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'
'Well, _my_ (puff) darling, give me some (wheeze) tea,' interposed
Jogglebury, knocking with his knuckles on the table.
'Oh dear. Jog, you and your tea!--you're always wanting tea,' replied Mrs.
Jogglebury snappishly.
'Well, but, my (puff) dear, you forget that Mr. (wheeze) Sponge and I have
to be at (puff) Snobston Green at a (wheeze) quarter to eleven, and it's
good twelve (gasp) miles off.'
'Well, but it'll not take you long to get there,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury;
'will it, Mr. Sponge?' continued she, again appealing to our friend.
'Sure I don't know,' replied Sponge, eating away; 'Mr. Crowdey finds
conveyance--I only find company.'
Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey then prepared to pour her husband out another cup
of tea, and the musical snuff-box, being now left to itself, went off of
its own accord with:
'Diddle, diddle, doubt,
My candle's out.
My 'ittle dame's not at 'ome--
So saddle my hog, and bridle my
And bring my 'ittle dame, 'ome.'
A poem that in the original programme was intended to come in after 'Obin
and Ichard,' which was to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_.


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