'Come here, mother; Netta, look here.' Mrs Prothero glanced into the box, which was nothing more nor less than a penny peep-show, and Owen began again.
'To the right you beholds,' when Netta, impatient, looked through a second glass, and exclaimed in ecstasy, 'Where did you get this, Owen ?' In answer, the scene shifted, and Owen recommenced.
'Here you beholds Lisbon, that wast city, or rayther what wos Lisbon after the great earthquake.

See the ruins all around, and the women and children a screamin'; and the priests a-prayin'-- those men in robes is priests, papishers, like them Irish beggars.' 'Hush, Owen,' interrupted Mrs Prothero.

'Look, father, do look here!' While Mr Prothero and Netta gazed admiringly, Mrs Prothero was off and returned with Shanno, Mal, and Tom the boy, who were all in a broad grin of delight at the arrival of their prime favourite, Owen.
He, meanwhile, is in his element; begins with Lord Nelson again, and makes the whole party take turns.

Then he goes to Lisbon; afterwards he has The Queen of the Cannibal Islands; The Great Fire of London; a portrait large as life of the immense fat man Daniel Lambert, at sight of which the servants all exclaim 'Ach!' and a variety of other splendid designs, which we decline to enumerate.

Suffice it to say that they all draw forth the approving commendations of the spectators, from Mr Prothero, master, to Tom, serving-lad.
When the peep-show has been duly exhibited, Netta again demands her brother's history, and a particular account of how he procured the show.
'Oh! there is not much to tell,' says Owen, 'and I won't tell that unless father promises to keep his lecture till to-morrow.