at starting, so I began by doing a trifle in the coal and potatoe line—then I took an early breakfast house—then I started a penny publication—— MRS. J. A weekly one? O’WALKER. Yes, so weakly that it didn’t live above a fortnight. At last, I hit upon a brilliant idea—what do you think it was? I turned doctor. MRS. J. A doctor? Then I suppose you walked the hospitals, as they call it? O’WALKER. Not all of ’em; I walked through Saint Thomas’s one day with a friend of mine. FANNY. (R.) Oh, then you’re not a member of the profession. O’WALKER. Oh no, my dear, I’m not one of your regular _Materiars Medicars_—I’m what ignorant and prejudiced people call a quack; but I don’t care what they call me as long as my boluses go down. MRS. J. Boluses! O’WALKER. Yes—O’Walker’s Beneficial Bolus! Sold in boxes at thirteen pence halfpenny, two-and-threepence, four-and-sixpence, and nine shillings—this is a nine shilling one. (_pulling a very large pill box out of his pocket_) MRS. J. Good gracious! And how did you come to think of it? O’WALKER. By study, Mrs. Jellicoe—by intense study. I shut myself up in my room for three months, and the result of that confinement was a bolus. MRS. J. And what do they cure? O’WALKER. Everything—if you only take plenty of ’em! I used to make ’em up myself at starting, but so eagerly were they swallowed that now I’ve got three men and a boy up to their elbows in boluses all day long. Now, I’ll explain my system: these boluses are so composed that the more you take of ’em the worse you get—still you persevere—and when you’re as ill as you can be you leave ’em off, and from that moment you begin to get well; I don’t know why you should, but you do—that’s my system! But enough of business—now for pleasure. When is the happy day to be? Fanny, my fond one, my fair one, when will it be your happy lot to call me yours? FANNY. (R.) Ask mamma! MRS. J. Come and dine with us to-morrow, Mr. O’Walker, and we will talk about it. (_suddenly and solemnly_) I hope your moral character will bear the strictest scrutiny, Mr. O’Walker. You say you have no debts? O’WALKER. (_proudly_) If you doubt my word, Mrs. Jellicoe, I refer you to my milkman. FANNY. (_tenderly_) And I’m the only woman you ever loved? O’WALKER. The only one—except my mother. _BEADLE appears, L._ BEADLE. (L.) The Brentford ’bus, ladies! MRS. J. Come along, Fanny. We shall see you to-morrow, Mr. O’Walker. Now, Fanny. _O’WALKER opens his umbrella, and escorts the LADIES off, L._ BEADLE. (_picking up reticule which MRS. JELLICOE has let fall_) Holloa, the old lady has dropped her _ridicule_, and there goes the ’bus! _Re-enter O’WALKER, L., with his umbrella up._ O’WALKER. Ha, ha, ha! it’s too bad—but I can’t help laughing.