in shape and size, and tinted with a delicate
pink, yet with a tint of suffering and faint lines
of pain. Such as have travelled so far as an
Eternal City, detect a likeness to the famous
Cenci picture. Hark! All her simple story,
detailed by the golden-haired lady— in so musical
a voice— so graphically, yet so sadly, that we all
(junior barristerial element) there and then enrol
ourselves as her knights, and are prepared to do
something frantic on the first opportunity.
Letters? That thick octavo volume contains all
those documents, printed and set out for the
common use of counsel. Such tenderness— such
wit— such graceful womanly style— such playful
dallying with her subjects! Privately, we class
them with Lady Mary's or the ingenious French
lady's; but we may be biased. Those more
touching passages, where she pleads against
that desertion which she has an instinct is
overshadowing, wring our very hearts. We think it
no shame that rough impetuous Brightside,
reading them aloud, should have that huskiness
in his throat, that unusual break in his voice;
or that gentle-hearted Rhadamanthus-in-Chief,
high in his green pavilion, should be obstreperously
busy with his handkerchief. Elderly barristerial
element, past such things now, shows
signs of weakness and shake heads mournfully.
It is very sad. We are all verging upon
dotage. The golden-haired lady in the box is
fast turning us into fools.

Suddenly, an anxious " Hush! hush!" sibilates
like a gale of wind down the sides of the
vale, as White Whisker rises in his legal well to
perform his work. He has his probes and scalpels,
we know well, up his sleeve. How we
tremble for her— how we sympathise! But
White Whisker is all velvet-fingered at first,
quite tame and smooth and almost encouraging—
which we dread more than all, for we know it to
be his craft. He is anxious for a little information
purely innocent, a few dates, a residence
here and there, in short, has become quite a
polite and insinuating White Whisker. Artful
White Whisker! I can see the large melancholy
eyes looking at him doubtfully, mistrustful of
his courtesies. He is only getting ready for his
spring. Dear lady be careful, be on your
guard, is telegraphed from a hundred barristerial
eyes. There! he has sprung, discharged
his crushing question, and she has shrunk back
into her corner a little scared. There again! If
she has not recovered herself, put by his thrust
in the neatest and most skilful way, and White
Whisker is flung upon his back, idly beating
the air with his paws!

A pause of a few seconds, while White
Whisker is lifted up by his friends, restored
with stimulants, encouraged, and comes on again
smiling. Ha! an unfair thrust, a foul blow!
Chivalrous Brightside has sprung up with a
bound, as though there was a coil of stiff wire
under his gown, and he had just flown out of
a box. White Whisker resents this interference,
flings himself upon him. Brightside rolls
out impetuous defiance, and in an instant both
have grappled and are struggling. The voice of
Rhadamanthus-in-Chief is heard through the
brawl, and with difficulty he parts the
combatants.

White Whisker comes up again, bleeding and
furious. We tremble. He pushes her fiercely
and with hard thrusts. No breathing time, no
artful oiliness. Slowly and surely he is winding
his net round and round her, entangling her
hopelessly. Now he presents his dilemma.
"Choose, madam, either horn!" See! She has
parted his net like a cobweb, has stepped lightly
and without injury between the horns, and has
walked forth free— flinging him, for this second
time, so triumphantly, that we must, we junior
barristerial element, in defiance of all judicious
control, burst into a rapturous round of applause.

White Whisker is positively frantic this time.
He will use his claws.

"Tell me," he begins, scornfully, " Miss—
Miss——"

Madame draws herself up proudly, withers
him with a look from the melancholy eyes.

"My name is not Miss, but Madame Innocence!"

Again we junior bar must forget the decencies
of the situation, and give her another
round for this. Rhadamanthus-in-Chief frowns
it down, even threatens, but we can see with
an affected harshness.

Once more is White Whisker coming on
craftily, irritated by failure repeated; he skilfully
touches on delicate passages of her life,
probing her searchingly, but having all his
insinuations flung back upon his own head.
Finally, utterly blinded, not seeing whither he is
going, he stumbles into a third fatal pitfal, and,
with a mad obstinacy, insists on knowing what
passed under seal of confession. Excited
barristerial element is transported at this outrage.
Packed bystanders in the passages enjoying the
luxury of a gratuitous Turkish bath, unclean
humanity in the galleries, all enter indignant
protest, and luckless White Whisker is swept
away in a storm of hisses, groans, and utter
execration. A deputation from unclean
humanity would like to come down and take White
Whisker into their hands once for all.
Rhadamanthus-in-Chief is indignant, and throws the
corner of his robe over Madame Innocence to
protect her. Finally, confounded, routed,
horse-hair rumpled, claws broken, White Whisker
sinks down into his legal well, while the golden-haired
Cenci retires, crowned with one parting
salvo of applause.

A few days' interval— for this dramatic
performance has spread itself over a span of nearly
a dozen days— and Major Mephistopheles has
appeared in the witness-box to tell his story.
A haughty supercilious fighting man, bearding
the hostile population who hem him in on all
sides, with a defiant scowl. Unclean humanity
in the galleries hunger and thirst to have him
away. Already they have fallen on some luckless
wight outside, whom they have mistaken for
Mephistopheles, and are hurrying him to a muddy
bath in the river, when he is rescued.
Mephistopheles is driven to bay, and will brave it