BOODELER, writes he's having a real lovely time in the
Engadine--says it's the most elegant locality he's struck yet, and
just as full of Amurrcans as it can hold; so we're going to start out
there right away. I don't believe we shall have time for Nuremberg
this trip. Father, if we're going to see about checking the baggage
through, we'd better go down to the _depot_ right now. [_They pass
on._

_Culch._ (_with a very blank face and a feeble whistle_).
Few-fitty-fitty-fitty-fa-di-fee-fee-foo; few--After all, PODBURY, I
don't know that I care so much about Nuremberg. They--they say it's a
good deal changed from what it was.

_Podb._ So are _you_, old chap, if it comes to that.
Tiddledy-iddlety-ido-lumpty-doodle-oo! Is it to be Constance after
all, then?

_Culch._ (_reddening_). Er--I rather thought of the Engadine--more
_bracing_, eh?--few-feedle-eedle-oodle--

_Podb._ You artful old whistling oyster, _I_ see what you're up to!
But it's no go; she don't want either of us Engadining about after
her. It's CHARLEY VAN STICKINTHEMUD's turn now! We've got to go to
Nuremberg. You can't get out of it, after gassing so much about the
place. When you've once decided, you know, it's _final_!

_Culch._ (_with dignity_). I am not aware that I _wanted_ to get out
of it. I merely proposed in your--(PODBURY _suddenly explodes._) What
are you cackling at _now_?

_Podb._ (_wiping his eyes_). It's the last laugh, old man,--and it's
the best!

[_CULCHARD walks away rapidly, leaving PODBURY in solitary
enjoyment of the joke. PODBURY's mirth immediately subsides
into gravity, and he kicks several unoffending chairs with
quite uncalled-for brutality._

* * * * *

A "KNOT"ICAL STORY OF DRURY LANE.

(_TOLD BY OUR AGED SALT, WITH A TASTE FOR THE DIBDIN DRAMA._)

[Illustration: "A Sailor Knot"--not a Sailor.]

[Illustration: Losing their heads on board the _Dauntless_.]

What, not remember it! Not the scene on Wapping Old Stairs and Mr.
CHARLES GLENNEY in the Merchant Service, and Miss MILLWARD the Ward of
Count GURNEY DELAUNAY! Not remember all that! Not recollect the pretty
set with the River, the boat-house, and the figure-heads! Ah, tell it
to the Marines! Not that they would believe you! I remember it, and a
good deal more. Now it came about in this way. You see Miss MILLWARD
thought that Lieutenant CHARLES WARNER, R.N.--"her sweetheart as a
boy"--was dead, and, like a sensibl