Visitors, when audibly perusing their Catalogue, are sometimes a source of entertainment to others who overhear them, owing to the curious mistakes they make. One day a jolly-looking countryman came to a standstill before the figure of Henry IV of France, described in our Catalogue as “Henri Quatre.” “’Enry Carter,” said he; “’oo did ’e kill?” and, finding the gentleman in question innocent of murder, he turned away with a disappointed expression, but evidently with a fixed determination to discover a genuine criminal somewhere else. Not only children, but also their elders, constantly mistake the policeman, the programme-seller, and the sleeping attendant for living people; but few children are so simple as the little maiden who, glancing awestruck down the long array of very lifelike effigies of good, bad, and indifferent individuals, asked her mother in a whisper how they were killed before being stuffed. One day a lady was explaining the different groups to her young nephew. Pointing to one, she said, “Freddy, this is the Transvaal crisis. Here are President Kruger, Mr. Cecil Rhodes, and Dr. Jameson; all those people are alive.” Indicating the next group, she said, “This is the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots; all these people are dead.” “I do not see any difference between the live ones and the dead ones,” replied the young hopeful to his auntie, assuming a puzzled expression. There is no accounting for the actions of children. Several youngsters, for instance, have been observed slyly pinching the figures to see if any were alive. The story is also told of a small girl who, when asked what she had done with her sweets, replied that she had given them to the baby in the cradle--Prince Edward of Wales. A child was lost, and found concealed behind the figure of the Sleeping Beauty, trying to discover the mechanism that makes Madame St. Amaranthe’s bosom rise and fall. Of children’s stories there is no end at Madame Tussaud’s. Sir Ernest Shackleton once told some amusing stories at a dinner of the Alpine Ski Club. He said his own small boy was terribly bored with expedition talk. He told his mother that he wanted to hear of something really exciting. “I don’t want to know anything more about papa,” he declared; “tell me about the baby who was drowned in his bath.” Was the boy thinking of Marat, the evil genius of the French Revolution, whom Charlotte Corday stabbed at his ablutions? Sir Ernest said that his wife and son had recently been to see his model at Madame Tussaud’s, but the child took more interest in General Tom Thumb sitting on the palm of the Russian giant’s hand than he did in the portrait of his father. “Two ladies,” the explorer said, “were standing by my figure, and the younger one observed, ‘That’s Latham, the airman.’ “‘No,’ replied the other, ‘that is not Latham; it is the man, you know, who went to the North Pole.’