s this morning through the old Pantechnicon in
twenty-two and a half seconds, which, for fair heel-and-toe walking, I
consider very creditable. B. took five-eighths of a second longer for
the same distance; but then he dawdled to look at a Raphael.

The "Pantechnicon," I should explain, is the name we have, for our own
purposes, given to what the Munichers prefer to call the Pinakothek. We
could never pronounce Pinakothek properly. We called it "Pynniosec,"
"Pintactec," and the "Happy Tack." B. one day after dinner called it the
"Penny Cock," and then we both got frightened, and agreed to fix up some
sensible, practical name for it before any mischief was done. We finally
decided on "Pantechnicon," which begins with a "P," and is a dignified,
old-established name, and one that we can both pronounce. It is quite as
long, and nearly as difficult to spell, before you know how, as the
other, added to which it has a homely sound. It seemed to be the very
word.

The old Pantechnicon is devoted to the works of the old masters; I shall
not say anything about these, as I do not wish to disturb in any way the
critical opinion that Europe has already formed concerning them. I
prefer that the art schools of the world should judge for themselves in
the matter. I will merely remark here, for purposes of reference, that I
thought some of the pictures very beautiful, and that others I did not
care for.

What struck me as most curious about the exhibition was the number of
canvases dealing with food stuffs. Twenty-five per cent. of the pictures
in the place seem to have been painted as advertisements for somebody's
home-grown seeds, or as coloured supplements to be given away with the
summer number of the leading gardening journal of the period.

"What could have induced these old fellows," I said to B., "to choose
such very uninteresting subjects? Who on earth cares to look at the
life-sized portrait of a cabbage and a peck of peas, or at these no doubt
masterly representations of a cut from the joint with bread and
vegetables? Look at that 'View in a ham-and-beef shop,' No. 7063, size
sixty feet by forty. It must have taken the artist a couple of years to
paint. Who did he expect was going to buy it? And that Christmas-hamper
scene over in the corner; was it painted, do you think, by some poor,
half-starved devil, who thought he would have something to eat in the
house, if it were only a picture of it?"

B. said he