Ethel (suggestively).  But, I suppose, Uncle, they wouldn’t eat one another if they had anyone 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 cast 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—­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 hairylight 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!