sentiment of national pride that we believe them to contain more
bores from the shores of Albion than all the clubs in London. As
you walk timidly in their neighbourhood, the very neckcloths and
hats of your elderly compatriots cry to you from the stones of the
streets, 'We are Bores - avoid us!' We have never overheard at
street corners such lunatic scraps of political and social
discussion as among these dear countrymen of ours. They believe
everything that is impossible and nothing that is true. They carry
rumours, and ask questions, and make corrections and improvements
on one another, staggering to the human intellect. And they are
for ever rushing into the English library, propounding such
incomprehensible paradoxes to the fair mistress of that
establishment, that we beg to recommend her to her Majesty's
gracious consideration as a fit object for a pension.

The English form a considerable part of the population of our
French watering-place, and are deservedly addressed and respected
in many ways. Some of the surface-addresses to them are odd
enough, as when a laundress puts a placard outside her house
announcing her possession of that curious British instrument, a
'Mingle;' or when a tavern-keeper provides accommodation for the
celebrated English game of 'Nokemdon.' But, to us, it is not the
least pleasant feature of our French watering-place that a long and
constant fusion of the two great nations there, has taught each to
like the other, and to learn from the other, and to rise superior
to the absurd prejudices that have lingered among the weak and
ignorant in both countries equally.

Drumming and trumpeting of course go on for ever in our French
watering-place. Flag-flying is at a premium, too; but, we