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 of some sort.

An Intelligent Artisan (out for the day with his Fiancee—­reading from pedestal).  “Part of a group of As-Astrala—­no, As_traga_—­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 daresay 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 I.A. (with ungallant candour).  ’Ark at you!  Why, you ain’t much more sense nor a chiny dog yourself!

Moralising 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 someone 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.