call in a jury of "the Goldsmith's Company."

THE IMPERIAL SOCIALIST.

The French Gallery.—Oddly enough the French Gallery contains but a small proportion of French pictures. Possibly Mr. Wallis thinks it is not high-bred to appear too long in a French rôle—perhaps he fancies the public would get crusty or the critics might have him "on toast." Anyhow, he has taken French leave to do as he pleases, and the result is very satisfactory. He does not lose our Frenchship by the change. There are three remarkable pictures by Prof. Fritz Von Uhde, and two by Prof. Max Liebermann, which ought to make a sensation, and there is an excellent Munkacsy, besides a varied collection of foreign pictures.

Mr. Henry Blackburn, author of that annually useful work, Academy Notes, is announced to give lectures at Kensington Town Hall, April 13. One of his subjects, "Sketching in Sunshine," will be very interesting to a Londoner. First catch your sunshine: then sketch. Mr. Blackburn will be illuminated by oxy-hydrogen; he will thus appear as Mr. White-burn; so altogether a light entertainment.

AT THE "ZOO."

Arabella. "Oh, Aug—— Mr. Brown, let's go to the Apeiary. I think the Monkeys are such fun!"

[He did not Propose that afternoon!]

THE WAY TO THE TEMPLE.

Dear Mr. Punch,

Having been assured by a Phrenologist that my bump of locality is very highly developed, I attempted the other day—although a perfect stranger to London—to walk from Charing Cross to the Temple without inquiring the route. I had absolutely no assistance but a small map of Surbiton and the neighbourhood, from which I had calculated the general lie of the country, and a plain, ordinary compass, which I had bought cheap because it had lost its pointer. I am not sure that the route I took was the most direct. But when, after several hours' walk, I found myself at Willesden Junction, I was assured by a boy in the district, whom I asked, that I could not possibly have gone straighter. He advised me to take a ticket at once for Chalk Farm, as I still had some way to go, and said that he thought I might have to change at Battersea. He was a nice, bright little boy, and laughed quite merrily.

I have now been at Willesden Junction for eighteen hours, and I have not yet secured a train for Chalk Farm. There have been several, but they have always gone from the platform which I had just left. So I have camped out on the 101th platform, and I intend to stop there till a train for Chalk Farm comes in. Of course the porters have remonstrated, and tried to explain where and when the train really does start. But I would sooner trust my natural instincts than any porter. That bright little boy has been twice to see how I am getting on. He brought two other boys last time. They all told me to stick to it, and seemed much amused—probably at the stupidity of those porters. But really, Mr. Punch, Willesden Junction ought to be simplified. It may be all very well for me, with a phrenological aptitude for this sort of thing; but these different levels, platforms, and stairs must be very puzzling to less gifted people, such as the green young man from the country.

But the last suggestion which I have to make is the most important. There ought to be a great many more doors into the refreshment-room, and only one door out of it. I lost the thirteenth train for Chalk Farm by going out of the wrong door. One door out would be ample, and it should certainly be made—by an easy arrangement of pivots and pneumatic pressure—to open straight into the train