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Lord Flumm. Lady Flumm, this is Mr. Turnstile, whom you have so long wished to know. Mr. Turnstile,—Lady Flumm.

''Lady Flumm. The'' Mr. Turnstile. My dear sir, I am too happy to see you. We had just been speaking of your delightful book. Selina! (Calling.) [Enter ] This is Mr. Turnstile.

Lady Selina. Indeed!

Lady Flumm. Yes, indeed! You see he is a mortal man after all. Bring me, my love, the book you will find open on the table in the boudoir. I wish to show Mr. Turnstile the passages I have marked this morning.

Lady Selina. (Returning with the book, and running over the leaves.) "Lace made by caterpillars."—"Steam-engines with fairy fingers."—"Robe of nature."—"Sun of science."—"Faltering worshipper."—"Altar of truth."It is, indeed, delightful! The taste, the poetical imagination, are surprising. I hope, Mr. Turnstile,—indeed I am sure, that you love music?

Turnstile. Not very particularly, I must acknowledge (smiling); a barrel-organ is the instrument most in my way.

Lady Flumm. (Smiling.) Music and machinery, Mr. Turnstile. Polite literature and mathematics. You do know how to combine. Others must judge of the profounder parts of your works; but the style, and the fancy, are what I should most admire.—You dine with Lord Flumm, he tells me, on Tuesday. Now you must come to me on Thursday night.

Turnstile. I am sorry to say, that, on recollection, I ought to