yet I could not in truth otherwise than acknowledge that it was as
uninteresting as it was possible to be, of which every one must be aware
who has travelled from Calais to Boulogne.

Good Humour, however, was still undaunted, and a rather jolly, and very
rosy, looking young female passing at the moment, elicited from him the
exclamation of "Oh, what a pretty girl, and good natured!"

"The very type of fat contented ignorance," interrupted Discontent,
without allowing his brother to finish his sentence.

Soon after we entered Boulogne, where the white houses, lively green
shutters, and cleanly appearance of the Grande Rue attracted the
admiration of Good Humour, who observed with his usual energetic
manner, "What a cheerful pleasant looking town, and how very pretty the
houses are!"

"For outside show, well enough, which may be said of most things in
France," murmured Discontent; "but see the inside of those houses, and
you will find there is not a single window or door that shuts or fits as
it ought; and if they are inhabited by French people, you will find
cobwebs and dirt in almost every corner. Am I not right, sir," said he,
turning to me with a triumphant air. But before I could answer, Good
Humour took up the cause, observing, "Really, brother, you cannot speak
from what you have seen, as the Hôtel Bourbon is the only house we have
yet entered, and it was impossible to exceed the cleanliness observed
within it; therefore your remarks can only proceed from reports you have
had from others, whose vision, perhaps, was as clouded as your own
appears to be, by a pre-determination to view everything in France in
the most unfavourable light." Perceiving that Discontent, by the angry