it as correct, and evidently feel increased respect for Rubens as capable-for an artist—­of driving a good bargain.  “Rubens baint him ven he vas seexteen,” which younger Briton considers “very creditable to him, too!” They inspect the High Altar, with more clucks, and inform one another, with the air of Protestants who are above prejudice, that it’s a marvellous piece o’ work, though, mind yer!  Sacristan points out holes underneath choir-stalls.  “De organ is blay over dere, and de mooshique he com out hier troo de ’oles, so all be beoples vas vender vere de schounds com from!” First Briton remarks to me that “That’s a rum start, and no mistake.”  I agree that it is a rum start.  I shall find myself clucking presently, I know!  “Haf you scheen yed de bortraits of GLATSHTONE and Lort BAGONSFELDT?” Sacristan asks us “...  ‘No?’ then I show you.”  He leads us up to the finial of one of the stalls, which is carved in the figure of a monk.  “Is not dat de Ole Grandt Man himself?” he asks, triumphantly.  Second Briton agrees “It’s a wonderful likeness, reelly.”  His Companion admits “They’ve got old GLADSTONE there to a t”—­but adds that “come to that, it might do for either of ’em.”  “Lort BAGONSFELDT” is opposite, but, as Sacristan observes, would be more like “if dey only vas gif him a leedle gurl on de vorehead.”  Next we are taken to the Retro-Choir and shown the “mosh gurious and peautiful bainting in de ole Cathedrale.  Schtand yust hier, Gentelmens, now you see him.  Beoples say, ’Oh, yais, ve know, yust a marble-garvings—­a baw releff!’ I dell you, nodings of de kindt.  All so flat as a biece of vite baper—­com close op.  Vat you tink?  Vonderful, hey?” Britons deeply impressed by this and other wonders, and inform Sacristan that their own Cathedrals “ain’t in it.”  “Look at the value of the things they’ve got ’ere, you know,” they say to me, clucking, and then depart, after asking Sacristan the nearest way to the Zoo.

At Table d’hote.—­Fellow-countrymen to the fore; both my immediate neighbours English, but neither shows any inclination to converse.  Rather glad of it; afternoon of Museums and Galleries instructive—­but exhausting.  Usual Chatty Clergyman at end of table, talking Guide-book intelligently; wife next him, ruminating in silence and dismally contemplating artificial plant in a plated pot in front of her.  It is a depressing object—­but why look at it?  Horror of two Sportsmen opposite on being offered snipe.  “Snipe now—­Great Scott!” they exclaim, “And ain’t they high too?” One helps himself to some, with a sense that being on the Continent makes all the difference.  But even his courage fails on being offered stewed apricots with it.  Close by a couple of Americans; a dry middle-aged man, and a talkative young fellow who informs him he was at Harvard.  Elder man listens to him with a grim and wooden forbearance.