Miss　Matilda　Hemmings；　to　allow　the　matter　to　drop；　otherwise　criminal
  proceedings　would　at　once　be　commenced　against　us。
  We　took　the　letter　to　our　own　solicitors　and　explained　the
  circumstances　to　them。　　They　said　it　seemed　to　be　a　very　sad　case；　but
  advised　us　to　pay　the　50　pounds；　and　we　borrowed　the　money　and　did　so。
  Since　then　we　have　lost　faith；　somehow；　in　the　British　drama　as　a
  guide　to　the　conduct　of　life。
  THE　CHILD。
  It　is　nice　and　quiet　and　it　talks　prettily。
  We　have　come　across　real　infants　now　and　then　in　the　course　of　visits
  to　married　friends；　they　have　been　brought　to　us　from　outlying　parts
  of　the　house　and　introduced　to　us　for　our　edification；　and　we　have
  found　them　gritty　and　sticky。　　Their　boots　have　usually　been　muddy；
  and　they　have　wiped　them　up　against　our　new　trousers。　　And　their　hair
  has　suggested　the　idea　that　they　have　been　standing　on　their　heads　in
  the　dust…bin。
  And　they　have　talked　to　usbut　not　prettily；　not　at　allrather　rude
  we　should　call　it。
  But　the　stage　child　is　very　different。　　It　is　clean　and　tidy。　　You　can
  touch　it　anywhere　and　nothing　comes　off。　　Its　face　glows　with　soap　and
  water。　　From　the　appearance　of　its　hands　it　is　evident　that　mud…pies
  and　tar　are　joys　unknown　to　it。　　As　for　its　hair；　there　is　something
  uncanny　about　its　smoothness　and　respectability。　　Even　its　boot…laces
  are　done　up。
  We　have　never　seen　anything　like　the　stage　child　outside　a　theater
  excepting　onethat　was　on　the　pavement　in　front　of　a　tailor's　shop　in
  Tottenham　Court　Road。　　He　stood　on　a　bit　of　round　wood；　and　it　was
  fifteen　and　nine；　his　style。
  We　thought　in　our　ignorance　prior　to　this　that　there　could　not　be
  anything　in　the　world　like　the　stage　child；　but　you　see　we　were
  mistaken。
  The　stage　child　is　affectionate　to　its　parents　and　its　nurse　and　is
  respectful　in　its　demeanor　toward　those　whom　Providence　has　placed　in
  authority　over　it；　and　so　far　it　is　certainly　much　to　be　preferred　to
  the　real　article。　　It　speaks　of　its　male　and　female　progenitors　as
  〃dear；　dear　papa〃　and　〃dear；　dear　mamma；〃　and　it　refers　to　its　nurse
  as　〃darling　nursey。〃　　We　are　connected　with　a　youthful　child
  ourselvesa　real　onea　nephew。　　He　alludes　to　his　father　（when　his
  father　is　not　present）　as　〃the　old　man；〃　and　always　calls　the　nurse
  〃old　nut…crackers。〃　　Why　cannot　they　make　real　children　who　say　〃dear；
  dear　mamma〃　and　〃dear；　dear　papa？〃
  The　stage　child　is　much　superior　to　the　live　infant　in　every　way。　　The
  stage　child　does　not　go　rampaging　about　a　house　and　screeching　and
  yelling　till　nobody　knows　whether　they　are　on　their　heads　or　their
  heels。
  A　stage　child　does　not　get　up　at　five　o'clock　in　the　morning　to
  practice　playing　on　a　penny　whistle。　　A　stage　child　never　wants　a
  bicycle　and　drives　you　mad　about　it。　　A　stage　child　does　not　ask
  twenty　complicated　questions　a　minute　about　things　that　you　don't
  understand；　and　then　wind　up　by　asking　why　you　don't　seem　to　know
  anything；　and　why　wouldn't　anybody　teach　you　anything　when　you　were　a
  little　boy。
  The　stage　child　does　not　wear　a　hole　in　the　seat　of　its　knickerbockers
  and　have　to　have　a　patch　let　in。　　The　stage　child　comes　downstairs　on
  its　feet。
  The　stage　child　never　brings　home　six　other　children　to　play　at　horses
  in　the　front　garden；　and　then　wants　to　know　if　they　can　all　come　in　to
  tea。　　The　stage　child　never　has　the　wooping…cough；　and　the　measles；
  and　every　other　disease　that　it　can　lay　its　hands　on；　and　be　laid　up
  with　them　one　after　the　other　and　turn　the　house　upside　down。
  The　stage　child's　department　in　the　scheme　of　life　is　to　harrow　up　its
  mother's　feelings　by　ill…timed　and　uncalled…for　questions　about　its
  father。　　It　always　wants　to　know；　before　a　roomful　of　people；　where
  〃dear　papa〃　is；　and　why　he　has　left　dear　mamma；　when；　as　all　the
  guests　know；　the　poor　man　is　doing　his　two　years'　hard　or　waiting　to
  be　hanged。　　It　makes　everybody　so　uncomfortable。
  It　is　always　harrowing　up　somebodythe　stage　child；　it　really　ought
  not　to　be　left　about　as　it　is。　　When　it　has　done　upsetting　its　mother
  it　fishes　out　some　broken…hearted　maid；　who　has　just　been　cruelly
  severed　forever　from　her　lover；　and　asks　her　in　a　high　falsetto　voice
  why　she　doesn't　get　married；　and　prattles　to　her　about　love；　and
  domestic　bliss；　and　young　men；　and　any　other　subject　it　can　think　of
  particularly　calculated　to　lacerate　the　poor　girl's　heart　until　her
  brain　nearly　gives　way。
  After　that　it　runs　amuck　up　and　down　the　whole　play　and　makes
  everybody　sit　up　all　round。　　It　asks　eminently　respectable　old　maids
  if　they　wouldn't　like　to　have　a　baby；　and　it　wants　to　know　why
  bald…headed　old　men　have　left　off　wearing　hair；　and　why　other　old
  gentlemen　have　red　noses　and　if　they　were　always　that　color。
  In　some　plays　it　so　happens　that　the　less　said　about　the　origin　and
  source　of　the　stage　child　the　better；　and　in　such　cases　nothing　will
  appear　so　important　to　that　contrary　brat　as　to　know；　in　the　middle　of
  an　evening…party；　who　its　father　was！
  Everybody　loves　the　stage　child。　　They　catch　it　up　in　their　bosoms
  every　other　minute　and　weep　over　it。　　They　take　it　in　turns　to　do
  this。
  Nobodyon　the　stage；　we　　meanever　has　enough　of　the　stage　child。
  Nobody　ever　tells　the　stage　child　to　〃shut　up〃　or　to　〃get　out　of
  this。〃　　Nobody　ever　clumps　the　stage　child　over　the　head。
  When　the　real　child　goes　to　the　theater　it　must　notice　these　things
  and　wish　it　were　a　stage　child。
  The　stage　child　is　much　admired　by　the　audience。　　Its　pathos　makes
  them　weep；　its　tragedy　thrills　them；　its　declamationas　for　instance
  when　it　takes　the　center　of　the　stage　and　says　it　will　kill　the　wicked
  man；　and　the　police；　and　everybody　who　hurts　its　marstirs　them　like
  a　trumpet　note；　and　its　light　comedy　is　generally　held　to　be　the　most
  truly　humorous　thing　in　the　whole　range　of　dramatic　art。
  But　there　are　some　people　so　strangely　constituted　that　they　do　not
  appreciate　the　stage　child；　they　do　not　comprehend　its　uses；　they　do
  not　understand　its　beauties。　　We　should　not　be　angry　with　them。　　We
  should　the　rather　pity　them。
  We　ourselves　had　a　friend　once　who　suffered　from　this　misfortune。　　He
  was　a　married　man；　and　Providence　had　been　very　gracious；　very　good　to
  him：　　he　had　been　blessed　with　eleven　children；　and　they　were　all
  growing　up　well　and　strong。
  The　〃baby〃　was　eleven　weeks　old；　and　then　came　the　twins；　who　were
  getting　on　for　fifteen　months　and　were　cutting　their　double　teeth
  nicely。　　The　youngest　girl　was　three；　there　were　five　boys　aged　seven；
  eight；　nine；　ten；　and　twelve　respectivelygood　enough　lads；
  butwell；　there；　boys　will　be　boys；　you　know；　we　were　just　the　same
  ourselves　when　we　were　young。　　The　two　eldest　were　both　very　pleasant
  girls；　as　their　mother　said；　the　only　pity　was　that　they　would　quarrel
  so　with　each　other。
  We　never　knew　a　healthier　set　of　boys　and　girls。　　They　were　so　full　of
  energy　and　dash。
  Our　friend　was　very　much　out　of　sorts　one　evening　when　we　called　on
  him。　　It　was　holiday…time　and　wet　weather。　　He　had　been　at　home　all
  day；　and　so　had　all　the　children。　　He　was　telling　his　wife　when　we
  entered　the　room　that　if　the　holidays　were　to　last　much　longer　and
  those　twins　did　not　hurry　up　and　get　their　teeth　quickly；　he　should
  have　to　go　away　and　join　the　County　Council。　　He　could　not　stand　the
  racket。
  His　wife　said　she　could　not　see　what　he　had　to　complain　of。　　She　was
  sure　better…hearted　children　no　man　could　have。
  Our　friend　said　he　didn't　care　a　straw　about　their　hearts。　　It　was
  their　legs　and　arms　and　lungs　that　were　driving　him　crazy。
  He　also　said　that　he　would　go　out　with　us　and　get　away　from　it　for　a
  bit；　or　he　should　go　mad。
  He　proposed　a　theater；　and　we　accordingly　made　our　way　toward　the
  Strand。　　Our　friend；　in　closing　the　door　behind　him；　said　he　could　not
  tell　us　what　a　relief　it　was　to　get　away　from　those　children。　　He　said
  he　loved　children　very　much　indeed；　but　that　it　was　a　mistake　to　have
  too　much　of　anything；　however　much　you　liked　it；　and　that　he　had　come
  to　the　conclusion　that　twenty…two　hours　a　day　of　them　was　enough　for
  any　one。
  He　said　he　did　not　want　to　see　another　child　or　hear　another　child
  until　he　got　home。　　He　wanted　to　forget　that　there　were　such　things　as
  children　in　the　world。
  We　got　up　to　the　Strand　and　dropped　into　the　first　theater　we　came　to。
  The　curtain　went　up；　and　on　the　stage　was　a　small　child　standing　in
  its　nightshirt　and　screaming　for　its　mother。
  Our　friend　looked；　said　one　word　and　bolted；　and　we　followed。
  We　went　a　little　further　and　dropped　into　another　theater。
  Here　there　were　two　children　on　the　stage。　　Some　grown…up　people　were
  standing　round　them　listening；　in　respectful　attitudes；　while　the
  children　talked。　　They　appeared　to　be　lecturing　about　something。
  Again　we　fled；　swearing；　and　made　our　way　to　a　third　theater。　　They
  were　all　children　there。　　It　was　somebody　or　other's　Children's
  Company　performing　an　opera；　or　pantomime；　or　something　of　that　sort。
  Our　friend　said　he　would　not　venture　into　another　theater。　　He　said　he
  had　heard　there　were　places　called　music…halls；　and　he　begged　us　to
  take　him　to　one　of　these　and　not　to　tell　his　wife。
  We　inquired　of　a　policeman　and　fou