Such are BOSCH'S valuable and instructive comments, to which, as representing SANDFORD and MERTON, I listen with depressed docility. All the same, can't help coming to the conclusion that Art is _not_ BOSCH'S strong point. Shall come here again--alone. We go on to the Municipal Museum, where he shows me what _he_ considers the treasures of the collection--a glass goblet, engraved "mit dails of tobaggo bipes," and the pipes themselves; a painting of a rose, "mit ade beople's faces in de leafs;" and a drawing of "two pirts mit only von foots." Outside again. BOSCH shows me a house. "Lokeer. In dot house leef an oldt lady all mit herself and ade sairvans. She com from Friesland, yassir." Really, I think BOSCH is going to be interesting--at last. There is a sly twinkle in his eye, denoting some story of a scandalous but infinitely humorous nature. "Well, Bosch, go on--what about the old lady?" I ask eagerly, as MERTON. "Wol, Sir," says BOSCH, "she nefer go noveres."... That's _all_! "A devilish interesting story, _Sumph_, indeed!" to quote Mr. Wagg. But, as BOSCH frequently reminds me, "It vas pedder, you see, as a schendlemans like you go apout mit me; I dell you tings dot vas not in de guide-books." Which I am not in a position to deny. [Illustration] FEELING THEIR WAY. (A STUDY IN THE ART OF GENTEEL CONVERSATION.) _The Drawing-room of a Margate Hotel. TIME--Evening. MRS. ARDLEIGH (of Balham), and MRS. ALLBUTT (of Brondesbury), are discovered in the midst of a conversation, in which each is anxious both to impress the other, and ascertain how far she is a person to be cultivated. At present, they have not got beyond the discovery of a common bond in Cookery._ MRS. ALLBUTT. You have the yolks of two eggs, I must tell you; squeeze the juice of half a lemon into it, and, when you boil the butter in the pan, make a paste of it with _dry_ flour. MRS. ARDLEIGH. It sounds delicious--but you never can trust a Cook to carry out instructions exactly. MRS. ALL. I never _do_. Whenever I want to have anything specially nice for my husband, I make a point of seeing to it myself. He appreciates it. Now _some_ men, if you cook for them, never notice whether it's you or the Cook. My husband _does_. MRS. ARD. I wonder how you find time to do it. I'm sure _I_ should never---- MRS. ALL. Oh, it takes time, of course--but what does that matter when you've nothing to do? Did I mention just a small pinch of Cayenne pepper?--because that's a _great_ improvement! MRS. ARD. I tell you what I like Cayenne pepper with, better than anything--and that's eggs. MRS. ALL. (_with elegant languor_). I hardly ever eat an egg. Oysters, now, I'm _very_ fond of--_fried_, that is. MRS. ARD. They're very nice done in the real shells. Or on scollops. We have silver--or rather--(_with a magnanimous impulse to tone down her splendour_), silver-plated ones.