I scored off Pellegrini on another occasion, much to his amusement. Weldon, "Norroy King at Arms," invited us to dine with him to meet Sandys the artist, who did not turn up. Pellegrini, who had a habit of sleeping after meals, partook of the excellent dinner, and then, taking a cigar and the most comfortable armchair, sank into a profound slumber, punctuated by violent snores. Weldon and I after attempting conversation, exchanged looks rather glumly across his sleeping body, when Weldon had an inspiration. "I say, Ward," he exclaimed, "here's an opportunity, we may as well do something to amuse ourselves--do take a pencil and draw him!" So I drew the caricaturist, who, waking presently from his slumbers, was immensely tickled by my sketch, and wrote across the corner "approved by C. P." The drawing now hangs in the Beefsteak Club. Another episode _à propos_ of Carlo's slumbers occurred in there. I must mention first of all an extraordinary accomplishment of Pellegrini's, which I do not remember ever having noticed in any other man--the habit of retaining a cigar in his mouth while he slept and snored. One day as he slept by the fire I watched him drawing in his breath and letting it go in his usual queer fashion ... when the cigar fell out of his mouth! Feeling that a substitute was needed, I, in a spirit of curiosity, replaced it by a cork; the indrawing and expanding continued as before; then he snored--- once--twice--thrice; and suddenly the cork shot out, and, making a noise like a pop-gun, flew with considerable force into the fire. Pleased with my experiment, I rescued it, but it was rather too burnt to replace. Then an irresistible piece of devilry made me dab the tip of his nose with it. Stirring in his sleep, he brushed his face with his hand with the action of one who brushes away a fly. I made another little dab in a carefully chosen spot, with the same result. The men sitting at the other end of the room began to giggle, and the caricaturist in burnt cork began to grow interesting. Presently Carlo awoke, stretched, and giving his face a final rub, stood up, accompanied by a roar of laughter. Going to the nearest glass, Pellegrini saw his comic reflection. [Illustration: PELLEGRINI ASLEEP.] [Illustration: _A looker-on at Wimbledon Common during a Volunteer Review, 1867_.] [Illustration: _A Ballet Dancer, Manchester Theatre. ("The Ballet of Hens"), 1871_.] [Illustration: PELLEGRINI "APE." _"My fellow, what I care! I say to 'im, 'you go to----'_] "Oh!" he said, dramatically, "I do not accept apologize--you no longer remain member 'ere!--write to the Committee--most unclubbable that--you wait ... we shall see!" I tried to pacify him, but he waved me aside. The next morning he wrote me the following letter:-- Studio, 53, Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square. DEAR LESLIE,