effrontery, I offered to wait on the professor, to
ask him would he come down and meet the
deputation in the billiard-room? He was writing
when I entered—perhaps home to French friends,
poor man! and I recal his worried stare.
"Certainment not," he answered, bitterly.
"I shall not wait on dem. Let them comb
here if they have anything to say toe me." I
withdrew rather abashed, and reported my
reception. "Certainly," said Linton, with an easy
smile. "Let us gratify him in all reasonable
matters." And taking up the roll, tied neatly,
he led the way to the professor's room. The
poor Frenchman, still writing, looked round,
scared, I think, as the "deputation"
advanced: most members of the deputation
rather avoiding good front places. But Linton
stood forward calmly, and made a short speech.
We had ventured to embody, he said, a few of
our complaints in this document, and he hoped
we might ask him to take the trouble to lay it
before the proper authority. (How fine it was
to have this command of words!) With a
profound, almost sweet, bow, the roll was placed
in the professor's hand (in which he was
described as "a foreigner"), and we withdrew.

These demands created a storm in the House.
For a time we heard there was a question as to
whether we should withdraw our signatures or
retire from the college. But afterwards I
learned that it had caused intense amusement,
and many a hearty laugh.

The plays given by the "Gentlemen Epicureans"
were always on the last nights of the
season, and were looked forward to eagerly. The
acting was better, we being of more advanced
age; and the expenditure more lavish, we having
plenty of money. Looking through our
playbills, I find that the plays selected were mostly
of a special class—where there was a fine field
for brigands, and robbers, and crowds. This
was owing to the foreign element in our
constituency, who were necessarily driven into
pantomime. Delightful to me, and very far
back too, seems THE MILLER AND HIS MEN,
where there were plenty of "men" (foreigners)
who carried white sacks, and where there was a
good deal of firing, the smoke of which covered
many faults, and where there was a white mill,
which went round, and was blown up at the end.
A year or two later came THE CASTLE OF
ANDALUSIA, which exhausted our richest Spanish
dresses, and had its firing too, and brigands, and
a cave also; the brave Frenchmen came out
splendidly here, singing Dr. Arne's music
excellently, and such of them as were mere mute
brigands making natural comedy and melodrama
out of their walk and eyes. Nor must I pass by
the inimitable little Italian, who, with an imperfect
knowledge of our tongue, learned the whole
of the facetious Pedrillo's part in a style that
quite shamed us natives; for, besides being
"letter-perfect," he threw such infinite gusto
and grimace into the comic man-servant as to
receive all the honours of the night. A Master
I Have was redemanded twice, with rapture.

Our own particular Epicurean year was to be
marked with signal success. The play we selected
was THE IRON CHEST (we had a tremendous Sir
Edward Mortimer), in which was Storace's
good music, and again, plenty of robbers.
No one there had seen or heard of Box and
Cox; and we determined to bring that popular
farce out. Linton, the man of the world, was
Cox; the writer, still a low comedian of reputation,
was Box. It was a success, long after
remembered and talked of—perhaps because of
the practicable fireplace, admirably contrived,
on which the famous chop and bit of bacon
were cooked. The names of both plays were
kept dark, and there was much public speculation
as to what had been selected. I recal
a fresh, crisp, frosty night, the night before
our performance, when a daring band of us
descended by a ladder from our window, into
the broad open playground; all the doors had
been locked and made fast, so there was no
other way of accomplishing our dark deed.
There were two or three of us, and though the
process we chose was inconvenient, we revelled
in it. We had a pot of paste and some large
posters—struck off at a neighbouring town—
and these we affixed to every blank wall, "ball
alley," and convenient coigne of vantage. Early
next morning, when the mob came rushing out—
as it always did, for no apparent reason—to its
accustomed sports, you may be sure we were
all at our windows to see the effect. There
were crowds gathered about the posters, reading
with amazement and delight the following
astounding bill of fare:

THEATRE ROYAL, SAXONHURST.
GREAT ATTRACTION!
For One Night only!!
This Evening will be performed the Romantic
Drama of
THE IRON CHEST.
Characters by Messrs. Smith, Jones, Robinson,
Dumoulin, Nuñoz, Sebastiano, and Toussaint.
To conclude with
BOX AND COX.
Box . . . . . Mr. FitzCarter.
Cox . . . . . Mr. Linton.

AN ARTIFICIAL OCEAN.

As the steamer from Folkestone to Boulogne
nears the chalky outline of the French coast,
the traveller cannot well fail to notice a strange
craggy sharp-pointed looking affair, brown in hue,
and unlike anything he is familiar with—except
an iceberg, as represented in a travelling panorama,
supposing the ice to have been touched
over with red ochre. Appealing to the captain,
or the through railway guard, the said traveller
will be informed "it is the new aquarium
adjoining the Etablissement des Bains de Mer."

The exterior of this monster aquarium is by
no means pleasing to the eye, neither did it at
all impress the visitor who pens these notes, on
being entered. We gazed into sundry pits;
some had water in them; from others the tide had