of the panorama to a few ministers of
various denominations, in the lecture room of some up-town church.
Ministers, you know, are debarred by their profession from attending the
opera and theatres, and will catch at the chance to see a panorama for
nothing. In private life, they are capital people, as a class--I have
known several of them--and will willingly certify that the panorama is a
highly moral, instructive, and interesting exhibition. I think I can
rely on my persuasive powers for that much. These certificates I shall
print on my posters and handbills. They will draw moral audiences. Moral
audiences do not break furniture, &c., &c. Comprehend my line of
argument?"

"Perfectly," said Marcus; "and very ingenious, _as_ an argument."

"I thought you would like it. And now, to drop the subject, I want you
three fellows to come up to my rooms, No. 121, third floor, Bartholomew
Buildings, Broadway--you remember--and see this great work of art, early
next week."

"Is it nearly finished?" asked Marcus.

"Yes--in my mind's eye. That is the main thing. The painting has not yet
been begun. It will be a very simple matter. The canvas will be about
four hundred feet long. One half of it will be a dead level of yellow
paint, for desert; and the rest, perpendicular stripes of green paint,
for jungle. A good artist, with a whitewash brush and two tubsful of
paint, ought to do up the whole panorama in two days. The heads and
tails of animated life, the two small lakes, and a few other objects of
interest, such as the sun, the moon, birds flying in the air, &c., could
be put in afterward by an artist of higher grade. And, by the way, now I
think of it, I may as well open with a sunrise off Cape Guardafui, and a
distant view of the Straits of Babel Mandel, give a passing glance at
the sources of the Nile, which lie in that undiscovered region, a brief
glimpse at the Mountains of the Moon, and wind up with a splendid sunset
in the Bight of Benin. It--"

Mr. Tiffles's observations were cut short by the sudden entrance of Miss
Philomela Wilkeson. She shot rapidly into the room, but, when her eyes
rested on Mr. Tiffles, she recoiled with maiden modesty, and stepped
back as if to beat a retreat. Then, recovering her self-possession in a
small measure, she stepped forward again, and said, in the blandest of
tones, with just the least virgin coyness:

"I thought perhaps I had left my scissors here this afternoon."

Messrs. Wilkes