_A._ Well, yes, in a small way. _Q._ Then what are you called? May I put down an archbishop, or a Lord Chief Justice, or a Prime Minister? _A._ No, neither. I do not aspire to be a person of so much importance. _Q._ Then what are you? _A._ Why, merely a dentist! * * * * * At the Fancy Ball. "Do look at that huge woman dancing with Uncle BOB. What is she? A Quakeress?" "H'm! rather an Earth-quakeress, I should fancy!" * * * * * FIRST IMPRESSIONS. _En Route to the Mediterranean._--I am alone, until a Frenchman and his young wife come in and glare at me, presumably because I am already there. The ordinary honeymoon couple anywhere are supercilious enough, and a French honeymoon couple perhaps more so. If you gaze absently at the back of Madame's hat, when you are looking at the mountains beyond Madame's head, Monsieur glares at you with the concentrated fury of an angry menagerie. But a French couple, travelling in Italy, which loves the Triple Alliance, develope an air of superciliousness quite unapproached; and when their solitude is invaded by an Englishman, a native of the country which occupies Egypt, thousand thunders, it is too strong! So these two whisper together, and look out of one window, while I look out of the other, at Viareggio, and the distant Carrara quarries and other sights. All interesting and beautiful, no doubt, but not to be compared to what I shall see beyond Spezia. Think of the blue sea, the glorious hills, the olive woods, the Italian fishing villages, the orange groves, the gardens and the flowers. Rather better than that English coast which Londoners know so well, the seashore at Brighton, probably the ugliest in the world, with the most unpicturesque town stretching along it. Of course, I shall not see everything from the train, but I shall at least have the recollection of an earthly paradise, to torment me ever after when travelling in the infernal regions of the Underground Railway. November in Genoa; November in Gower Street! Halloo, this is Spezia! Now then, look out. Oh, here's a tunnel first. Wait patiently till we are through the tunnel. By dim light of carriage-lamp perceive the French people glaring at me. This _is_ a long tunnel. But then at the end I shall see----Here is the end. Down with the window. There's the Mediter----Halloo! Another tunnel. Up with the window. At last this one is coming to an end. Down with the window again. Look out. There's the Medi----Halloo, another one! Up with the window again. French people still glare, but, it seems to me, more mildly. A fellow-feeling of suffocation, no doubt.