xhibition appeared a few yards off, that took away Mr. Punch's
audience, to the great dissatisfaction of that gentleman. This was an
exhibition called the Fantoccini, and far superior to any of the street
performances which I have yet seen. The curtain rose and displayed a
beautiful theatre in miniature, and most gorgeously painted. The organ
which accompanied it struck up a hornpipe, and a sailor, dressed in his
blue jacket, made his appearance and commenced keeping time with the
utmost correctness. This figure was not so long as Mr. Punch, but much
better looking. At the close of the hornpipe the little sailor made a
bow, and tripped off, apparently conscious of having deserved the
undivided applause of the bystanders. The curtain dropped; but in two
or three minutes it was again up, and a rope was discovered, extended on
two cross pieces, for dancing upon. The tune was changed to an air, in
which the time was marked, a graceful figure appeared, jumped upon the
rope with its balance pole, and displayed all the manoeuvres of an
expert performer on the tight rope. Many who would turn away in disgust
from Mr. Punch, will stand for hours and look at the performances of the
Fantoccini. If people, like the Vicar of Wakefield, will sometimes
"allow themselves to be happy," they can hardly fail to have a hearty
laugh at the drolleries of the Fantoccini. There may be degrees of
absurdity in the manner of wasting our time, but there is an evident
affectation in decrying these humble and innocent exhibitions, by those
who will sit till two or three in the morning to witness a pantomime at
a theatre-royal.

* * * * *

An autumn sun shone brightly through a remarkably transparent atmosphere
this morning, which was a most striking contrast to the weather we have
had during the past three days; and I again set out to see some of the
lions of the city, commencing with the Tower of London. Every American,
on returning home from a visit to the old world, speaks with pride of
the places he saw while in Europe; and of the many resorts of interest
he has read of, few have made a more lasting impression upon his memory
than the Tower of London. The stories of the imprisoning of kings, and
queens, the murdering of princes, the torturing of men and women,
without regard to birth, education, or station, and of the burning and
rebuilding of the old pile, have all sunk deep into his heart. A walk of
twenty minute