of the case, to throw more style into her monument!

Culch. (languidly). May not its very simplicity—er—attest the sincerity of their remorse?

Miss T. Do you attach any particular meaning to that observation now? (CULCHARD bites his lip.) I notice this tomb is full of visiting cards—my! but ain't that curious?

Culch. (instructively). It only shows that this place is not without its pathos and interest for most visitors, no matter what their nationality may be. You don't feel inclined yourself to—?

Miss T. To leave a pasteboard? Why I shouldn't sleep any all night, for fear she'd return my call!

Culch. (producing a note-book). It's fanciful, perhaps but, if you don't mind waiting a little, I should like to contribute—not my card, but a sonnet. I feel one on its way.

Bob P. Better make sure the tomb's genuine first, hadn't you? Some say it isn't.

Culch. (exasperated). I knew you'd make some matter-of-fact remark of that kind! There—it's no use! Let us go.

Miss T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hope JULIET won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail those verses on to her later.

[She and BOB P. pass on, laughing.

Culch. (following). She only affects this vulgar flippancy to torment me. If I didn't know that—There, I've left that infernal pot behind now!

[Goes back for it, wrathfully.

In the Amphitheatre; Miss PRENDERGAST, PODBURY, and VAN BOODELER, are seated on an upper tier.

Podb. (meditatively). I suppose they charged highest for the lowest seats. Wonder whether a lion ever nipped up and helped himself to some fat old buffer in the Stalls when the martyrs turned out a leaner lot than usual!

Van. B. There's an ingenuous modernity about our friend's historical speculations that is highly refreshing.

Miss P. There is, indeed—though he might have spared himself and us the trouble of them if he had only remembered that the podium was invariably protected by a railing, and occasionally by euripi, or trenches. You surely learnt that at school. Mr. PODBURY?

Podb. I—I daresay. Forgotten all I learnt at school, you know!

Van. B. I should infer now, from that statement, that you enjoyed the advantages of a pretty liberal education?

Podb. If that's meant to be cutting. I should save it up for that novel of yours; it may seem smart—there!

Miss P. Really, Mr. PODBURY, if you choose to resent a playful remark in that manner, you had better go away.

Podb. Perhaps I had. (Rises, and moves off huffily). D—— his playfulness! 'Pon my word, poor old CULCHARD was nothing to that beggar! And she backs him up! But there—it's all part of my probation! (Here CULCHARD suddenly appears, laden with burdens.) Hullo! are you moving, or what?

Culch. I am merely carrying a few things for Miss TROTTER. (Drops the copper pot, which bounds down into the arena.) Dash the thing!... (Returning with it.) It's natural that, in my position, I should have these—er—privileges. (He trips over a blanket.) Conf—Have you happened to see Miss TROTTER about, by the way?

Podb. Fancy I saw her down below just now—with BOB. I expect they're walking round under the arches.

Culch. Just so. Do you know, PODBURY, I almost think I'll go down and find her. I—I'm curious to hear what her impressions of a place like this are. Such a scene, you know,—so full of associations with—er—the splendours and cruelties of a corrupt past—must produce a powerful effect upon the fresh untutored mind of an American girl, eh?

Miss T.'s voice (distinctly from arena). I'd like ever so much to see Buffalo BILL run his Show in here—he'd just make this old circus hum!

Miss P.'s voice (indistinctly from topmost tier). Almost fancy it all.... Senators—equites—populus—pullati... yellow sunlight striking down through vellarium ... crimsoned sand ... mirmillo fleeing before secutor ... DIOCLETIAN himself, perhaps, lolling over there on cubiculum ... &c., &c., &c.

Culch. The place appears to excite Miss PRENDERGAST's enthusiasm, at all events! [Sighs.

Podb. Rath-er! But then she's no end of a classical swell, you know! [Sighs.

Culch. (putting his arm through PODBURY's.) Ah, well, my dear PODBURY, one mustn't expect too much, must one?)

Podb. I don't, old chap—only I'm afraid she does. Suppose we toddle back to the hotel, eh? Getting near table d'hôte time.

[They go out arm-in-arm.

'ARRY IN ROME AND LONDON.

A kind Correspondent calls Mr. Punch's attention to the fact that 'ARRY the Ubiquitous crops up even in the Classics, as ARRIUS, in fact, in Carmen lxxxiv. of CATULLUS. How proud 'ARRY will be to hear of his classical prototype! Our Correspondent "dropping into verse," exclaims:—

'Arry the Classic in his Swell Toga-ry

How well he is justified may be seen by a glance at the text of CATULLUS:—

DE ARRIO.

Which—for the benefit of 'ARRY himself, who is not perhaps familiar with the "Lingo Roruano"—though he may know something of a "Romano" dear to certain young sportsmen, though not dearer to them than other caterers,—may thus be very freely adapted:—

FREDERICK THE GREAT AT BURLINGTON HOUSE.—"Bravo, Sir President of the Royal Academy!" says Mr. Punch, U.P.B.B., enthusiastically; "a splendid lecture, Sir, that of yours last Thursday, given to the architectural and other Academical students. who, acting upon your advice, should be each one the architect of his own fortune. Your sharply dashed-off portrait of The Grand Monarque, the 'Roi Soleil, majestic in the many-storey'd wig,'—the King being built up quite mon-architecturally,—'which encircled his retreating brow,' was masterly. More power to your elbow, Sir FREDERICK—that is, if you require it. Mr. Punch, Universal President of Brother Brushes, fraternally and cordially