_Culch._ (_on a seat commanding a panorama of roofs, gables, turrets, and spires_). Now this is a thing that can only be properly enjoyed when one is by oneself. The mere presence of PODBURY--well, thank goodness, he's found more congenial company. (_He sighs._) That looks, like an English girl sketching on the next seat. Rather a fine profile, so regular--general air of repose about her. Singular, now I think of it, how little repose there is about MAUD. (The Young Lady _rises and walks to the parapet._) Dear me, she has left her india-rubber behind her. I really think I ought-- (_He rescues the india-rubber, which he restores to the owner._) Am I mistaken in supposing that this piece of india-rubber is your property? _The Y.L._ (_in musically precise tones_). Your supposition is perfectly correct. I was under the impression that it would be safe where it was for a few moments; but I am obliged to you, nevertheless. I find india-rubber quite indispensable in sketching. _Culch._ I can quite understand that. I--I mean that it reduces the--er--paralysing sense of irrevocability. _The Y.L._ You express my own meaning exactly. [_CULCHARD, not being quite sure of his own, is proportionately pleased._ _Culch._ You nave chosen an inspiring scene, rich with historical interest. _The Y.L._ (_enthusiastically_). Yes, indeed. What names rise to one's mind instinctively MELANCHTHON, JOHN HUSS, KRAFT, and PETER VISCHER, and DÜRER, and WOHLGEMUT, and MAXIMILIAN THE FIRST, and LOUIS OF BAVARIA! _Culch._ (_who has read up the local history, and does not intend to be beaten at this game_). Precisely. And the imperious MARGRAVE OF BRANDENBURG, and WALLENSTEIN; and GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, and GOETZ VON BERLICHINGEN. One can almost see their--er--picturesque personalities still haunting the narrow streets as we look down. _The Y.L._ I find it impossible to distinguish even the streets from here, I confess, but you probably see with the imagination of an artist. _Are_ you one by any chance? _Culch._ Only in words; that is, I record my impressions in a poetic form. A perfect sonnet may render a scene, a mood, a passing thought, more indelibly than the most finished sketch; may it not? _The Y.L._ That is quite true; indeed, I occasionally relieve my feelings by the composition of Greek or Latin verses, which I find, on the whole, better adapted to express the subtler emotions. Don't you agree with me there? _Culch._ (_who has done no Greek or Latin verse since he left school_). Doubtless. But I am hindering your sketch? _The Y.L._ No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general effect. I shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going now. I hope the genius of the place will inspire you.