the Sleeping Venus; the Venus rising from the sea, the Venus with
the apple of Paris, and the Venus with the armour of Mars.

The Reverend Doctor Folliott had been very much astonished at this
unexpected display. Disposed, as he was, to hold, that whatever
had been in Greece, was right; he was more than doubtful of the
propriety of throwing open the classical adytum to the illiterate
profane. Whether, in his interior mind, he was at all influenced,
either by the consideration that it would be for the credit of his
cloth, with some of his vice-suppressing neighbours, to be able to
say that he had expostulated; or by curiosity, to try what sort of
defence his city-bred friend, who knew the classics only by
translations, and whose reason was always a little ahead of his
knowledge, would make for his somewhat ostentatious display of
liberality in matters of taste; is a question on which the learned
may differ: but, after having duly deliberated on two full-sized
casts of the Uranian and Pandemian Venus, in niches on each side of
the chimney, and on three alabaster figures, in glass cases, on the
mantelpiece, he proceeded, peirastically, to open his fire.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. These little alabaster figures on the
mantelpiece, Mr. Crotchet, and those large figures in the niches--
may I take the liberty to ask you what they are intended to
represent?

MR. CROTCHET. Venus, sir; nothing more, sir; just Venus.

REV. DR. FOLLIOTT. May I ask you, sir, why they are there?

MR. CROTCHET. To be looked at, sir; just to be looked at: the