aughs follow, well, so much the better.

The afternoon passed rapidly, and the studio became darker and darker.
Venus on the coal-box looked quite ghostly, and a lay figure in the far
corner was not calculated to comfort the nervously-inclined when amongst
the "props" of an artist's studio. "Buzzy" merrily rushed in and
announced dinner, and "Bogie" jumped up and barked his raptures at the
word. "Bogie" knew it meant scraps. Mrs. Furniss and the children met us
at the dining-room door. The youngsters' faces were as solemn as the
Court of Queen's Bench. Little Lawrence looked up at me very demurely,
the others waiting anxiously.

"Please could you tell us what a spiral staircase is?" he asked.

A dead silence.

"Oh!" I answered, anxious to show a superior knowledge of these
peculiarly constructed "ups and downs," "It's--it's--it's one of those
twirley-whirley"--here I illustrated my meaning by twirling my finger
round and round.

A shout of laughter went up.

If the reader will try this little joke on a score of people, by the
time the twentieth is arrived at he will then discover why the happiest
quartette of youngsters in the immediate vicinity of Primrose Hill
laughed so gaily.

Then we all went in to dinner. How well the shirt-cuff story went down
with the soup.

"Pellegrini," said the artist, "used to remark somewhat sarcastically to
his brother artists: 'Ah, you fellows are always making sketches. I
carry all mine here--here in my brain!' Pellegrini wore very big cuffs.
He made his sketches on them. Until this came out we thought his linen
always dirty!"

[Illustration: BALLYHOOLY, M.P., GETS EXCITED.]

Then Burnand came on with the beef. The two fellow-workers on
_Punch_--Mr. Burnand and Mr. Furniss--run pretty level in their ideas. A
happy thought is often suggested to both of them through reading the
same paragraph in a newspaper, and they cross in the post. We spoke of
_Punch's_ Grand Old Man--John Tenniel--of clever E. J. Milliken, whose
really wonderful work is yet but little known. Mr. Milliken wrote
"Childe Chappie"--and is "'Arry." Of Linley Sambourne, whom Mr. Furniss
once saw walking down Bond Street, and had the strange intuition that he
was the artist, connecting his work, and walk, and bearing together. He
had never seen or spoken to him before. Charles Keene's name was
mentioned. It was always the hardest matter to get Keene to make a
speech. He far preferred the famous stump of a pipe t