Chapter C: O. G. Not that I grudge it--a good education is a fortune in itself, (1)

and as I've always told my boys, they must make the best of it, for it's all they'll get. They're good enough lads, but I've had a deal of trouble with them one way and another--a _deal_ of trouble. (_Pauses for some expression of sympathy--which does not come--and he continues_:) There are my two eldest sons--what must they do but fall in love with the same lady--the same lady, Sir! (_No one seems to care much for these domestic revelations--possibly because they are too_ _obviously addressed to the general ear_). And, to make matters worse, she was a married woman--(_his principal hearer looks another way uneasily_)--the wife of a godson of mine, which made it all the more awkward, y'know. (HIS OPPOSITE NEIGHBOUR _giving no sign, the_ C. O. G. _tries one Passenger after another_.) Well, I went to him--(_here he fixes an old Lady, who immediately passes up coppers out of her glove to the_ CONDUCTOR)--I went to him, and said--(_addressing a smartly dressed young Lady with a parcel who giggles_)--I said, "You're a man of the world--so am I. Don't you take any notice," I told him--(_this to a callow young man, who blushes_)--"they're a couple of young fools," I said, "but you tell your dear wife from me not to mind those boys of mine--they'll soon get tired of it if they're only let alone." And so they would have, long ago, it's my belief, if they'd met with no encouragement--but what can _I_ do--it's a heavy trial to a father, you know. Then there's my third son--he must needs go and marry--(_to a Lady at his side with a reticule, who gasps faintly_)--some young woman who dances at a Music-hall--nice daughter-in-law that for a man in my position, eh? I've forbidden him the house of course, and told his mother not to have any communication with him--but I know, Sir,--(_violently, to a Man on his other side, who coughs in much embarrassment_)--I _know_ she meets him once a week under the eagle in Orme Square, and _I_ can't stop her! Then I'm worried about my daughters--one of 'em gave me no peace till I let her have some painting lessons--of course, I naturally thought the drawing-master would be an elderly man--whereas, as things turned out,----

A QUIET MAN IN A CORNER. I 'ope you told all this to the Policeman, Sir?

THE C. O. G. (_flaming unexpectedly_). No, Sir, I did _not_. I am not in the habit--whatever _you_ may be--of discussing my private affairs with strangers. I consider your remark highly impertinent, Sir.

[_Fumes in silence for the rest of the journey._

THE YOUNG LADY WITH THE PARCEL (_to her friend--for the sake of vindicating her gentility_). Oh, my dear, _I_ do feel so funny, carrying a great brown-paper parcel, in a bus, too! Any one would take me for a shop-girl!

A GRIM OLD LADY OPPOSITE. And I only hope, my dear, you'll never be taken for any one less respectable.

[_Collapse of_ GENTEEL Y.L.

FIRST HUMOROUS 'ARRY (_recognising a friend on entering_). Excuse me stoppin' your kerridge, old man, but I thought you wouldn't mind givin' me a lift, as you was goin' my way.

SECOND H. 'A. Quite welcome, old chap, so long as you give my man a bit when you git down, yer know.

FIRST H. 'A. Oh, o' course--that's expected between gentlemen.

(_Both look round to see if their facetiousness is appreciated, find it is not and subside._)

THE CONDUCTOR. Benk, benk! (_he means "Bank"_) 'Oborn, benk! 'Igher up there, Bill, can't you?

A DINGY MAN SMOKING, IN A VAN. Want to block up the ole o' the road, eh? That's right!

THE CONDUCTOR (_roused to personality_). Go 'ome, Dirty Dick! syme old soign, I see,--"Monkey an' Poipe!" (_To Coachman of smart brougham which is pressing rather closely behind._) I say old man, don't you race after my bus like this--you'll only tire your 'orse.

[_The Coachman affects not to have heard._

THE CONDUCTOR (_addressing the brougham horse, whose head is almost through the door of the omnibus_). 'Ere, _'ang_ it all!--step insoide, if yer want to!

[_Brougham falls to rear--triumph of_ CONDUCTOR _as Scene closes_.

At a Sale of High-Class Sculpture.

SCENE--_An upper floor in a City Warehouse; a low whitewashed
room, dimly lighted by dusty windows and two gas-burners in
wire cages. Around the walls are ranged several statues of meek
aspect, securely confined in barred wooden cases, like a sort
of marble menagerie. In the centre, a labyrinthine grove of
pedestals, surmounted by busts, groups, and statuettes by
modern Italian masters. About these pedestals a small
crowd--consisting of Elderly Merchants on the look out for a
"neat thing in statuary" for the conservatory at Croydon or
Muswell Hill, Young City Men who have dropped in after lunch,
Disinterested Dealers, Upholsterers' Buyers, Obliging Brokers,
and Grubby and Mysterious men--is cautiously circulating._

OBLIGING BROKER (_to_ AMIABLE SPECTATOR, _who has come in out of curiosity, and without the remotest intention of purchasing sculpture_). No Catlog, Sir? 'Ere, allow me to orfer you mine--that's _my_ name in pencil on the top of it, Sir; and, if you _should_ 'appen to see any lot that takes your fancy, you jest ketch my eye. (_Reassuringly._) I sha'n't be fur off. Or look 'ere, gimme a nudge--I shall know what it means.

[_The_ A. S. _thanks him profusely, and edges away with an inward vow to avoid his and the_ AUCTIONEER'S _eyes, as he would those of a basilisk_.

AUCTIONEER (_from desk, with the usual perfunctory fervour_). Lot 13, Gentlemen, very charming pair of subjects from child life--"_The Pricked Finger_" and "_The Scratched Toe_"--by Bimbi.

A STOLID ASSISTANT (_in shirtsleeves_). Figgers _'ere_, Gen'lm'n!

[_Languid surge of crowd towards them._

A FACETIOUS BIDDER. Which of 'em's the finger and which the toe?

AUCT. (_coldly_). I should have thought it was easy to identify by the attitude. Now, Gentlemen, give me a bidding for these very finely-executed works by Bimbi. Make any offer. What will you give me for 'em? Both very sweet things, Gentlemen. Shall we say ten guineas?

A GRUBBY MAN. Give yer five.

AUCT. (_with grieved resignation_). Very well, start 'em at five. Any advance on five? (_To_ ASSIST.) Turn 'em round, to show the back view. And a 'arf! Six! And a 'arf! Only six and a 'arf bid for this beautiful pair of figures, done direct from nature by Bimbi. Come, Gentlemen, come! Seven! Was that _you_, MR. GRIMES? (THE GRUBBY MAN _admits the soft impeachment_.) Seven and a 'arf. Eight! It's _against_ you.

MR. GRIMES (_with a supreme effort_). Two-and-six!

[_Mops his brow with a red cotton handkerchief._

AUCT. (_in a tone of gratitude for the smallest mercies_). Eight-ten-six. All done at eight-ten-six? Going ... gone! GRIMES, Eight, ten, six. Take money for 'em. Now we come to a very 'andsome work by Piffalini--"_The Ocarina Player_," one of this great artist's masterpieces, and an exceedingly choice and high-class work, as you will all agree directly you see it. (_To_ ASSIST.) Now, then, Lot 14, there--look sharp!

STOLID ASSIST. "Hocarina Plier" eyn't arrived, Sir.

AUCT. Oh, hasn't it? Very well, then. Lot 15. "_The Pretty Pill-taker_," by Antonio Bilio--a really magnificent work of Art, Gentlemen. (_"Pill-taker, 'ere.!" from the_ S. A.) What'll you give me for her? Come, make me an offer. (_Bidding proceeds till the "Pill-taker" is knocked down for twenty-three-and-a-half guineas._) Lot 16, "_The Mixture as Before_," by same artist--make a charming and suitable companion to the last lot. What do you say, MR. MIDDLEMAN--take it at the same bidding? (Mr. M. _assents, with the end of one eyebrow_.) Any advance on twenty-three and a 'arf? None? Then,--MIDDLEMAN, Twenty-four, thirteen, six.

MR. MIDDLEMAN (_to the_ AMIABLE SPECTATOR, _who has been vaguely inspecting the "Pill-taker"_). Don't know if you noticed it, Sir, but I got that last couple very cheap--on'y forty-seven guineas the pair, and they are worth eighty, I solemnly declare to you. I could get forty a piece for 'em to-morrow, upon my word and honour, I could. Ah, and I know who'd _give_ it me for 'em, too!

THE A. S. (_sympathetically_). Dear me, then you've done very well over it.

MR. M. Ah, well ain't the word--and those two aren't the only lots I've got either. That "_Sandwich-Man_" over there is mine--look at the work in those boards, and the nature in his clay pipe; and "_The Boot-Black_," that's mine, too--all worth twice what _I_ got 'em for--and lovely things, too, ain't they?

THE A. S. Oh, very nice, very clever--congratulate you, I'm sure.

MR. M. I can see you've took a fancy to 'em, Sir, and, when I come across a gentleman that's a connysewer, I'm always sorry to stand in his light; so, see here, you can have any one you like out o' my little lot, or all on 'em, with all the pleasure in the wide world, Sir, and I'll on'y charge you five per cent. on what I gave for 'em, and be exceedingly obliged to you, into the bargain, Sir. (_The_ A. S. _feebly disclaims any desire to take advantage of this magnanimous offer_.) Don't say No, if you mean Yes, Sir. Will you _'ave "The Pill-taker,"_ Sir?

THE A. S. (_politely_). Thank you very much, but--er--I think _not_.

MR. M. Then perhaps you could do with "_The Little Boot-Black_," or "_The Sandwich-Man_," Sir?

THE A. S. Perhaps--but I could do still better _without_ them.

[_He moves to another part of the room._

THE OBL. BROKER (_whispering beerily in his ear_). Seen anythink yet as takes your fancy, Sir; 'cos, if so--

[THE A. S. _escapes to a dark corner--where he is warmly welcomed by_ MR. MIDDLEMAN.

MR. M. _Knew_ you'd think better on it, Sir. Now which is it to be--the "_Boot-Black_," or "_Mixture as Before_"?

AUCT. Now we come to Lot 19. Massive fluted column in coral marble with revolving-top--a column, Gentlemen, which will speak for itself.

THE FACETIOUS BIDDER (_after a scrutiny_). Then it may as well mention, while it's _about_ it, that it's got a bit out of its back!

AUCT. Flaw in the marble, that's all. (_To_ ASSIST.) Nothing the _matter_ with the column, is there?

ASSIST. (_with reluctant candour_). Well, it _'as_ got a little chipped, Sir.

AUCT. (_easily_). Oh, very well then, we'll sell it "A. F." Very glad it was found out in time, I'm sure. [_Bidding proceeds._

FIRST DEALER _to_ SECOND (_in a husky whisper_). Talkin' o' Old Masters, I put young 'Anway up to a good thing the other day.

SECOND D. (_without surprise--probably from a knowledge of his friend's noble unselfish nature_). Ah--'ow was that?

FIRST D. Well, there was a picter as I 'appened to know could be got in for a deal under what it ought--in good 'ands, mind yer--to fetch. It was a Morlan'--leastwise, it was so like you couldn't ha' told the difference, if you understand my meanin'. (_The other nods with complete intelligence._) Well, I 'adn't no openin' for it myself just then, so I sez to young 'Anway, "You might do worse than go and 'ave a _look_ at it," I told him. And I run against him yesterday, Wardour Street way, and I sez, "Did yer go and _see_ that picter?" "Yes," sez he, "and what's more, I got it at pretty much my own figger, too!" "Well," sez I, "and ain't yer goin' to _shake 'ands with me over it_?"

SECOND D. (_interested_). And _did_ he?

FIRST D. Yes, he did--he beyaved very fair over the matter, I will say _that_ for him.

SECOND D. Oh, 'Anway's a very decent little feller--_now_.

AUCT. (_hopefully_). Now, Gentlemen, this next lot'll tempt you, _I'_m sure! Lot 33, a magnificent and very finely executed dramatic group out of the "_Merchant of Venice_," _Othello_ in the act of smothering _Desdemona_, both nearly life-size. (ASSIST., _with a sardonic inflection_. "_Group_ 'ere, _Gen'lm'n_!") What shall we say for this great work by Roccocippi, Gentlemen? A hundred guineas, just to start us?

THE F. B. Can't you put the two figgers up separate?

AUCT. You know better than that--being a group, Sir. Come, come, any one give me a hundred for this magnificent marble group! The figure of _Othello_ very finely finished, Gentlemen.

THE F. B. I should ha' thought it was _her_ who was the finely finished one of the two.

AUCT. (_pained by this levity_). Really, Gentlemen, _do_ 'ave more appreciation of a 'igh-class work like this!... Twenty-five guineas?... Nonsense! I can't put it up at that.

[_Bidding languishes. Lot withdrawn._

SECOND DISINTERESTED DEALER (_to_ FIRST D. D., _in an undertone_). I wouldn't tell every one, but I shouldn't like to see _you_ stay 'ere and waste your time; so, in case you _was_ thinking of waiting for that last lot, I may just as well mention--

[_Whispers._

FIRST D. D. Ah, it's _that_ way, is it? Much obliged to you for the 'int. But I'd do the same for you any day.

SECOND D. D. I'm _sure_ yer would!

[_They watch one another suspiciously._

AUCT. Now 'ere's a tasteful thing, Gentlemen. Lot. 41. "_Nymph eating Oysters_" ("_Nymph 'ere, Gen'lm'n!_"), by the celebrated Italian artist Vabene, one of the finest works of Art in this room, and they're _all_ exceedingly fine works of Art; but this is a _truly_ work of Art, Gentlemen. What shall we say for her, eh? (_Silence._) Why, Gentlemen, no more appreciation than _that_? Come, don't be afraid of it. Make a beginning. (_Bidding starts._) Forty-five guineas. Forty-six--_pounds_. Forty-six pounds only, this remarkable specimen of modern Italian Art. Forty-six and a 'arf. Only forty-six ten bid for it. Give character to any gentleman's collection, a figure like this would. Forty-seven _pounds_--_guineas_! and a 'arf.... Forty-seven and a 'arf guineas.... For the last time! Bidding with you, Sir. Forty-seven guineas and a 'arf--Gone! Name, Sir, if _you_ please. Oh, money? Very well. Thank you.

PROUD PURCHASER (_to Friend, in excuse for his extravagance_). You see, I must have something for that grotto I've got in the grounds.

HIS FRIEND. If she was mine, I should put her in the hall, and have a gaslight fitted in the oyster-shell.

P. P. (_thoughtfully_). Not a bad idea. But electric light would be more suitable, and easier to fix too. Yes--we'll see.

THE OBL. BROKER (_pursuing the_ AM. SPECT.). I 'ope, Sir, you'll remember me, next time you're this way.

THE AM. SPECT. (_who has only ransomed himself by taking over an odd lot, consisting of imitation marble fruit, a model, under crystal, of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and three busts of Italian celebrities of whom he has never heard_). I'm afraid I sh'an't have very much chance of forgetting you. _Good_ afternoon!

[_Exit hurriedly, dropping the fruit, as Scene closes._

At the Guelph Exhibition.

IN THE CENTRAL HALL.

A THRIFTY VISITOR (_on entering_). Catalogue? No. What's the use of a Catalogue? Miserable thing, the size of a tract, that tells you nothing you don't know!

HIS WIFE (_indicating a pile of Catalogues on table_). Aren't _these_ big enough for you?

THE THR. V. Those? Why they're big enough for the _London Directory_! Think I'm going to drag a thing like that about the place? You don't really want a Catalogue--it's all your fancy!

MR. PRATTLER (_to_ MISS AMMERSON). Oh, _do_ stop and look at these _sweet_ goldfish! Pets! Don't you _love_ them? _Aren't_ they tame?

MISS AMMERSON. Wouldn't do to have them _wild_--might jump out and _bite_ people, you know!

MR. P. It's _too_ horrid of you to make fun of my poor little enthusiasms! But really,--couldn't we get something and feed them?--_Do_ let's!

MISS A. I dare say you could get ham-sandwiches in the Restaurant--or chocolates.

MR. P. How unkind you are to me! But I don't care. (_Wilfully._) I shall come here all by myself, and bring biscuits. Great big ones! Are you determined to take me into that big room with all the Portraits? Well you must tell me who they all are, then, and which are the Guelphiest ones.

CONSIDERATE NIECE (_to_ UNCLE). They seem mostly Portraits here. You're sure you don't _mind_ looking at them, Uncle? I know so many people _do_ object to Portraits.

UNCLE (_with the air of a Christian Martyr_). No, my dear, no; _I_ don't mind 'em. Stay here as long as you like. I'll sit down and look at the people till you've done.

FIRST CRITICAL VISITOR (_examining a View of St. James's Park_). I wonder where that was taken. In Scotland, I expect--there's two Highlanders there, you see.

SECOND C. V. Shouldn't wonder--lot o' work in that, all those different colours, and so many dresses. [_Admires, thoughtfully._

A WELL-READ WOMAN. That's Queen Charlotte, that is. George the Third's wife, you know--her that was so _domestic_.

HER COMPANION. Wasn't that the one that was shut up in the Tower, or something?

THE W. W. In the Tower? Lor, my dear, no, _I_ never 'eard of it. You're thinking of the Tudors, or some o' that lot, I expect!

HER COMP. Am I? I dare say. I never _could_ remember 'Istry. Why, if you'll believe me, I always have to stop and think which of the Georges came first!

MORE CRITICAL VISITORS (_before Portraits_). He's rather pleasant-looking, don't you think? I _don't_ like _her_ face at all. So peculiar. And what a hideous dress--like a tea-gown without any upper part--frightful!

A SCEPTICAL V. They all seem to have had such thin lips in those days. Somehow, I _can't_ bring myself to believe in such very thin lips--can _you_, dear?

HER FRIEND. I always think it's a sign of meanness, myself.

THE S. V. No; but I mean--I can't believe _every one_ had them in the eighteenth century.

HER FRIEND. Oh, I don't know. If it was the fashion!

ABOUT THE CASES.

VISITOR (_admiring an embroidered waistcoat of the time of_ George the Second--_a highly popular exhibit_). What lovely work! Why, it looks as if it was done yesterday!

HER COMPANION (_who is not in the habit of allowing his enthusiasm to run away with him_). Um--yes, it's not bad. But, of course, they wouldn't send a thing like that here without having it washed and done up first!

AN OLD LADY. "Teapot used by the Duke of Wellington during his campaigns." So he drank _tea_, did he? Dear me! Do you know, my dear, I think I must have _my_ old tea-pot engraved. It will make it so much more interesting some day!

IN THE SOUTH GALLERY.

MR. PRATTLER (_before a portrait of Lady Hamilton by Romney_). There! Isn't she too charming? I do call her a perfect _duck!_

MISS AMMERSON. Yes, you mustn't forget her when you bring those biscuits.

AN AMURRCAN GIRL. Father, see up there; there's Byron. Did you erver see such a purrfectly beautiful face?

HER FATHER (_solemnly_). He was a beautiful _Man_--a beautiful Poet.

THE A. G. I know--but the _expression_, it's real saint-like!

FATHER (_slowly_). Well, I guess if he'd had any different kind of expression, he wouldn't have written the things he _did_ write, and that's a fact!

A MORALISING OLD LADY (_at Case O_). No. 1260. "Ball of Worsted wound by William Cowper, the poet, for Mrs. Unwin." No. 1261. "Netting done by William Cowper, the poet." How very nice, and what a difference in the habit of literary persons _nowadays_, my dear!

IN THE CENTRAL HALL.

MR. WHITEROSE, _a Jacobite fin de siecle, is seated on a Bench beside a_ SEEDY STRANGER.

THE S. S. (_half to himself_). Har, well, there's one comfort, these 'ere Guelphs'll get notice to quit afore we're _much_ older!

MR. WHITEROSE (_surprised_). You say so? Then you too are of the Young England Party! I am rejoiced to hear it. You cheer me; it is a sign that the good Cause is advancing.

THE S. S. Advancin'? I believe yer. Why, I know a dozen and more as are workin' 'art and soul for it!

MR. W. You do? We are making strides, indeed! Our England has suffered these usurpers too long.

THE S. S. Yer right. But we'll chuck 'em out afore long, and it'll be "Over goes the Show" with the lot, eh?

MR. W. I had no idea that the--er--intelligent artisan classes were so heartily with us. We must talk more of this. Come and see me. Bring your friends--all you can depend upon. Here is my card.

THE S. S. (_putting the card in the lining of his hat_). Right, Guv'nor; we'll come. I wish there was more gents like yer, I do!

MR. W. We are united by a common bond. We both detest--do we not?--the Hanoverian interlopers. We are both pledged never to rest until we have brought back to the throne of our beloved England, her lawful sovereign lady--(_uncovering_)--our gracious Mary of Austria-Este, the legitimate descendant of Charles the Blessed Martyr!

THE S. S. 'Old on, Guv'nor! Me and my friends are with yer so fur as doing away with these 'ere hidle Guelphs; but blow yer Mary of Orstria, yer know. Blow _'er_!

MR. W. (_horrified_). Hush--this is rank treason! Remember--she is the lineal descendant of the House of Stuart!

THE S. S. What of it? There won't be no lineal descendants when we git _hour_ way, 'cause there won't be nothing to descend to nobody. The honly suv'rin _we_ mean to 'ave is the People--the Democrisy. But there, you're young, me and my friends'll soon tork you over to hour way o' thinking. I dessay we 'aint fur apart, as it is. I got yer address, and we'll drop in on yer some night--never fear. No hevenin' dress, o' course?

MR. W. Of course. I--I'll look out for you. But I'm seldom in--hardly _ever_, in fact.

THE S. S. Don't you fret about _that_. Me and my friends ain't nothing partickler to do just now. We'll _wait_ for yer. I should like yer to know ole Bill Gabb. You should 'ear _that_ feller goin' on agin the Guelphs when he's 'ad a little booze--it 'ud do your 'art good. Well, I on'y come in 'ere as a deligate like, to report, and I seen enough. So 'ere's good-day to yer.

MR W. (_alone_). I shall have to change my rooms--and I _was_ so comfortable! Well, well,--another sacrifice to the Cause!

AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

IN THE VESTIBULE.

_Visitors ascending staircase, full of enthusiasm and energetic
determination not to miss a single Picture, encounter people
descending in various stages of mental and physical exhaustion.
At the turnstiles two Friends meet unexpectedly; both being shy
men, who, with timely notice, would have preferred to avoid one
another, their greetings are marked by an unnatural effusion
and followed by embarrassed silence._

FIRST SHY MAN (_to break the spell_). Odd, our running up against one another like this, eh?

SECOND SHY MAN. Oh, very odd. (_Looks about him irresolutely, and wonders if it would be decent to pass on. Decides it will hardly do._) Great place for meeting, the Academy, though.

FIRST S. M. Yes; sure to come across _somebody_, sooner or later.

[_Laughs nervously, and wishes the other would go._

SECOND S. M. (_seeing that his friend lingers_). This your _first_ visit here?

FIRST S. M. Yes. Couldn't very well get away _before_, you know.

[_Feels apologetic, without exactly knowing why._

SECOND S. M. It's _my_ first visit, too. (_Sees no escape, and resigns himself._) Er--we may as well go round together, eh?

FIRST S. M. (_who was afraid this was coming_--_heartily_). Good! By the way, I always think, on a first visit, it's best to take a single room, and do that thoroughly. [_This has only just occurred to him._

SECOND S. M. (_who had been intending to follow that plan himself_). Oh, _do_ you? Now, for _my_ part, I don't attempt to see anything _thoroughly_ the first time. Just scamper through, glance at the things one oughtn't to miss, get a general impression, and come away. _Then_, if I don't happen to come again, I've always _done_ it, you see. But (_considerately_), look here. Don't let me drag you about, if you'd rather not!

FIRST S. M. Oh, but I shouldn't like to feel I was any tie on you. Don't you mind about me. I shall potter about in here--for hours, I dare say.

SECOND S. M. Ah, well (_with vague consolation_), I shall always know where to _find_ you, I suppose.

FIRST S. M. (_brightening visibly_). Oh dear, yes; I sha'n't be far away.

[_They part with mutual relief, only tempered by the necessity
of following the course they have respectively prescribed for
themselves. Nemesis overtakes the_ SECOND S. M. _in the next
Gallery, when he is captured by a Desultory Enthusiast, who
insists upon dragging him all over the place to see obscure
"bits" and "gems," which are only to be appreciated by ricking
the neck or stooping painfully_.

A SUBURBAN LADY (_to Female Friend_). Oh dear, _how_ stupid of me! I _quite_ forgot to bring a pencil! Oh, _thank_ you, dear, that will do _beautifully_. It's just a _little_ blunt; but so long as I can _mark_ with it, you know. You don't think we should avoid the crush if we began at the end room? Well, perhaps it _is_ less confusing to begin at the beginning, and work steadily through.

IN GALLERY NO. I.

_A small group has collected before Mr. Wyllie's "Davy Jones's
Locker," which they inspect solemnly for some time before
venturing to commit themselves to any opinion._

FIRST VISITOR (_after devoting his whole mind to the subject_). Why, it's the Bottom of the Sea--at least (_more cautiously_), that's what it seems to be _intended_ for.

SECOND V. Ah, and very well done, too. I wonder, now, how he managed to stay down long enough to paint all that?

THIRD V. Practice, I suppose. I've seen writing done under water myself. But that was a tank!

FOURTH V. (_presumably in profound allusion to the fishes and sea-anemones_). Well, they seem to be 'aving it all their own way down there, don't they?

[_The Group, feeling that this remark sums up the situation, disperses._

THE SUBURBAN LADY (_her pencil in full play_). No. 93. Now what's _that_ about? Oh, "_Forbidden Sweets_,"--yes, to be sure. _Isn't_ that charming? Those two dear little tots having their tea, and the kitten with its head stuck in the jam-pot, and the label and all, and the sticky spoon on the nursery table-cloth--so _natural!_ I really _must_ mark that. (_Awards this distinction._) 97. "_Going up Top._" Yes, _of course_. Look, Lucy dear, that little fellow has just answered a question, and his master tells him he may go to the top of the class, do you _see_? And the big boy looking so sulky, he's wishing he had learnt his lesson better. I do think it's _so_ clever--all the different expressions. Yes, I shall _certainly_ mark that!

IN GALLERY NO. II.

THE S. L. (_doubtfully_). H'm, No. 156. "_Cloud Chariots_"? Not very _like_ chariots, though, _are_ they?

HER FRIEND. I expect it's one of those sort of pictures that you have to look at a long time, and then things gradually come _out_ of it, you know.

THE S. L. It _may_ be. (_Tries the experiment._) No, _I_ can't make _anything_ come out--only just clouds and their reflections. (_Struggling between good-nature and conscientiousness._) I _don't_ think I _can_ mark that.

IN GALLERY NO. III.

A MATRON (_before Mr. Dicksee's "Tannhaeuser"_). "_Venus and Tannhaeuser_"--ah, and is that Venus on the stretcher? Oh, _that's_ her all on fire in the background. Then which is Tannhaeuser, and what are they all supposed to be doing? [_In a tone of irritation._

HER NEPHEW. Oh, it tells you all about it in the Catalogue--he meets her funeral, you know, and leaves grow on his stick.

THE MATRON (_pursing her lips_). Oh, a _dead person_.

[_Repulses the Catalogue severely and passes on._

FIRST PERSON, _with an "Eye for Art"_ (_before "Psyche's Bath," by the President_). Not bad, eh?

SECOND PERSON, &c. No, I rather like it. (_Feels that he is growing too lenient_). He doesn't give you a very good idea of marble, though.

FIRST P. &c. No--_that's_ not marble, and he always puts too many folds in his drapery to suit _me_.

FIRST P. &c. Just what _I_ always say. It's not natural, you know.

[_They pass on, much pleased with themselves and one another._

A FIANCE (_halting before a sea-scape, by Mr. Henry Moore, to_ FIANCEE). Here, I say, hold on a bit--what's _this_ one?

FIANCEE (_who doesn't mean to waste the whole afternoon over pictures_). Why, it's only a lot of waves--_come_ on!

THE SUBURBAN L. Lucy, _this_ is rather nice. _"Breakfasts for the Porth!_" (_Pondering_). I think there must be a mistake in the Catalogue--I don't see any breakfast things--they're cleaning fish, and what's a "Porth!" Would you mark that--or not?

HER COMP. Oh, I _think_ so.

THE S. L. I don't know. I've marked such a quantity already and the lead won't hold out much longer. Oh, it's by Hook, R.A. Then I suppose it's _sure_ to be all right. I've marked it, dear.

DUET BY TWO DREADFULLY SEVERE YOUNG LADIES, _who paint a little on China_. Oh, my _dear_, look at that. Did you ever _see_ such a thing? Isn't it too perfectly _awful_? And there's a thing! Do come and look at this horror over here. A "_Study_," indeed. I should just think it _was_! Oh, Maggie, don't be so satirical, or I shall die! No, but _do_ just see this--isn't it _killing?_ They get worse and worse every year, I declare!

[_And so on._

IN GALLERY NO. V.

_Two Prosaic Persons come upon a little picture, by Mr. Swan, of a boy lying on a rock, piping to fishes._

FIRST P. P. _That's_ a rum thing!

SECOND P. P. Yes, I wasn't aware myself that fishes were so partial to music.

FIRST P. P. They may be--out there--(_perceiving that the boy is unclad_)--but it's peculiar altogether--they look like herrings to me.

SECOND P. P. Yes--or mackerel. But (_tolerantly_) I suppose it's a fancy subject.

[_They consider that this absolves them from taking any further interest in it, and pass on._

IN GALLERY NO. XI.

AN OLD LADY (_who judges Art from a purely Moral Standpoint, halts approvingly before a picture of a female orphan_). Now that really is a nice picture, my dear--a plain black dress and white cuffs--just what I _like_ to see in a young person!

THE S. L. (_her enthusiasm greatly on the wane, and her temper slightly affected_). Lucy, I _wish_ you wouldn't worry so--it's quite impossible to stop and look at _everything_. If you wanted your tea as badly as _I_ do! Mark that one? What, when they neither of them have a single _thing_ on! Never, Lucy,--and I'm surprised at your suggesting it! Oh, you meant the next one? h'm--no, I _can't_ say I care for it. Well, if I _do_ mark it, I shall only put a tick--for it really is _not_ worth a cross!

COMING OUT.

THE MAN WHO ALWAYS MAKES THE RIGHT REMARK. H'm. Haven't seen anything I could carry away with me.

HIS FLIPPANT FRIEND. Too many people about, eh? Never mind, old chap, you _may_ manage to sneak an umbrella down stairs--I won't say anything!

[_Disgust of his companion, who descends stairs in offended silence, as scene closes._

At the Horse Show.

TIME--_About 3.30_. _Leaping Competition about to begin. The
Competitors are ranged in a line at the upper end of the Hall
while the attendants place the hedges in position. Amongst the
Spectators in the Area are--a Saturnine Stableman from the
country; a Cockney Groom; a Morbid Man; a Man who is apparently
under the impression that he is the only person gifted with
sight; a Critic who is extremely severe upon other people's
seats; a Judge of Horseflesh; and Two Women who can't see as
well as they could wish._

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. They've got both the fences up now, d'ye see? There's the judges going to start the jumping; each rider's got a ticket with his number on his back. See? The first man's horse don't seem to care about jumping this afternoon--see how he's dancing about. Now he's going at it--there, he's cleared it! Now he'll have to jump the next one!

[_Keeps up a running fire of these instructive and valuable observations throughout the proceedings._

THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Rare good shoulders that one has.

THE SEVERE CRITIC (_taking the remark to apply to the horse's rider_). H'm, yes--rather--pity he sticks his elbows out quite so much, though.

[_His Friend regards him in silent astonishment. Another Competitor clears a fence, but exhibits a considerable amount of daylight._

THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_encouragingly_). You'll 'ev to set back a bit next journey, Guv'nor!

THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Orses 'ud jump better if the fences was a bit 'igher.

THE S. S. They'll be plenty 'oigh enough fur some on 'em.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Ugly seat that fellow has--all anyhow when the horse jumps.

JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Has he? I didn't notice--I was looking at the horse. [SEVERE CRITIC _feels snubbed_.

THE S. S. (_soothingly, as the Competitor with the loose seat comes round again_). _That's_ not good, Guv'nor!

THE COCKNEY GROOM. 'Ere's a little bit o' fashion coming down next--why, there's quite a boy on his back.

THE S. S. 'E won't be on 'im long if he don't look out. Cup an ball _I_ call it!

THE MORBID MAN. I suppose there's always a accident o' some sort before they've finished.

FIRST WOMAN. Oh, don't, for goodness' sake, talk like that--I'm sure _I_ don't want to see nothing 'appen.

SECOND WOMAN. Well, you may make your mind easy--for you won't see nothing here; you _would_ have it this was the best place to come to!

FIRST WOMAN. I only said there was no sense in paying extra for the balcony, when you can go in the area for nothing.

SECOND WOMAN (_snorting_). Area, indeed! It might be a good deal airier than what it is, I'm sure--I shall melt if I stay here much longer.

THE MORBID MAN, There's one thing about being so close to the jump as this--if the 'orse jumps sideways--as 'osses will do every now and then--he'll be right in among us before we know where we are, and then there'll be a pretty how-de-do!

SECOND WOMAN (_to her Friend_). Oh, come away, do--it's bad enough to see nothing, let alone having a great 'orse coming down atop of us, and me coming out in my best bonnet, too--come away! [_They leave_.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Now, they're going to make 'em do some in-and-out jumping, see? they're putting the fences close together--that'll puzzle some of them--ah, he's over both of 'em; very clean that one jumps! Over again! He's got to do it all twice, you see.

THE JUDGE OF HORSEFLESH. Temperate horse, that chestnut.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Is he, though?--but I suppose they _have_ to be here, eh? Not allowed champagne or whiskey or anything before they go in--like they are on a race-course?

THE J. OF H. No, they insist on every horse taking the pledge before they'll enter him.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. Each of 'em's had a turn at the in-and-out jump now. What's coming next? Oh, the five-barred gate--they're going over that now, and the stone wall--see them putting the bricks on top? That's to _raise_ it.

THE MORBID MAN. None of 'em been off yet; but (_hopefully_) there'll be a nasty fall or two over this business--there's been many a neck broke over a lower gate than that.

[_A Competitor clears the gate easily, holding the reins casually in his right hand._

THE J. OF H. That man can ride.

THE SEVERE CRITIC. Pretty well--not what I call _business_, though--going over a gate with one hand, like that.

THE J. OF H. Didn't know you were such an authority.

THE S. C. (_modestly_). Oh, I can tell when a fellow has a good seat. I used to ride a good deal at one time. Don't get the chance much now--worse luck!

THE J. OF H. Well, I can give you a chance, as it happens. (SEVERE CRITIC _accepts with enthusiasm, and the inward reflection that the chance is much less likely to come off than he is himself_.) You wait till the show is over, and they let the horses in for exercise. I know a man who's got a cob here--regular little devil to go--bucks a bit at times--but you won't mind that. I'll take you round to the stall and get my friend to let you try him on the tan. How will that do you, eh?

THE SEVERE CRITIC (_almost speechless with gratitude_). Oh--er--it will _do_ me right enough--capital! That is--it _would_, if I hadn't an appointment, and had my riding things on, and wasn't feeling rather out of sorts, and hadn't promised to go home and take my wife in the Park, and it's her birthday, too, and, then, I've long made it a rule never to mount a strange horse, and--er--so you understand how it is don't you?

THE J. OF H. Quite, my dear fellow. (_As, for that matter, he has done from the first._)

THE COCKNEY GROOM (_alluding to a man who is riding at the gate_). 'Ere's a rough 'un this bloke's on! (_Horse rises at gate; his rider shouts "Hoo, over!" and the gate falls amidst general derision._) Over? Ah, I should just think it _was_ over!

THE SATURNINE STABLEMAN (_as horseman passes_). Yer needn't ha' "Hoo'd" for that much!

[_The Small Boy, precariously perched on an immense animal, follows; his horse, becoming unmanageable, declines the gate, and leaps the hurdle at the side._

THE S. S. Ah, you're a _artful_ lad, you are--thought you'd take it where it was easiest, eh?--you'll 'ev to goo back and try agen you will.

CHORUS OF SYMPATHETIC BYSTANDERS. Take him at it again, boy; _you're_ all right!... Hold him in tighter, my lad.... Let out your reins a bit! Lor, they didn't ought to let a boy like that ride.... He ain't no more 'old on that big 'orse than if he was a fly on him!... Keep his 'ed straighter next time.... Enough to try a boy's nerve! &c., &c.

[_The Boy takes the horse back, and eventually clears the gate amidst immense and well-deserved applause._

THE MORBID MAN (_disappointed_). Well, I fully expected to see _'im_ took off on a shutter.

THE DESCRIPTIVE MAN. It's the water-jump next--see; that's it in the middle; there's the water, underneath the hedge; they'll have to clear the 'ole of that--or else fall in and get a wetting. They've taken all the horses round to the other entrance--they'll come in from that side directly.

[_One of the Judges holds up his stick as a signal; wild shouts
of "Hoy-hoy! Whorr-oosh!" from within, as a Competitor dashes
out and clears hedge and ditch by a foot or two. Deafening
applause. A second horseman rides at it, and lands--if the word
is allowable--neatly in the water. Roars of laughter as he
scrambles out._

THE MORBID MAN. Call that a brook! It ain't a couple of inches deep--it's more mud than water! No fear (_he means "no hope"_) of any on 'em getting a ducking over that!

[_And so it turns out; the horses take the jump with more or
less success, but without a single saddle being vacated. The
proceedings terminate for the afternoon amidst demonstrations
of hearty satisfaction from all but_ THE MORBID MAN, _who had
expected there would have been "more to see."_

At a Dance.

THE HOSTESS _is receiving her Guests at the head of the staircase_; _a_ CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN _presents himself_.

HOSTESS (_with a gracious smile, and her eyes directed to the people immediately behind him_). _So_ glad you were able to come--how do you _do_?

THE CONSCIENTIOUSLY LITERAL MAN. Well, if you had asked me that question this afternoon, I should have said I was in for a severe attack of malarial fever--I had all the symptoms--but, about seven o'clock this evening, they suddenly passed off, and--

[_Perceives, to his surprise, that his Hostess's attention is wandering, and decides to tell her the rest later in the evening._

MR. CLUMPSOLE. How do you do, Miss Thistledown? Can you give me a dance?

MISS THISTLEDOWN (_who has danced with him before_--once). With pleasure--let me see, the third extra after supper? Don't forget.

MISS BRUSKLEIGH (_to Major Erser_). Afraid I can't give you anything just now--but if you see me standing about later on, you can come and ask me again, you know.

MR. BOLDOVER (_glancing eagerly round the room as he enters, and soliloquising mentally_). She ought to be here by this time, if she's coming--can't see her though--she's certainly not dancing. There's her sister over there with the mother. She _hasn't_ come, or she'd be with them. Poor-looking lot of girls here to-night--don't think much of this music--get away as soon as I can, no _go_ about the thing!... Hooray! There she is, after all! Jolly waltz this is they're playing! How pretty she's looking--how pretty _all_ the girls are looking! If I can only get her to give me one dance, and sit out most of it somewhere! I feel as if I could talk to her to-night. By Jove, I'll try it!

[_Watches his opportunity, and is cautiously making his way towards his divinity, when he is intercepted._

MRS. GRAPPLETON. Mr. Boldover, I do believe you were going to _cut_ me! (_MR. B. protests and apologises._) Well, _I_ forgive you. I've been wanting to have another talk with you for ever so long. I've been thinking so _much_ of what you said that evening about Browning's relation to Science and the Supernatural. Suppose you take me down stairs for an ice or something, and we can have it out comfortably together.

[_Dismay of Mr. B._, _who has entirely forgotten any theories he may have advanced on the subject, but has no option but to comply_; _as he leaves the room with_ MRS. GRAPPLETON _on his arm, he has a torturing glimpse of_ MISS ROUNDARM, _apparently absorbed in her partner's conversation_.

MR. SENIOR ROPPE (_as he waltzes_). Oh, you needn't feel convicted of extraordinary ignorance, I assure you, Miss Featherhead. You would be surprised if you knew how many really clever persons have found that simple little problem of nought divided by one too much for them. Would you have supposed, by the way, that there is a reservoir in Pennsylvania containing a sufficient number of gallons to supply all London for eighteen months? You don't quite realize it, I see. "How many gallons is that?" Well, let me calculate roughly--taking the population of London at four millions, and the average daily consumption for each individual at--no, I can't work it out with sufficient accuracy while I am dancing; suppose we sit down, and I'll do it for you on my shirt-cuff--oh, very well; then I'll work it out when I get home, and send you the result to-morrow, if you will allow me.

MR. CULDERSACK (_who has provided himself beforehand with a set of topics for conversation--to his partner, as they halt for a moment_). Er--(_consults some hieroglyphics on his cuff stealthily_)--have you read Stanley's book yet?

MISS TABULA RAISER. No, I haven't. Is it interesting?

MR. CULDERSACK. I can't say. I've not seen it myself. Shall we--er--?

[_They take another turn._

MR. C. I suppose you have--er--been to the (_hesitates between the Academy and the Military Exhibition--decides on latter topic as fresher_) Military Exhibition?

MISS T. R. No--not yet. What do you think of it?

MR. C. Oh--_I_ haven't been either. Er--do you care to--?

[_They take another turn._

MR. C. (_after third halt_). Er--do you take any interest in politics?

MISS T. R. Not a bit.

MR. C. (_much relieved_). No more do I. (_Considers that he has satisfied all mental requirements._) Er--let me take you down stairs for an ice.

[_They go._

MRS. GRAPPLETON (_re-entering with_ MR. BOLDOVER, _after a discussion that has outlasted two ices and a plate of strawberries_). Well, I thought you would have explained my difficulties better than _that_--oh, what a _delicious_ waltz! Doesn't it set you longing to dance?

MR. B. (_who sees_ MISS ROUNDARM _in the distance, disengaged_). Yes, I really think I must--. [_Preparing to escape._

MRS. GRAPPLETON. I'm getting such an old thing, that really I oughtn't to--but well, just this _once_, as my husband isn't here.

[MR. BOLDOVER _resigns himself to necessity once more_.

FIRST CHAPERON (_to second ditto_). How sweet it is of your eldest girl to dance with that absurd Mr. Clumpsole! It's really too _bad_ of him to make such an exhibition of her--one can't help smiling at them!

SECOND CH. Oh, Ethel never can bear to hurt any one's feelings--so different from some girls! By the way, I've not seen _your_ daughter dancing to-night--men who dance are so scarce nowadays--I suppose they think they have the right to be a little fastidious.

FIRST CH. Bella has been out so much this week, that she doesn't care to dance except with a really first-rate partner. She is not so easily pleased as your Ethel, I'm afraid.

SECOND CH. Ethel is _young_, you see, and, when one is pressed so much to dance, one can hardly refuse, _can_ one? When she has had as many seasons as BELLA, she will be less energetic, I dare say.

[MR. BOLDOVER _has at last succeeded in approaching_ MISS ROUNDARM, _and even in inducing her to sit out a dance with him_; _but, having led her to a convenient alcove, he finds himself totally unable to give any adequate expression to the rapture he feels at being by her side_.

MR. B. (_determined to lead up to it somehow_). I--I was rather thinking--(_he_ meant _to say_, "_devoutly hoping_," _but, to his own bitter disgust, it comes out like this_)--I should meet you here to-night.

MISS R. Were you? Why?

MR. B. (_with a sudden dread of going too far just yet_). Oh (_carelessly_), you know how one _does_ wonder who will be at a place, and who won't.

MISS R. No, indeed, I don't--_how_ does one wonder?

MR. B. (_with a vague notion of implying a complimentary exception in her case_). Oh, well, generally--(_with the fatal tendency of a shy man to a sweeping statement_)--one may be pretty sure of meeting just the people one least wants to see, you know.

MISS R. And so you thought you would probably meet me. I _see_.

MR. B. (_overwhelmed with confusion, and not in the least knowing what he says_). No, no, I didn't think that--I hoped you mightn't--I mean, I was afraid you might--

[_Stops short, oppressed by the impossibility of explaining._

MISS R. You are not very complimentary to-night, are you?

MR. B. I can't pay compliments--to _you_--I don't know how it is, but I never can talk to you as I can to other people!

MISS R. Are you amusing when you are with other people?

MR. B. At all events I can find things to say to _them_.

_Enter_ ANOTHER MAN.

ANOTHER MAN (_to_ MISS R.). Our dance, I think?

MISS R. (_who had intended to get out of it_). I was wondering if you ever meant to come for it. (_To_ MR. B., _as they rise_.) Now I sha'n't feel I am depriving the other people! (_Perceives the speechless agony in his expression, and relents._) Well, you can have the next after this if you care about it--only _do_ try to think of something in the meantime! (_As she goes off._) You will--won't you?

MR. B. (_to himself_). She's given me another chance! If only I can rise to it. Let me see--what shall I begin with? _I_ know--_Supper!_ She hasn't been down yet.

HIS HOSTESS. Oh, Mr. Boldover, you're not dancing this--do be good and take some one down to supper--those poor Chaperons are dying for some food.

[Mr. B. _takes down a Matron whose repast is protracted through three waltzes and a set of Lancers_--_he comes up to find_ MISS ROUNDARM _gone_, _and the Musicians putting up their instruments_.

COACHMAN AT DOOR (_to Linkman, as_ MR. B. _goes down the steps_). That's the _lot_, Jim!

[Mr. B. _walks home, wishing the Park Gates were not shut, so as to render the Serpentine inaccessible_.

AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM.

IN THE SCULPTURE GALLERIES.

_Sightseers discovered drifting languidly along in a state of
depression, only tempered by the occasional exercise of the
right of every free-born Briton to criticize whenever he fails
to understand. The general tone is that of faintly amused and
patronizing superiority._

A BURLY SIGHTSEER _with a red face_ (_inspecting group representing "Mithras Sacrificing a Bull"_). H'm; that may be Mithras's notion of making a clean job of it, but it ain't _mine_!

A WOMAN (_examining a fragment from base of sculptured column with a puzzled expression as she reads the inscription_). "Lower portion of female figure--probably a Bacchante." Well, how they know who it's intended for, when there ain't more than a bit of her skirt left, beats _me_!

HER COMPANION. Oh, I s'pose they've got to put a name to it o' _some_ sort.

AN INTELLIGENT ARTISAN (_out for the day with his_ FIANCEE--_reading from pedestal_). "Part of a group of As--Astrala--no, _Astraga_--lizontes"--that's what _they_ are, yer see.

FIANCEE. But who _were_ they?

THE I. A. Well, I can't tell yer--not for certain; but I expect they'd be the people who in'abited Astragalizontia.

FIANCEE. Was that what they used to call Ostralia before it was discovered? (_They come to the Clytie bust._) Why, if that isn't the same head Mrs. Meggles has under a glass shade in her front window, only smaller--and hers is alabaster, too! But fancy them going and copying it, and I dare say without so much as a "by your leave," or a "thank you!"

THE I. A. (_reading_). "Portrait of Antonia, sister-in-law of the Emperor Tiberius, in the character of Clytie turning into a sunflower."

FIANCEE. Lor! They did queer things in those days, didn't they? (_Stopping before another bust._) Who's that?

THE I. A. 'Ed of Ariadne.

FIANCEE (_slightly surprised_). What!--not young Adney down our street? I didn't know as he'd been took in stone.

THE I. A. How do you suppose they'd 'ave young Adney in among this lot--why, that's antique!

FIANCEE. Well, I was _thinking_ it looked more like a female. But if it's meant for old Mr. Teak the shipbuilder's daughter, it flatters her up considerable; and, besides, I always understood as her name was Betsy.

THE I. A. No, no; what a girl you are for getting things wrong! that 'ed was cut out years and years ago!

FIANCEE. Well, she's gone off _since_, that's all; but I wonder at old Mr. Teak letting it go out of the family, instead of putting it on his mantelpiece along with the lustres, and the two chiny dogs.

THE A. I. (_with ungallant candour_). 'Ark at you! Why you 'ain't much more sense nor a chiny dog yourself!

MORALIZING MATRON (_before the Venus of Ostia_). And to think of the poor ignorant Greeks worshipping a shameless hussey like that! It's a pity they hadn't some one to teach them more respectable notions! Well, well! it ought to make us thankful _we_ don't live in those benighted times, that it ought!

A CONNOISSEUR (_after staring at a colossal Greek lion_). A lion, eh? Well, it's another proof to my mind that the ancients hadn't got very far in the statuary line. Now, if you _want_ to see a stone lion done true to Nature, you've only to walk any day along the Euston Road.

A PRACTICAL MAN. I dessay it's a fine collection, enough, but it's a pity the things ain't more perfect. _I_ should ha' thought, with so many odds and ends and rubbish lying about as is no use to nobody at present they might ha' used it up in mending some that only requires a 'arm 'ere or a leg there, or a 'ed and what not, to make 'em as good as ever. But ketch _them_ (_he means the Officials_) taking any extra trouble if they can help it!

HIS COMPANION. Ah, but yer see it ain't so easy fitting on bits that belonged to something different. You've got to look at it _that_ way.

THE P. M. _I_ don't see no difficulty about it. Why, any stonemason could cut down the odd pieces to fit well enough, and they wouldn't have such a neglected appearance as they do now.

_A Group has collected round a Gigantic Arm in red granite._

FIRST SIGHTSEER. There's a _arm_ for yer!

SECOND S. (_a humourist_). Yes; 'ow would yer like to 'ave _that_ come a punching your 'ed?

THIRD S. (_thoughtfully_). I expect they've put it up 'ere as a sarmple like.

THE MORALIZING MATRON. How it makes one realize that there were giants in those days!

HER FRIEND. But surely the size must be a _little_ exaggerated, don't you think? Oh, is _this_ the God Ptah?

[_The_ M. M. _says nothing, but clicks her tongue to express a grieved pity, after which she passes on_.

THE INTELLIGENT ARTISAN _and his_ FIANCEE _have entered the Nineveh Gallery, and are regarding an immense human-headed, winged bull_.

THE I. A. (_indulgently_). Rum-looking sort o' beast that 'ere.

FIANCEE. Ye-es--I wonder if it's a likeness of some animal they used to 'ave then?

THE I. A. I _did_ think you was wider than _that_!--it's only imaginative. What 'ud be the good o' wings to a bull?