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 FIANCÉE—reading from pedestal). "Part of a group of As—Astrala—no, Astraga—lizontes"—that's what they are, yer see.

FiancÉe. 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.

FiancÉe. 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."

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

The I. A. 'Ed of Ariadne.

FiancÉe (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!

FiancÉe. 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!

FiancÉe. 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 FiancÉe 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.

FiancÉe. 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?

FiancÉe (on her defence). You think you know so much—but it's got a man's 'ed, ain't it? and I know there used to be 'orses with 'alf a man where the 'ed ought to be, because I've seen their pictures—so there!

The I. A. I dunno what you've got where your 'ed ought to be, torking such rot!

IN THE UPPER GALLERIES; ETHNOGRAPHICAL COLLECTION.

The Grim Governess (directing a scared small boy's attention to a particularly hideous mask). See, Henry, that's the kind of mask worn by savages!

Henry. Always—or only on the fifth of November, Miss Goole?

[He records a mental vow never to visit a Savage Island on Guy Fawkes's Day, and makes a prolonged study of the mask, with a view to future nightmares.

A Kind, but Dense Uncle (to Niece). All these curious things were made by cannibals, Ethel—savages who eat one another, you know.

Ethel (suggestively). But, I suppose, Uncle, they wouldn't eat one another if they had any one to give them buns, would they?

[Her Uncle discusses the suggestion elaborately, but without appreciating the hint; the Governess has caught sight of a huge and hideous Hawaiian Idol, with a furry orange-coloured head, big mother-o'-pearl eyes, with black balls for the pupils, and a grinning mouth picked out with shark's teeth, to which she introduces the horrified Henry.

Miss Goole. Now, Henry, you see the kind of idol the poor savages say their prayers to.

Harry (tremulously). But n—not just before they go to bed, do they, Miss Goole?

AMONG THE MUMMIES.

The Uncle. That's King Rameses' mummy, Ethel.

Ethel. And what was her name, Uncle?

The Governess (halting before a case containing a partially unrolled mummy, the spine and thigh of which are exposed to view). Fancy, Henry, that's part of an Egyptian who has been dead for thousands of years! Why, you're not frightened, are you?

Harry (shaking). No, I'm not frightened, Miss Goole—only if you don't mind, I—I'd rather see a gentleman not quite so dead. And there's one over there with a gold face and glass eyes, and he looked at me, and—please, I don't think this is the place to bring such a little boy as me to!

A Party is examining a Case of Mummied Animals.

The Leader. Here you are, you see, mummy cats—don't they look comical all stuck up in a row there?

First Woman. Dear, dear—to think o' going to all that expense when they might have had 'em stuffed on a cushion! And monkeys, and dogs too—well, I'm sure, fancy that now!

Second Woman. And there's a mummied crocodile down there. I don't see what they'd want with a mummy crocodile, do you?

The Leader (with an air of perfect comprehension of Egyptian customs). Well, you see they took whatever they could get 'old of, they did.

IN THE PREHISTORIC GALLERY.

Old Lady (to Policeman) Oh, Policeman, can you tell me if there's any article here that's supposed to have belonged to Adam?

Policeman (a wag in his way). Well, Mum, we 'ave 'ad the 'andle of his spade, and the brim of his garden 'at, but they wore out last year and 'ad to be thrown away—things won't last for ever—even 'ere, you know.

GOING OUT.

A Peevish Old Man. I ain't seen anything to call worth seeing, I ain't. In our Museum at 'ome they've a lamb with six legs, and hairy-light stones as big as cannon-balls; but there ain't none of that sort 'ere, and I'm dog-tired trapesing over these boards, I am!

His Daughter (a candid person). Ah, I ought to ha' known it warn't much good taking you out to enjoy yourself—you're too old, you are!

Ethel's Uncle (cheerily). Well, Ethel, I think we've seen all there is to be seen, eh?

Ethel. There's one room we haven't been into yet, Uncle, dear.

Uncle. Ha—and what's that?

Ethel (persuasively). The Refreshment Room.

[The hint is accepted at last.