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The symphony began, and was soon afterwards followed by a faint kind of ventriloquial chirping, proceeding apparently from the deepest recesses of the interior of Miss Amelia Martin. ‘Sing out’—shouted one gentleman in a white great-coat. ‘Don’t be afraid to put the steam on, old gal,’ exclaimed another, ‘S-s-s-s-s-s-s’-went the five-and-twenty bottled ales. ‘Shame, shame!’ remonstrated the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s party—‘S-s-s-s’ went the bottled ales again, accompanied by all the gins, and a majority of the brandies.
As to the Company! Miss Amelia Martin herself declared, on a subsequent occasion, that, much as she had heard of the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s connexion, she never could have supposed it was half so genteel.
‘Turn them geese out,’ cried the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s party, with great indignation. ‘Sing out,’ whispered Mr. Jennings Rodolph. ‘So I do,’ responded Miss Amelia Martin. ‘Sing louder,’ said Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. ‘I can’t,’ replied Miss Amelia Martin. ‘Off, off, off,’ cried the rest of the audience. ‘Bray-vo!’ shouted the painter’s party.
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