wine. Ce Monsieur Peterbooroo'! Il m'agace les nerfs. It cannot be
blood in his veins. One longs to see him cuffed, to see if he has the
English lion in him, one knows not where. But you are so, you English,
when not intoxicated. And so censorious! You win your battles, they
say, upon beer and cordials: it is why you never can follow up a success.
Je tiens cela du Marechal Prince B-----. Let that pass. One groans at
your intolerable tristesse. La vie en Angleterre est comme un marais.
It is a scandal to human nature. It blows fogs, foul vapours, joint-
stiffnesses, agues, pestilences, over us here,--yes, here! That is your
best side: but your worst is too atrocious! Mon Dieu! Your men-rascals!
Your women-rascals!'

'Good soul!' the princess arrested her, 'I beg that you will not abuse
England.'

'Have I abused England?' exclaimed the margravine. 'Nay, then, it was
because England is shockingly unjust to the most amusing, the most
reviving, charming of men. There is he fresh as a green bubbling well,
and those English decline to do honour to his source. Now tell me, you!'
She addressed me imperiously. 'Are you prosecuting his claims? Are you
besieging your Government? What! you are in the season of generosity,
an affectionate son, wealthy as a Magyar prince of flocks, herds, mines,
and men, and you let him stand in the shade deprived of his birthright?
Are you a purse-proud commoner or an imbecile?'

'My whimsy aunt!' the princess interposed again, 'now you have taken to
abusing a defenceless Englishman.'

'Nothing of the sort, child. I compliment him on his looks and manners;
he is the only one of his race who does not appear to have marched out of