Her Comp. (apathetically).  Yes, indeed; I wonder whether it would be better to get our tea here, or wait till we get outside?

The Eld.  L. Oh, it’s too early yet.  Look at that poor hunted stag jumping over a dining-room table, and upsetting the glasses and things.  I suppose that’s LANDSEER—­no, I see it’s some one of the name of SNYDERS.  I expect he got the idea from LANDSEER, though, don’t you?

Her Comp. Very likely indeed, dear; but (pursuing her original train of thought) you get rather nice tea at some of these aerated bread-shops; so perhaps if we waited—­(_&c., &c._)

IN GALLERY NO.  III.

Two Pretty Nieces with an Elderly Uncle (coming to “Apollo and Marsyas,” by Tintoretto).  What was the story of Apollo and Marsyas, Uncle?

The Uncle.  Apollo?  Oh, come, you’ve heard of him, the—­er—­Sun-God, Phoebus-Apollo, and all that?

His Nieces.  Oh, yes, we know all that; but who was Marsyas, and what does the Catalogue mean by “Athena and three Umpires?”

The Uncle.  Oh—­er—­hum!  Didn’t they teach you all that at school?  Well they ought to have, that’s all?  Where’s your Aunt—­where’s your Aunt?

Mr. Ernest Stodgely (before the Portrait of the Marchesa Isabella Grimaldi).  There, FLOSSIE, don’t you feel the greatness of that now?  I’m curious to know how it impresses you!

Miss Featherhead.  Well, I rather like her frock, ERNEST. How funny to think aigrettes were worn so long ago, when they’ve just gone out again, don’t you know.  It must have been difficult to kiss a person across one of those enormous ruffs, though, don’t you think?

IN GALLERY NO.  IV.

Mr. Schohorff (loudly).  Ah, that’s a picture I know well; seen it many a time in the Octagon Boudoir at dear old HATCHMENT’s.  But it looks better lighted up.  I remember the last time I was down there they told me they’d been asked to lend it, but the Countess didn’t seem to think (_&c., &c._).

Mrs. Frivell (before “Death of Dido,” by Liberale da Verona).  Why is she standing on that pile of furniture in the courtyard, though?

Mr. F. Because AEneas had jilted her, and so she stabbed herself on a funeral pyre after setting fire to it, you see.

Mrs. F. (disapprovingly).  How very odd.  I thought they only did that in India.  But who are all those people looking-on?

Mr. F. Smart people of the period, my dear.  Of course Dido would send out invitations for a big function like that—­Wind-up of the season—­Farewell Reception—­sure to be a tremendous rush for cards.  Notice the evident enjoyment of the guests.  They are depicted in the act of remarking to one another that their hostess is doing all in her power to make the thing go off well.  Keen observer of human nature, old LIBERALE!