"There is much, sir. There is the Tube of the Four Halfpennies, tutto all' inglese, as at London. He is on the arches of steel below the news streets. There is the bridge from the city to Murano, one span of steel all covered of stone much thin, as the Ponte della Torre, the Bridge of the Tower, at London. Is marvellous, the our bridge! Is one bridge, and not of less not appear to be one bridge, but one castle of the middle age in the middle air. È bellissimo, e anche tutto all' inglese. And then——"
"Stop," cried the Englishman. "Does anybody ever come to your city now? Any artists, for instance?"
"Ah, no, sir! Pittori, scultori, perche? But there are voyagers some time. The month past all the Society of the Engineers of Japan are comed, and the hotels were fulls, and all those sirs were much contenteds and sayed the city was marvellous. She shall go now, sir, to visit the bridge?"
"No," said the Englishman, emphatically, "not I! Let me pay my bill here and your fee, whatever it is, and take me back to the railway station as fast as you can. There are plenty of bridges in London. I am going back there."
At Brussels.—Mrs. Trickleby (pointing to announcement in grocer's window, and spelling it out).
Jambon d' Yorck. What's that mean, Mr. T.?
Mr. T. (who is by way of being a linguist). Why, good Yorkshire preserves, of course. What did you suppose it was—Dundee marmalade?