The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mr. Punch on the Continong
    
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Title: Mr. Punch on the Continong

Editor: J. A. Hammerton

Release date: May 20, 2014 [eBook #45700]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by David Edwards, Lesley Halamek and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. PUNCH ON THE CONTINONG ***




Produced by David Edwards, Lesley Halamek and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)





Transcriber's Note: Some Illustrations have been moved higher in the
book to allow uninterrupted flow of the text.




PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

Edited by J. A. Hammerton


Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself,
the cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch," from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day.




MR. PUNCH ON THE CONTINONG

[Illustration]


[Illustration: THE STEAM-LAUNCH IN VENICE

("SIC TRANSIT GLORIA MUNDI")

_'Andsome 'Arriet._ "Ow my! If it 'yn't that bloomin' old Temple Bar,
as they did aw'y with out o' Fleet Street!"

_Mr. Belleville_ (_referring to Guide-book_). "Now, it 'yn't! It's the
fymous Bridge o' _Sighs_, as _Byron_ went and stood on; 'im as wrote
_Our Boys_, yer know!"

_'Andsome 'Arriet._ "Well, I _never!_ It 'yn't _much_ of a _Size_,
any'ow!"

_Mr. Belleville._ "'Ear! 'ear Fustryte!"]




MR. PUNCH ON THE CONTINONG

_WITH 152 ILLUSTRATIONS_

BY

PHIL MAY, GEORGE DU MAURIER, JOHN LEECH, CHARLES KEENE, L. RAVENHILL,
J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE, E. T. REED, REGINALD CLEAVER, AND OTHER HUMOROUS
ARTISTS


[Illustration]


PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH

THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"


THE AMALGAMATED PRESS, LTD.




PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR

_Crown 8vo. 192 pages, fully illustrated, pictorial cover, 1s. net._


MR. PUNCH AT THE SEASIDE

MR. PUNCH'S RAILWAY BOOK

MR. PUNCH ON THE CONTINONG

MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF LOVE

MR. PUNCH AFLOAT

MR. PUNCH IN THE HIGHLANDS

OTHERS TO FOLLOW


[Illustration: Before the Battle]


[Illustration: After the Battle]




OFF TO THE CONTINONG!

(_A Foreword_)


[Illustration: FANCY AND----

    The kind of figure you see on posters inviting you to French
    seaside resorts.
]


Nothing is more calculated to give Englishmen a good conceit of
themselves in the matter of international courtesy than a careful
examination of the archives of Mr. Punch, such as was necessary in
the preparation of the present volume. To anyone familiar with the
anti-British attitude of the French comic press before these happier
days of the _Entente Cordiale_, and of the German press at all times,
the complete absence of all manner of ill-feeling from Mr. Punch's
jokes about our neighbours across the Channel is little short of
wonderful. Even in the days when the English people were the unfailing
subject for every French satirist when he suffered from an unusual
attack of spleen, our national jester seems never to have lost
the good-humour with which he has usually surveyed the life of the
Continent. Indeed, as the pages here brought together will readily
prove, Mr. Punch has seldom, if ever, laid himself open to the charge
of insularity in his point of view. Instead of showing a tendency to
ridicule our neighbours on the Continent, he has been more inclined
to pillory the follies of his own countrymen, and to contrast their
behaviour on the Continent rather unfavourably with that of the
natives. But, even so, there is nothing in these humorous chronicles
of "Mr. Punch on the Continong" which will not amuse equally the
travelling or the stay-at-home Briton and the foreigner, since each
will find many of his national characteristics "touched off" in a
way that is no less kindly than amusing. The fact that a considerable
proportion of these pages are from the pen of George Du Maurier,
himself a Frenchman by birth, is a reminder that long before the
Governments of France and Great Britain had come into their present
relationship of intimate friendliness, Mr. Punch had maintained his
own _Entente Cordiale!_


[Illustration: FACT!

    The kind of figure which comes nearest to the ideal you have
    formed.
]


[Illustration: WHERE SECOND THOUGHTS ARE BETTER

SCENE--_Boulevards, Paris_

_Professional Beggar_ (_whining_). "Ayez pitié, mon bon m'sieu. Ayez
pitié! J'ai froid--j'ai bien froid!"

_Le Bon Monsieur_ (_irritably_). "Allez au di----" (_suddenly thinking
that sunshine might be preferable_) "aux Champs Elysées!"]


[Illustration: "LOOK ON THIS PICTURE----]

AND ON THIS!"]


[Illustration: ON THE BOULOGNE PIER

(TWO ASIDES)

_Young England._ "Rummy style of 'at!" _La Jeune France._ "Drôle de
chapeau!"]




MR. PUNCH ON THE CONTINONG


TIPS

(_To a Friendly Adviser_)

  When starting off on foreign trips,
  I've felt secure if someone gave me
  Invaluable hints and tips;
  Time, trouble, money, these would save me.

  I'm off; you've told me all you know.
  Forewarned, forearmed, I start, instructed
  How much to spend, and where to go;
  Yet free, not like some folks "conducted."

  Now I shall face, serene and calm,
  Those persons, often rather pressing
  For little gifts, with outstretched palm.
  To some of them I'll give my blessing.

  To others--"_service_" being paid--
  _Buona mano_, _pourboire_, _trinkgeld;_
  They fancy Englishmen are made
  Of money, made of (so they think) _geld_.

  The _garçon_, ready with each dish,
  His brisk "_Voilà, monsieur_" replying
  To anything that one may wish;
  His claim admits of no denying.

  The _portier_, who never rests,
  Who speaks six languages together
  To clamorous, inquiring guests,
  On letters, luggage, trains, boats, weather.

  The _femme de chambre_, who fills my _bain;_
  The _ouvreuse_, where I see the _acteur_.
  A cigarette to _chef de train_,
  A franc to energetic _facteur_.

  I give each _cocher_ what is right;
  I know, without profound researches,
  What I must pay for each new sight--
  Cathedrals, castles, convents, churches.

  Or climbing up to see a view,
  From _campanile_, roof, or steeple,
  Those verbal tips I had from you
  Save money tips to other people.

  Save all those florins, marks or francs--
  Or _pfennige_, _sous_, _kreutzer_, is it?--
  The change they give me at the banks,
  According to the towns I visit.

  I seem to owe you these, and yet
  Will money do? My feeling's deeper.
  I'll owe you an eternal debt--
  A debt of gratitude, that's cheaper.

[Illustration: _The Cleaner_ (_showing tourists round the church_).
"Voilà le Maître-autel, m'sieu' et 'dame."

_British Matron_. "Oh, to be sure, yes. You remember, George, we had
French beans, _à la Maître Autel_ for dinner yesterday!"]




BREAKING THE BANK AT MONTE CARLO

(_A Note from One who has all but done it_)


DEAR MR. PUNCH.--Now that so many of my countrymen (the word includes
both sexes) patronise Monte Carlo, it is well that they should be
provided with an infallible system. Some people think that a lucky pig
charm or a piece of Newgate rope produces luck. But this impression is
caused by a feeling of superstition--neither more nor less. What
one wants in front of the table is a really scientific mathematical
system. This I am prepared to give.

Take a Napoleon as a unit, making up your mind to lose up to a
certain sum, and do not exceed that sum. Now back the colour twenty
consecutive times. Don't double, but simply keep to the unit. When you
have lost to the full extent of your limit, double your stake. Keep to
this sum for another twenty turns. By this time it is a mathematical
certainty that you must either have won--or lost. Of course, if you
have won you will be pleased. If you have lost, keep up your heart
and double your stakes again. This time you will be backing the colour
with a stake four times as large as your original fancy. Again go for
twenty turns, and see what comes of it.

Of course, if you still lose it will be unfortunate, but you cannot
have everything. And with this truism, I sign myself,

  ONE WHO WISHES TO BENEFIT MANKIND.


[Illustration: FOREIGNERS IN FRANCE

_First Foreigner_. "This is what they call _à la Russe_, isn't it!"

_Second Foreigner_. "_Alleroose_ is it? Well there! I could a' sworn
it warn't beef nor mutton."]




THE BRITISH BATHER

(_By a Dipper in Brittany_)

[Apropos of a correspondence in the _Daily Graphic_]


  Mrs. Grundy rules the waves,
  With Britons for her slaves--
  They're fearful to disport themselves,
  Unless the sexes sort themselves
  And take their bathing, sadly, for French gaiety depraves (!)

  'Tis time no more were seen
  The out-of-date "machine";
  Away with that monstrosity
  Of prudish ponderosity--
  Why can't we have the bathing tent or else the trim _cabine?_

  I think we should advance
  If we took a hint from France,
  And mingled (quite decorously)
  On beaches that before us lie
  All round our coasts--we do abroad whene'er we get the chance!

  O'er here in St. Maló
  The thing's quite _comme il faut;_
  Why not in higher latitude?
  I can't make out the attitude
  Of those who make the British dip so "shocking," dull and slow!


[Illustration: NOTES FROM MR. PUNCH'S FOREIGN SKETCH-BOOK

FEEDING THE PIGEONS AT ST. MARK'S SQUARE, VENICE]


[Illustration: L'ANGLAIS FIN-DE-SIÈCLE

_First Tripper_ (_in French Picture Gallery_). "What O! 'Erb! What
price this?"

_Gardien_ (_who quite understands him_). "Pardon, M'sieur, eet is not
'Watteau,' and eet is not for sale!"]


[Illustration:

_Tourist expostulates_: "Oh--h, come! Them seegar is poor
le--le--le--foomigaseong de mor-mem--yer fool!"]




A ROMAN HOLIDAY

_On the Appian Way_


We are with a guide, voluble after the fashion of guides all the world
over, and capable of speaking many languages execrably. His English,
no doubt, is typical of the rest. "Datt-e building dere," he says, "is
de Barze of Caracalla."

"The _what?_" says my companion.

"De Barze of Caracalla--vere de ancient Romans bayze demselfs in de
water--same as ve go to Casino, zey take a barze, morning, afternoon,
ven zey like."

"It must have been a large building," I venture, ineptly.

"In dem dere barze," he retorts, impressively, "sixteen honderd
peoples all could chomp in de water same time!"

"Jolly good splash they must have made," says A.

The guide pays no attention, but continues:--

"Dem dere barze not de biggest. In de Barze of Diocletian four tousand
peoples all could chomp in de water same time. In all de barze in Rome
forrrty tousand could chomp in same time."

"I wonder," says A., "how they got 'em all together and started them
jumping?"

"Vell, dey not all chomp togesser every day same peoples, but ven de
barze all full den forrrty tousand chomp in same time."


_At the Bosco Sacro._

"Now," remarks the guide, "I tell you fonny story--make you laugh. Ven
dem eight honderd robbers foundated Rome dey live on a 'ill and dey
haf no religion. Den come de King Numa Pompilio: he say 'dey most haf
religion,' so he can goffern dem better. Den 'e go to diss _bosco_,
and ven he come back he tell dem robbers he haf seen de Naimp
_Egeea_----"

"The Nymph _Egeria_," A. intervenes, with superiority.

"Vell, I say de Naimp _Egeea_. He say he haf seen her, dat she haf
appareeted to him, and so dey get deir religion."

A. laughs dubiously.

"Yes," concludes the guide, "dat iss a fonny story."

_By the Circus of Maxentius_.

"Diss is de Circus of Massenzio. He build 'im ven his son Romulus die.
No, diss is not de same Romulus who foundated Rome, but anosser one, a
leetle boy, de son of de Emperor Massenzio. He die ven he vos a leetle
boy. In dem days it not permitted to make sacrifice of men, so dey
build a race-course instead: it is de same ting, for some of de
charioteers alvays get dem killed, and Massenzio tink dey go play wiz
Romulus."


_In the Catacombs._

"Ven de _martiri_ condemnated to dess and dey kill dem, dey safe some
drops blood in a leetle bottle and dey put dem bottles in de valls.
Dere iss a bit, you see. San Sebastiano 'e vos condemnated to de
arrows--dey shotted 'im--and afterward dey smash his head on a column.
Dere is de column."

"What was that you were telling us about Caracalla just now?"

"Caracalla he no like 'is brozzer Geta--so he kill 'im. Den he make
'im a god and tell peoples to vorship him, and 'e say 'I did not like
my brozzer ven he vos a man, but I like him very moch ven he is a
god.' Dat is anosser funny story."

       *  *  *


AT BOULOGNE.--_Mrs. Sweetly_ (_on her honeymoon_). "Isn't it funny,
Archibald, to see so many foreigners about? And all talking French!"


[Illustration: FROM "LA CÔTE D'AZUR"

_Fritz the Waiter_ (_to Lady and Gent just arrived, and a little at
sea as to the sort of a kind of a place it is_). "Yes, madame, dere
is such a lot of _Swift_ people here. More dan half de peoples what is
here is _Swift_."]


[Illustration: O FLATTERY, THY NAME IS FRENCHWOMAN!

John Henry Jones thinks he will do a little bit of marketing for
himself, and asks the price of tomatoes. With a killing glance and a
winning smile, the vendor replies that for him they will be a franc
apiece, but that he mustn't mention it. The modest J. H. J. blushes,
and buys, in spite of some misgiving that for anybody else they would
be about sixpence a dozen.]


[Illustration: OUR COMPATRIOTS ABROAD

SCENE--_A Table d'hôte_

_Aristocratic English Lady_ (_full of diplomatic relations_). "A--can
you tell me if there is a resident British Minister here?"

_Scotch Tourist._ "Well, I'm not just quite sure--but I'm told there's
an excellent Presbyterian service every Sunday!"]




WONDERS OF THE WORLD ABROAD


Wonder if there be an inn upon the Continent where you are furnished
gratis with a cake of soap and bed candle.

Wonder how many able-bodied English waiters it would take to do the
daily work of half a dozen French ones.

Wonder why it is that Great (and Little) Britons are so constantly
heard grumbling at the half a score of dishes in a foreign bill of
fare, while at home they have so frequently to feed upon cold mutton.

Wonder what amount of beer a German tourist daily drinks, and how
many half-pint glasses a waiter at Vienna can carry at a time without
spilling a drop out of them.

Wonder how it is that, although one knows full well that many Paris
people are most miserably poor, one never sees such ragged scarecrows
in its streets as are visible in London.

Wonder how many successive ages must elapse ere travellers abroad
enjoy the luxury of salt-spoons.

Wonder why so many tourists, and particularly ladies, will persist
in speaking French, with a true Britannic accent, when the waiter so
considerately answers them in English.

Wonder when our foreign friends, who are in most things so ingenious,
will direct their ingenuity to the art of drainage coupled with
deodorising fluids.

Wonder if there be a watering-place in France where there is no
Casino, and where Frenchmen may be seen engaged in any game more
active than dominoes or billiards.

Wonder when it will be possible to get through seven courses at a
foreign _table d'hôte_ without running any risk of seeing one's fair
neighbour either eating with her knife or wiping her plate clean by
sopping bread into the gravy.

Wonder what would be the yearly increase of deafness in Great Britain,
if our horses all had bells to jangle on their harness, and our
drivers all were seized with the mania for whip-cracking, which
possesses in such fury all the coachmen on the Continent.

Wonder in what century the historian will relate that a Frenchman was
seen walking in the country for amusement.

Wonder why it is that when one calls a Paris waiter, he always
answers, "V'la, M'sieu," and then invariably vanishes.

Wonder when Swiss tourists will abstain from buying alpenstocks which
they don't know how to use, and which are branded with the names of
mountains they would never dare to dream of trying to do more than
timidly look up to.

Wonder in what age of progress a sponge-bath will be readily
obtainable abroad, in places most remote, and where Britons least do
congregate.

Wonder if French ladies, who are as elegant in their manners as they
are in their millinery, will ever acquire the habit of eating with
their lips shut.

Wonder when it will be possible to travel on the Rhine, without
hearing feeble jokelets made about the "rhino."


[Illustration:

_Mrs. Vanoof_ (_shopping in Paris_). "Now let me see what you've got
extra special."

_Salesman._ "Madam, we 'ave some ver' fine Louis treize."

_Mr. Vanoof._ "Trays, man! What do we want with trays!"

_Mrs. Vanoof._ "Better try one or two; they're only a louis."]


[Illustration: L'AXONG D'ALBIONG

"Oh--er--pardong, Mossoo--may kelly le shmang kilfoker j'ally poor
ally Allycol Militair?"

"Monsieur, je ne comprends pas l'Anglais, malheureusement!"

    [_Our British Friend is asking for the way to the École
    Militaire._
]


[Illustration: BREAKING THE ICE

SCENE--_Public drawing-room of hotel in the Engadine._

_The Hon. Mrs. Snobbington (to fair stranger)._ "English people are so
unsociable, and never speak to each other without an introduction. I
always make a point of being friendly with people staying at the same
hotel. One need never know them afterwards!"]


[Illustration: "TIP" NOT GOOD ENOUGH

The Delamere-Browns, who have been spending their honeymoon trip
in France, have just taken their seats on the steamer, agreeably
conscious of smart clothes and general well-being, when to them enters
breathlessly, Françoise, the "bonne" from the hotel, holding on high a
very dirty comb with most of its teeth missing.

_Françoise (dashing forward with her sweetest smile)._ "Tiens!
J'arrive juste à point! Voilà un peigne que madame a laissé dans sa
chambre!"

    [_Tableau!_
]


[Illustration: 'ARRY IN 'OLLAND

_'Arry._ "I say, Bill, ain't he a rum lookin' cove?"]


[Illustration: A BATH AT BOULOGNE

Appalling position of Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins, who had a jib horse when
the tide was coming in.]


[Illustration: "STRANGERS YET"

_First Compatriot_ (_in Belgian café_). "I beg your pardon, sirr. Are
ye an Irishman?"

_Second Compatriot._ "I am!"

    [_Silence._

_First Compatriot._ "I'd as soon meet a crocodile as an Irishman
'foreign parts. I beg ye'll not address yer conversation to me,
sirr!!"]




[Illustration]

AN IDYLLIC ISLAND


When we came to Amsterdam, we determined, Pashley, Shirtliff and
I, that we would take the earliest opportunity of seeing Marken.
Wonderful place, by all accounts. Little island, only two miles from
mainland, full of absolutely unsophisticated inhabitants. Most of
them have never left Marken--no idea of the world beyond it! Everybody
contented and equal; costumes quaint; manners simple and dignified.
Sort of Arcadia, with dash of Utopia.

And here we are--actually at Marken, just landed by sailing-boat from
Monnickendam.

All is peaceful and picturesque. Scattered groups of little black
cottages with scarlet roofs, on mounds. Fishermen strolling about in
baggy black knickerbockers, woollen stockings, and wooden shoes.

Women and girls all dressed alike, in crimson bodice and embroidered
skirt; little cap with one long brown curl dangling coquettishly
in front of each ear. Small children--miniature replicas of their
elders--wander lovingly, hand in hand. A few urchins dart off at our
approach, like startled fawns, and disappear amongst the cottages.
Otherwise, our arrival attracts no attention.

The women go on with their outdoor work, cleaning their brilliant
brass and copper, washing and hanging out their bright-hued cotton and
linen garments, with no more than an occasional shy side-glance at
us from under their tow-coloured fringes. "Perfectly unconscious," as
Shirtliff observes, enthusiastically, "of how unique and picturesque
they are!"

All the more wonderful, because excursion steamers run every day
during the season from Amsterdam.

We walk up and down rough steps and along narrow, winding alleys.
Shirtliff says he "feels such a bounder, going about staring at
everything as if he was at Earl's Court." Thinks the Markeners must
hate being treated like a show. _We_ shouldn't like it ourselves!

That may be, but, as Pashley retorts, it's the Markeners' own fault.
They shouldn't be so beastly picturesque.

Fine buxom girl approaches, carrying pail. On closer view, not
precisely a girl--in fact, a matron of mature years. These long, brown
side-curls deceptive at a distance; impression, as she passes, of a
kind of Dutch "Little Toddlekins"; view of broad back and extensive
tract of fat, bare neck under small cap. She turns round and intimates
by expressive pantomime that her cottage is close by, and if we would
care to inspect the interior, we are heartily welcome. Uncommonly
friendly of her. Pashley and I are inclined to accept, but Shirtliff
dubious--we may have misunderstood her. We really can't go crowding in
like a parcel of trippers!

Little Toddlekins, however, quite keen about it; sees us hesitate,
puts down pail and beckons us on round corner with crooked forefinger,
like an elderly Siren. How different this simple, hearty hospitality
from the sort of reception foreigners would get from an English
fishwife! We can't refuse, or we shall hurt her feelings. "But
whatever we do," urges Shirtliff, "we mustn't dream of offering her
money. She'd be most tremendously insulted."

[Illustration]

Of course, we quite understand _that_. It would be simply an outrage.
We uncover, and enter, apologetically. Inside, an elderly fisherman
is sitting by the hearth mending a net; a girl is leaning in graceful,
negligent attitude against table by window. Neither of them takes the
slightest notice of us, which is embarrassing. Afraid we really _are_
intruding. However, our hostess--good old soul--has a natural tact
and kindliness that soon put us at our ease. Shows us everything.
Curtained recesses in wall, where they go to bed. "Very curious--so
comfortable!" Delft plates and painted shelves and cupboards.
"Most decorative!" Caps and bodices worn by females of the family.
"Charming; such artistic colour!" School copybooks with children's
exercises. "Capital; so neatly written!" What is she trying to make
us understand? Oh, in winter, the sea comes in above the level of the
wainscot. "Really! How very convenient!" We don't mean this, but
we are so anxious to please and be pleased, that our enthusiasm is
degenerating into drivel. Girl by the window contemplates us with
growing contempt; and no wonder. High time we went.

Little Toddlekins at the end of her tether; looks at us as if to imply
that she has done _her_ part. Next move must come from us. Pashley
consults us in an undertone. "Perhaps, after all she _does_ expect,
eh? What do _we_ think? Would half a gulden---- What?"

Personally, I think it _might_, but Shirtliff won't hear of it,
"Certainly not. On no account! At all events _he_'ll be no party to
it. He will simply thank her, shake hands, and walk out." Which he
does. I do the same. He may be right, and anyhow, if one of us is to
run the risk of offending this matron's delicacy by the offer of a
gratuity, Pashley will do it better than I.

[Illustration] Pashley overtakes us presently, looking distinctly
uncomfortable. "Did he tip her?" "Yes, he _tipped_ her." "And she
flung it after you!" cries Shirtliff, in triumph. "I knew she would!
_Now_ I hope you're satisfied!"

"If I am, it's more than _she_ was," says Pashley. "She stuck to it
all right, but she let me see it was nothing like what she'd expected
for the three of us."

Shirtliff silent but unconvinced. However, as we go on, we see a
beckoning forefinger at almost every door and window. Every Markener
anxious that we should walk into his little parlour--and pay for
the privilege. All of them, as Pashley disgustedly observes, "On the
make"; got some treasured heirloom that has been in the family without
intermission for six months, and that they would be willing to part
with, if pressed, for a consideration. We don't press them; in fact,
we are obliged at last to decline their artless invitations--to their
unconcealed disgust. Nice people, very, but can't afford to know too
many of them.

"At least the _children_ are unspoilt," says Shirtliff, as we come
upon a couple of chubby infants, walking solemnly hand in hand as
usual. He protests, when Pashley insists on presenting them with a
cent, or one-fifth of an English penny, apiece. "Why demoralise them,
why instil the love of money into their innocent minds?" Shirtliff
wants to know.

He is delighted when they exhibit no sort of emotion on being thus
enriched. It shows, he says, that, as yet, they have no conception
what money means.

The pair have toddled off towards a gathering of older children, and
Pashley, who has brought a Kodak, wonders if he can induce them to
stay as they are while he takes a snapshot. Shirtliff protests again.
Only spoil them, make them conceited and self-conscious, he maintains.

But the children have seen the Kodak, and are eager to be taken. One
of them produces a baby from neighbouring cottage, and they arrange
themselves instinctively in effective group by a fence.

Pashley delighted. "Awfully intelligent little beggars!" he says.
"They seem to know exactly what I want."

They also know exactly what _they_ want, for the moment they hear the
camera click, they make a rush at us, sternly demanding five cents a
head for their services.

Shirtliff very severe with them; not one copper shall they have from
_him;_ not a matter of pence, but principle, and they had better go
away at once. They don't; they hustle him, and some of the taller
girls nudge him viciously in the ribs with sharp elbows, as a hint
that "an immediate settlement is requested." Pashley and I do the best
we can, but we soon come to the end of our Dutch coins. However,
no doubt English pennies will---- Not a bit of it! Even the chubby
infants don't consider them legal tender here, and reject them with
open scorn.

Fancy we have compromised all claims at last. No; Marken infantry
still harassing our rear. What _more_ do they want? It appears that
we have not paid the baby, which is an important extra on these
occasions, and which they carry after us in state as an unsatisfied
creditor and a powerful appeal to our consciences. Adult Markeners
come out, and seem to be exchanging remarks (with especial reference
to Shirtliff, who is regarded as the chief culprit) on the meanness
that is capable of bilking an innocent baby.

"What I like about Marken," says Pashley, when we are safely on board
our sailing boat, to which we have effected a rather ignominious
retreat, "what I like about Marken is the beautiful simplicity and
unworldliness of the natives. Didn't that strike _you_, Shirtliff?"

We gather from Shirtliff's reply that he failed to observe these
characteristics.

       *  *  *

AT MUNICH.--_Mr. Joddletop_ (_to travelling companion at Bierhalle_).
What they call this larger beer for I'm blessed if I know! Why, it's
thinner than the Bass I drink at home!

       *  *  *

_Mrs. Tripper_ (_examining official notice on the walls of Boulogne_).
What's that mean, Tripper, "Pas de Calais"?

_Tripper (who is proud of his superior acquaintance with a foreign
language)._ It means--"Nothing to do with Calais," my dear. These
rival ports are dreadfully jealous of one another!

       *  *  *

VERY MUCH ABROAD.--_Brown._ I say, Smith, you've been here before.
Tell me where I can get a first dish of _Tête de veau?_

_Smith._ _Tête de veau?_ Let's see, that's "calf's head," isn't it?
Well, I heard of a place where they ought to have it good, as they
call it the _Hôtel de Veal_.


[Illustration: _He._ "You climed ze Matterhorn? Zat was a great foot."

_She._ "Great feat, you mean, count."

_He._ "Ah! Zen you climed him more as once!"]




COURTESY À LA SUISSE

    ["The recent complaints of the rudeness shown to English
    travellers in Switzerland by the natives has been officially
    denied by the authorities of Lucerne."--_Daily Paper._]


_You are an idiot, a fool, and a rascal._ (_Official explanation._)
Terms of endearment denoting feeling of the utmost friendship.

_Why do you come here? Why don't you stay at home?_ (_Official
explanation._) Merely questions asked to stimulate pleasant
conversation.

_You are a rosbif, a boule dogue, and plum-pudding._ (_Official
interpretation._) Fine names intended to express the greatest possible
admiration for British institutions.

_If you speak we will knock you down._ (_Official interpretation._)
Merely a kindly expression of concern calculated to produce repose.

_You are one brutal, ugly-faced foreigner._ (_Official
interpretation._) A jocular salutation.

_You sell your wife at Smithfield--Long live the Boers!_ (_Official
interpretation._) A polite attempt to commence a courteous
conversation.

_Are you English?_ (_Official interpretation._) The highest praise
imaginable.


[Illustration: PERFECT TRANSLATION

_Youthful North Briton_ (_on honeymoon tour, proud of his French_).
"Gassong! La--le--le--cart----"

_Garçon._ "Oui, m'sieu', tout de suite!"

_Admiring Bride._ "Losh! Sandy, what did he say?"

_Youthful North Briton_ (_rather taken aback_). "Aweel, Jeannie, dear,
he kens I'm Scotch, an' he asked me to 'tak' a seat.'"]


[Illustration: DIEPPE--MOSSOO LEARNING TO FLOAT]


[Illustration: Our friend, 'Arry Belville, is so knocked all of a heap
by the beauty of the foreign fish girls, that he offers his 'and and
'art to the lovely Pauline.]


[Illustration: A SKETCH AT TROUDEAUVILLE

After the bath, the Count and Countess de St. Camembert have a little
chat with their friends before dressing; and Monsieur Roucouly, the
famous baritone, smokes a quiet cigarette, ere he plunges into the
sandy ripple.]




THE DAMSELS OF DIEPPE

_Or, The Legend of Lionel_


  "Newhaven to Dieppe," he cried, but, on the voyage there,
  He felt appalling qualms of what the French call _mal de mer;_
  While, when the steward was not near, he struck Byronic attitudes,
  And made himself most popular by pretty little platitudes.
    And, while he wobbled on the waves, be sure they never slep',
    While waiting for their Lionel, the Damsels of Dieppe.

  He landed with a jaunty air, but feeling rather weak,
  While all the French and English girls cried out "_C'est
          magnifique!_"
  They reck'd not of his bilious hue, but murmur'd quite ecstatical,
  "Blue coat, brass buttons, and straw hat--c'est _tout-à-fait_
          piratical!"
    He hadn't got his land-legs, and he walked with faltering step,
    But still they thought it _comme-il-faut_, those Damsels of Dieppe.

  The Douane found him circled round by all the fairest fair,
  The while he said, in lofty tones, he'd nothing to declare;
  He turned to one girl who stood near, and softly whisper'd "Fly, O
          Nell!"
  But all the others wildly cried, "Give us a chance, O Lionel!"
    And thus he came to shore from all the woes of Father Nep.,
    With fatal fascinations for the Damsels of Dieppe.

  He went to the Casino, whither mostly people go,
  And lost his tin at baccarat and eke _petits chevaux;_
  And still the maidens flocked around, and vowed he was amusing 'em;
  And borrowed five-franc pieces, just for fear he should be losing
          'em;
    And then he'd sandwiches and bocks, which brought on bad dyspep-
    -sia for Lionel beloved by Damsels of Dieppe.

  As bees will swarm around a hive, the maids of _La belle France_
  Went mad about our Lionel and thirsted for his glance;
  In short they were reduced unto a state of used-up coffee lees
  By this mild, melancholic, maudlin, mournful Mephistopheles.
    He rallied them in French, in which he had the gift of rep-
    -artee, and sunnily they smiled, the Damsels of Dieppe.

  At last one day he had to go; they came upon the pier;
  The French girls sobbed, "_Mon cher!_" and then the
          English sighed, "My dear!"
  He looked at all the threatening waves, and cried, the while
          embracing 'em,
  (I mean the girls, not waves,) "Oh no! I don't feel quite like
          facing 'em!"
    And all the young things murmured, "Stay, and you will find sweet
          rep-
    aration for the folks at home in Damsels of Dieppe."

  And day by day, and year by year, whene'er he sought the sea,
  The waves were running mountains high, the wind was blowing free.
  At last he died, and o'er his bier his sweethearts sang doxology,
  And vowed they saw his ghost, which came from dabbling in
          psychology.
    And to this hour that spook is seen upon the pier. If scep-
    tical, ask ancient ladies, once the Damsels of Dieppe.

       *  *  *

TO INTENDING TOURISTS.--"Where shall we go?" All depends on the "coin
of 'vantage." Switzerland? Question of money. Motto.--"_Point d'argent
point de Suisse._"

       *  *  *

AT INTERLACHEN.--_Cockney Tourist to Perfect Stranger_. Must 'ave
been a 'ard frost 'ere last night, sir.

_Perfect Stranger_ (_startled_). Dear me! Why?

_Cockney Tourist._ Why, look at the top of that there 'ill, sir
(_points to the Jung Frau_). Ain't it covered with snow!


[Illustration: "NO PLACE LIKE HOME!"

_Smith_ (_meeting the Browns at the station on their return from the
Continent_). "Delighted to see you back, my boy! But--well, and how
did you like Italy?"

_Mrs. B._ (_who is "artistic"_). "Oh, charming, you know, the pictures
and statues and all that! But Charles had typhoid for six weeks at
Feverenze (our hotel was close to that glorious Melfizzi Palazzo,
y'know), and after that I caught the Roman fever, and so," &c., &c.

    [_They think they go to Ramsgate next year._]


[Illustration: STUDY AT A QUIET FRENCH WATERING-PLACE

"Now, then, mossoo, your form is of the manliest beauty, and you
are altogether a most attractive object; but you've stood there long
enough. So jump in and have done with it!"]


[Illustration: Strange vagaries of a pair of moustaches. Sketched in
Holland on a windy day.]


[Illustration: SIR GORGIUS ON THE "CONTINONG"

_Sir G. Midas_ (_to his younger son_). "There's a glass o' champagne
for yer, 'Enry! Down with it, my lad--and thank 'Eaven you're an
Englishman, and can afford to drink it!"]




VENEZIA LA BELLA

[According to a correspondent of the _Times_, it is proposed to erect
bridges connecting Venice with the mainland.]


One afternoon in the autumn of 1930, when the express from Milan
arrived at Venice an Englishman stepped out, handed his luggage ticket
to a porter, and said, "_Hotel Tiziano_."

"_Adesso Hotel Moderno, signore_," remarked the porter.

"They've changed the name, I suppose. All right. _Hotel Moderno,
gondola._"

"_Che cosa, signore?_" asked the porter, apparently confused, "_gon--,
gondo--, non capisco. Hotel Moderno, non è vero?_" And he led the
way to the outside, where the Englishman perceived a wide, asphalted
street. "_Ecco là, signore, la stazione sotterranea del Tubo dei
Quattro Soldi; ecco qui la tramvia elettrica, e l'omnibus dell'
hotel._"

"_Gondola_," repeated the Englishman. The porter stared at him again.
Then he shook his head and answered, "_Non capisco, signore, non parlo
inglese_." So the Englishman entered the motor omnibus, started at
once, for there were no other travellers, and in a few minutes arrived
at the hotel, designed by an American architect and fifteen stories in
height. The gorgeous marble and alabaster entrance-hall was entirely
deserted.

Having engaged a room, the Englishman asked for a guide. The hall
porter, who spoke ten languages fluently and simultaneously, murmured
some words into a telephone, and almost immediately a dapper little
man presented himself with an obsequious bow.

"I want to go round the principal buildings," said the Englishman.
"You speak English, of course."

"Secure, sir," answered the guide, with another bow; "alls the
ciceronians speaks her fine language, but her speak I as one English.
Lets us go to visit the Grand Central Station of the Tube."

"Oh, no," said the Englishman, "not that sort of thing! I'm not an
engineer. I should like to see the Doge's Palace."

"Lo, sir! The Palace is now the _Stazione Centrale Elettrica_."

"Then it's no good going to see that. I will go to St. Mark's."

"San Marco is shutted, sir. The _vibrazione_ of the elettrical
mechanism has done fall the mosaics. The to visit is become too
periculous."

"Oh, indeed! Well, we can go up the Grand Canal."

"The _Canal Grande_, sir, is now the _Via Marconi_. Is all changed,
and covered, as all the olds canals of Venezia, with arches of steel
and a street of _asfalto_. Is fine, fine, _è bella, bella, una via
maravigliosa"!_

"You don't mean to say there isn't a canal left? Where are the
gondolas then?"

"_An, una gondola!_ The sir is _archeologo_. _Ebbene!_ We shalls go to
the _Museo_. There she shall see one gondola, much curious, and old,
ah, so old!"

"Not a canal, not a gondola--except in the museum! What is there to
see?"

"There is much, sir. There is the Tube of the Four Halfpennies, _tutto
all' inglese_, as at London. He is on the arches of steel below the
news streets. There is the bridge from the city to Murano, one span of
steel all covered of stone much thin, as the _Ponte della Torre_, the
Bridge of the Tower, at London. Is marvellous, the our bridge! Is one
bridge, and not of less not appear to be one bridge, but one castle
of the middle age in the middle air. _È bellissimo, e anche tutto all'
inglese._ And then----"

"Stop," cried the Englishman. "Does anybody ever come to your city
now? Any artists, for instance?"

"Ah, no, sir! _Pittori, scultori, perche?_ But there are voyagers some
time. The month past all the Society of the Engineers of Japan
are comed, and the hotels were fulls, and all those sirs were much
contenteds and sayed the city was marvellous. She shall go now, sir,
to visit the bridge?"

"No," said the Englishman, emphatically, "not I! Let me pay my bill
here and your fee, whatever it is, and take me back to the railway
station as fast as you can. There are plenty of bridges in London. I
am going back there."

       *  *  *

AT BRUSSELS.--_Mrs. Trickleby_ (_pointing to announcement in grocer's
window, and spelling it out_).

_Jambon d' Yorck._ What's that mean, Mr. T.?

_Mr. T._ (_who is by way of being a linguist_). Why, good Yorkshire
preserves, of course. What did you suppose it was--Dundee marmalade?


[Illustration: 'ARRY IN 'OLLAND

"These 'ere cigars at three a 'na'penny 'as just as delicate a flavour
as them as we pays a penny a piece for at 'ome!"]


[Illustration: L'EMBARRAS DES RICHESSES. AT THE CAFÉ DES AMBASSADEURS

_The Garsong_ (_to Jones and Brown, from Clapham_). "But your dinner,
gentlemans! He go to make 'imself cold, if you eat 'im not!"]




'ARRY IN SWITZERLAND


  DEAR CHARLIE,--You heard as I'd left good old England agen, I'll
          be bound.
  Not for Parry alone, mate, this time--I've bin doing the Reglar
          Swiss Round.
  Mong Blong, Mare de Glass, and all that, Charlie--guess it's a
          sight you'd enjoy
  To see 'Arry, the Hislington Masher, togged out as a Merry Swiss
          Boy.

  'Tis a bit of a stretch from the "Hangel," a jolly long journey by
          rail.
  But I made myself haffable like; I'd got hup on the toppingest
          scale;
  Shammy-hunter at Ashley's not in it with me, I can tell yer, old
          chap;
  And the way as the passengers stared at me showed I wos fair on
          the rap.

  Talk of hups and downs, Charlie! North Devon I found pooty steep,
          as you know.
  But wot's Lynton roads to the Halps, or the Torrs to that blessed
          Young Frow?
  I got 'andy with halpenstocks, Charlie, and never came _much_ of a
          spill;
  But I think, arter all, that, for comfort, I rayther prefer
          Primrose 'Ill.

  But that's _ontry nous_, dont cher know; keep my pecker hup proper
          out 'ere.
  'Arry never let on to them Swiss as he felt on the swivel--no fear!
  When I slipped down a bloomin' _crevassy_, I _did_ do a bit of a
          'owl,
  On them glasheers, to keep your foot fair, you want claws, like a
          cat on the prowl.

  Got arf smothered in snow, and no kid, Charlie--guide swore 'twas
          all my hown fault,
  'Cos I would dance, and sing _too-ral-li-ety_, arter he'd hordered
          a halt.
  Awful gonophs, them guides, and no herror; they don't know their
          place not a mite,
  And I'm dashed if this cad didn't laugh (with the rest), 'cos I
          looked sich a sight.

       *  *  *

AT OSTEND.--_Biffles_ (_to Tiffles_). In this bloomin' country
everyone's a prince or a marquis or a baron or a nob of some sort,
so I've just shoved you down in the Visitors' Book as Lord Harthur
MacOssian, and me as the Dook of FitzDazzlem!

_Tiffles._ Well, now, that is a lark! What'd our missuses say?

    [_And what did their "Missuses" say when B. and T., held in pawn
    by the hotel proprietor (charging aristocratic prices), had to
    write home to Peckham Rye for considerable advances from the
    family treasuries?_


[Illustration: "'E DUNNO OÙ IL EST!"

_Passenger from London_ (_as the train runs into the Gare du Nord,
Paris_). "Oh--er--I say--er--garsong! Kel ay le nomme du set plass?"]




SUR LA PLAGE

[Illustration: AN OLD FASHIONED WATERING-PLACE]


  _Sur la Plage!_ and here are dresses, shining eyes, and golden
          tresses,
    Which the cynic sometimes guesses are not quite devoid of art;
  There's much polyglottic chatter 'mid the folks that group and
          scatter,
    And men fancy that to flatter is to win a maiden's heart.

  'Tis a seaside place that's Breton, with the rocks the children
          get on,
    And the ceaseless surges fret on all the silver-shining sand;
  Wave and sky could scarce be bluer, and the wily Art-reviewer
    Would declare the tone was truer than a seascape from Brett's hand.

  And disporting in the waters are the fairest of Eve's daughters,
    Each aquatic gambol slaughters the impulsive sons of France,
  While they gaze with admiration at the mermaids' emulation,
    And the high feats of natation at fair Dinard on the Rance.

  There are gay casino dances, where, with Atalanta glances
    That ensnare a young man's fancies, come the ladies one by one;
  Every look is doubly thrilling in the mazes of quadrilling,
    And, like _Barkis_, we are willing, ere the magic waltz is done.

  And at night throng Fashion's forces where the merry little horses
    Run their aggravating courses throughout all the Season's height;
  Is the sea a play-provoker?--for the bard is not a joker
    When he vows the game of poker goeth on from morn till night.

  There St. Malo walls are frowning,--'twas immortalised by Browning,
    When he wrote the ballad crowning with the laurel Hervé Riel;
  With ozone each nerve that braces, pleasant strolls, and pretty
          faces,
    Sure, of all fair seaside places, Breton Dinard bears the bell!

       *  *  *

COMPENSATION,--"Ullo, Jones! You in _Paris!_"

"Yes, I've just run over for a holiday."

"Where's your wife?"

"Couldn't come, poor dear. Had to stop at home on account of the
baby!"

"Why, your holiday will be half spoiled!"

"Yes. Mean to stay twice as long, to make up!"


[Illustration: 'ARRY IN ST. PETERSBURG

He tries to make a droski-driver understand that he could have gone
the same distance in a hansom for less money.]


AT PARIS.--_Professed Linguist._ Look here! Moi et un otrer Mossoo--a
friend of mine--desirong der go par ler seven o'clock train à Cologne.
Si nous leaverong the hotel at six o'clock et ung demy, shall nous
catcherong le train all right? Comprenny voo? Voo parly Français,
don't you? You understand French, eh?

_Polite Frenchman_ (_who speaks the English_). I understand the
French? Ah yase! Sometimes, monsieur!


[Illustration: A LITTLE DUOLOGUE ON THE QUAY AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER]


[Illustration: HARRY'S SON'S HOLIDAY REMINISCENCES--SWITZERLAND (Drorn
all by himself, and signed "Harry's Son")]




WHAT TOURISTS NOTE

(_Supplementary Facts--omitted from the Times List_)


That everything is so much better on the Continent.

That the proverbially polite Frenchman never smokes before ladies in a
railway carriage.

That not for worlds would he shut the window in your face and glare at
you if you ask for a little air.

That no official ever seen through a pigeon-hole at a post bureau is
dyspeptic and insolent.

That sanitary improvements in Italy do not mean typhoid fever.

That where your bed-room walls are of paper, and somebody on one side
of you retires in good spirits at two, and somebody else on the other
gets up lively at four, you have a refreshing night's rest.

That rambling parties of Cook's tourists add immensely to the national
_prestige_.

That the discovery of what it is you eat in a _vol-au-vent_ at a
"_diner à trois francs_," will please but not surprise you.

That it is such fun being caged-up in a railway waiting-room, and then
being allowed to scamper for your life to the carriages.

That perpetual fighting to get into over-crowded hotels, crammed with
vulgar specimens of your own fellow-countrymen, is really enjoyable
and exhilarating work.

That a couple of journeys across the Channel, especially if it is
blowing both ways, are at least always something pleasant to look back
upon.

That when you once get home again, England, spite some trivial
advantages, being without Belgian postmen, French omnibuses, and Swiss
police-regulations, strikes you as almost unendurable.

       *  *  *

AT MONTE CARLO.--_Angelina_ (_sentimentally_). Look, Edwin, how the
dear palms are opening themselves instinctively to the golden air.

_Edwin_ (_brutally remembering his losses at the table and the long
hotel bill_). If you can show me any palm in the place, human or
vegetable, which doesn't open itself instinctively to the golden air,
I'll eat my hat!

    [_Angelina sighed profoundly, and Edwin opened his purse
    strings._


[Illustration: A SCENE AT THE "LUCULLUS"

_Mrs. Blunderby._ "Now, my dear Monty, let me order the luncheon
ar-la-Fraingsy. Gassong! I wish to begin--as we always do in Paris,
my dears--with some _chef-d'[oe]uvres_--you understand--some
_chef-d'[oe]uvres_."

    [_Emile, the waiter, is in despair. It occurs to him, however,
    presently that the lady probably means "Hors d'[oe]uvres," and
    acts accordingly._
]


[Illustration: 'ARRY AND 'ARRIET IN FRANCE

"What's 'Rots'?" "Game."]




BEAUTIES OF BOLOGNA


  Not those, along the route prescribed
  To see them in a hurry,
  Church, palace, gallery, described
  By worthy Mr. Murray.

  Nor those detailed as well by whom
  But Baedeker, the German;
  The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb,
  The pulpit for the sermon.

  No tourist traps which tire you out,
  A never-ending worry;
  Most interesting things, no doubt,
  Described by Mr. Murray.

  Nor yet, O gastronomic mind--
  In cookery a boss, sage
  In recipes--you will not find,
  I mean Bologna sausage.

  Not beauties, which, perhaps, you class
  With your own special curry;
  Not beauties, which we must not pass
  If led by Mr. Murray.

  I sing--alas, how very ill!--
  Those beauties of the city,
  The praise of whose dark eyes might fill
  A much more worthy ditty.

  O, Ladies of Bologna, who
  The coldest heart might flurry,
  I much prefer to study you
  Than Baedeker or Murray.

  Those guide-book sights no longer please;
  Three hours still, _tre ore_,
  I have to lounge and look at these
  _Bellissime signore_.

  Then slow express--South Western goes
  Much faster into Surrey--
  Will take me off to other shows
  Described by Mr. Murray.

  But still, _Signore_, there will be,
  By your sweet faces smitten,
  One Englishman who came to see
  What Baedeker has written.

  Let Baedeker then see the lot
  In frantic hurry-scurry.
  I've found some beauties which are not
  Described by Mr. Murray.

       *  *  *

OVERHEARD AT CHAMONIX.--_Stout British Matron_ (_in a broad British
accent, to a slim diligence driver_). Êtes-vous la diligence?

_Driver._ Non, madame, mais j'en suis le cocher.

_Matron_ (_with conviction_). C'est la même chose; gardez pour moi
trois places dans votre intérieur demain.

[Illustration: UN BON MAUVAIS QUART D'HEURE

(Waiting for one's bathing tent at the Dieppe casino)]


[Illustration: "IN SUNNY NORMANDY"

_First Tourist._ "I say, old chap, it smells pretty bad about here;
it's the river, I suppose?"

_Second Tourist._ "Yes--Seine _Inférieure_."]


[Illustration: POP! POP!

(SCENE--_Restaurant in Switzerland_)

_Tourist_ (_to manager, who knows English_). "There are two bottles of
wine in our bill. We had only one bottle."

_Manager._ "Ach, he is a new waiter, and zee confounded echo of zee
mountain must have deceived zee garçon."]


[Illustration: SUCCESSFUL SANITATION

_Anxious Tourist._ "Since your town has been newly drained, I suppose
there is less fever here?"

_Hotel-Keeper_ (_reassuringly_). "Ach, yes, sir! Ze teefoose (typhus)
is now quite _ze exception!_"]


[Illustration: A CONTINENTAL TRIP

_First Man_ (_tasting beer_). "Hullo! I ordered lager. This isn't
lager!"

_Second Man_ (_tasting_). "No; but it's jolly good, all the same!"

_Third Man_ (_tasting_). "C'est magnifique! mais ce n'est pas
lager-r-r!"]




MRS. R. ON BOULOGNE-SUR-MER


Mrs. Ramsbotham, who has been staying at Boulogne for a short time,
writes as follows:--

[Illustration]

"Bullown-some-Air is, I am informed, not what it used to be, though
the smells must be pretty much as always, which is not the scent
of rheumatic spices. It's called Bullown-some-Air because if the
sea-breeze wasn't too powerful for the smells, living would be
impossible. Many of the visitors to the hotels on the Key told me the
bedrooms were full of musketeers, who came in when the candle went
out, and bit them all over. Such a sight as one poor gentleman was!
He reminded me of the Spotted Nobleman at the Agrarian in Westminster.
Then, on the Sunday I was there, a day as I had always been given to
understand the French were 'tray gay,' there was actually no music,
no band, no concert, and in fact no amusement whatever at
the _Establishmong day Bangs_ (so called because there's a
shooting-gallery next it, where they bang away all day at so much a
head), which might as well have been closed, as there was no race-game
(of which I had heard so much), no Tom Bowling[A] (they wouldn't get
up a Tom Bowling unless there were nine persons present, which Mr.
Hackson says is much the same as when magistrates meet and there isn't
a sufficient number to make a jorum), and only one gentleman trying to
produce another to play billiards with him.

"There was a theatre open. Not being a Samaritan myself, though as
strict as anyone as to my own regular religious diversions at church,
I let Mr. Hackson take myself and Lavinia to see _The Clogs of
Cornwall_, which, I think, was the name of the opera, though, as I
hadn't a bill, and didn't understand one quarter of what they were
saying--not but what I was annoyed by Lavvy and Mr. Hackson always
turning round to explain the jokes to me--I confess I did not see what
either _Cornwall_ or _Clogs_ had to do with the story. The singing and
the acting was worse than anything I'd ever met with at an English
seaside theatre, because a place like Bullown ought to have a theatre
as good as the one at Brighton. The customs worn by the actors were
ugly, and when the lover, who was intended for a sailor--though his
dress wasn't at all _de rigger_--said, confidentially, to the
audience, alluding to an unfortunately plain young person who played
the part of the Herring, "She is lovely!" there was a loud laugh, or,
as Mr. Hackson, who speaks French perfectly, called it, a _levy de
reedo_, all over the house, and this emulating from people who, I
always thought, were remarkable for their politeness, was about the
rudest thing I ever heard done to a public character in a playhouse.

"The place was hot, and the seats uncomfortable; so that after two
acts, which was more like being in a penitentiary than a place of
recrimination, we left, and went to our hotel, where, there being
nothing more to do than there was anywhere else, Lavinia and myself
retired to rest--that is, such rest as the musketeers would allow us.
She slept in a back cupboard, called a _cabinet de Twilight_, because
it was so dark and scarcely any veneration, there being no fireplace,
and only such a window, as it was healthier to keep shut than open:
but she had the advantage over me in not being troubled by any
musketeers. There was only one of them in my room, and when I heard
him singing away like a couple of gnats, I hid under the bedclothes,
and he couldn't find me till I came up again for air, like a fish, and
then he bit me on the forehead.

"Next morning we went to breakfast '_à la four sheets_' they call it,
on account of the size of the table-napkins, at the _Rest-wrongs_ on
the pier. The time they kept us! as there was only one _gossoon_
to about twenty persons. The best thing we had there was our own
appetite, which we brought with us.

"After this there was nothing doing in the place till dinner-time
(called _table doat_ because they're so fond of it), and after that
there was a dull concert at the _Establishmong_, and as Mr. Hackson
told us, who went there, a dull dance and poor fireworks at the
Artillery Gardens in the _Oat Veal_. The '_Oat Veal_' is French for
the high part of the town, but, judging from the smells on and about
the Key, I should say that our hotel was situated in quite the highest
part of the town.

"Less than a week at Bullown was quite enough and too much for us. If
Sunday here were only lively, it would be a nice change from London,
or Dover, or Folkestone, or Ramsgate, as I do not know a pleasanter
and easier way to go than starting by the London, Chatting and Dover
train at 10 A.M. from Victoria or Holborn Viaduct, arriving at Dover
at twelve. Then by one of the comfortablest boats I was ever in,
called the _Inflicter_ or _Invigorator_, I couldn't catch which, but
Mr. Hackson told me it was Latin for 'unconquered,' which takes you,
if it's a fine day and wind and tide favourable, in an hour and a
quarter to Callous (or Kally in French), and if you are only going on
to Bullown, you have your luggage examined (as if you were a smuggling
brigadier!), and you have more than an hour for lunch before you
start again. The luncheon at the Kallyous buffy is excellent, and
the buffers, who speak English with hardly any accident, are most
attentive. Then, when you've finished, you start for Bullown by the
2.45 train, and are at your hotel by 3.30 or thereabouts, which is
what I call doing it uxuriously.

"But Bullown, as Mr. Hackson said to me, requires some
_ongterprenner_, which means 'an undertaker,' to look after it, as
it has become so deadly-lively. I think this must be a joke of Mr.
Hackson's, one of his _caramboles_, as they call them in French,
as what Bullown wants is waking up. As it is now, Bullown is a
second-class place, and will soon be a third-class one, which, as
Mr. Hackson says, 'Arry and an inferior dummy-mong will have all to
themselves.

  "Yours truly,

  "M. A. R."

[Footnote A: We fancy Mrs. R. means "_Tombola_."]


[Illustration: ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTEN

During his recent tour in Switzerland, Tomkins, who is rather nervous,
had a most terrifying experience.]




LINES ON (AND OFF) AN ITALIAN MULE

[Illustration]


  O dubious hybrid, what your patronymic
  Or pedigree may be, does not much matter;
  But if my own attire you mean to mimic,
  And flaunt the fact that you, too, have a hatter--
  Well then, in self-defence I'll pick with you
  A bone or two.

  Perchance you have a motive, deep, ulterior,
  In donning head-gear borrowed from banditti?
  You wish to show an intellect superior,
  (And hide a profile which is not too pretty?
  Or is it, simply, you prefer to go
  Incognito?

  A transmigrated Balaam's self you may be,
  But still I bar your method of progression;
  For while I sit, as helpless as a baby,
  And scale each precipice in steep succession,
  You scorn the mule-track, and pursue the edge
  Of ev'ry ledge.

  How can I scan with rapt enthusiasm
  These Alpine heights, when balanced _à la_ Blondin,
  While you survey with bird's-eye view each chasm?
  I cry _Eyupp! Avanti!_--_you_ respond in
  Attempts straightway to improvise a "chute"
  For me, you brute!

  _Basta! per Bacco!_ I'll no longer straddle
  (With cramp in each adductor and extensor)
  This seat of torture that they call a saddle!
  _Va via!_ in plain English, get thee hence, or----
  On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,
  I think, were best!


[Illustration: "ASTONISHING THE NATIVES"

_First Alpine Tourist._ "I say, Will, are you asleep?"

_Second Tourist._ "Asleep? No, I should think not! Hang it, how they
bite!"

_First Tourist._ "Try my dodge. Light your pipe, and blow a cloud
under the clothes! They let go directly. There's a lot perched on the
foot-bar of my bed now--coughing like mad!"]


[Illustration: _Tommy_ (_who has just begun learning French, on
his first visit to Boulogne_). "I say, daddy, did you call that man
'garçon'?"

_Daddy_ (_with pride_). "Yes, my boy."

_Tommy_ (_after reflection_). "I say, daddy, what a big _garçon_ he'll
be when he's out of jackets and turn-downs, and gets into tails and
stick-ups!"]


[Illustration: (_You may speak to anyone in France, even to a bold
gendarme--if you are only decently polite_)

"I implore your pardon for having deranged you, mister the gendarme,
but _might_ I dare to ask you to have the goodness to do me the honour
to indicate to me the way for to render myself to the Street of the
Cross of the Little-Fields?"]




_IN RE_ THE RIGI


From a recent letter in the _Times_ it would seem that tourists
visiting the hotels on the Rigi have to secure entertainment at the
point (or rather the knuckle) of the fist. If the fashion is permitted
to become chronic (by the patient endurance of the British public),
the diary kept by the visitor to the Rigi is likely to appear in the
following form:--

_Tuesday_, 4 A.M.--Just seen the sun rise. Rather cloudy in the
valley, but on the whole magnificent. Will stay until to-morrow, as I
am sure the air is excellent.

5 A.M.--Going back to the hotel. The night porter is shouting at me.

8 A.M.--Just finished a three hours' fight with the night porter.
He scored "first blood" to my "first knock-down blow." I was able
to polish him off in forty-seven rounds, and consequently have an
excellent appetite for breakfast.

9 A.M.--After some desperate struggling with half-a-dozen waiters,
have secured a cup of coffee and a small plate of cold meat.

12 A.M.--Have been asleep on a bench outside the hotel for the last
two hours and a half, recovering from my recent exertions.

1 P.M.--Have fraternised with five English tourists armed with
alpenstocks. One of our party has opened negotiations with the
hotel-keeper as to the possibility of obtaining some lunch.

2 P.M.--Our ambassador has returned with his coat torn into tatters,
and one of his eyes severely bruised.

3 P.M.--By a _coup de main_ we have seized the _salle-à-manger_, and
now are feasting merrily on bread and honey.

4 P.M.--Just driven from our vantage-ground by eight boots, ten
waiters, the landlord and auxiliaries from the kitchen.

6 P.M.--Have spent the last two hours in consultation.

7 P.M.--A spy from our party (assuming the character of an English
duke) is just leaving us for the front.

8 P.M.--Our spy has just returned, and reports that when he asked for
a room the enemy attacked him with brooms and candlesticks.

9 P.M.--Have just matured our plan of attack.

10 P.M.--Glorious news! A triumphant victory! Our party, in single
file, made a descent upon the _table-d'hôte_, seized a large number of
_hors d'[oe]uvres_, and, after an hour's desperate fighting, secured
a large room on the top floor, where we are now safely barricaded for
the night! Hurrah!

       *  *  *

AT DIEPPE.--_Edwin._ Awfully jolly here! Awfully jolly band! Awfully
jolly waltz! Awfully jolly, isn't it?

_Angelina._ Quite too awfully nice!

_Edwin._ Waltz over. Awfully nice moon! Awfully jolly to be a poet,
I should think. Say heaps of civil things about the moon, don't you
know! Rather jolly, eh? Tennyson, and that sort of thing, don't you
know?

_Angelina._ Yes, isn't he a perfect love?

_Edwin._ Yes--great fun. Next dance--square. Awfully stupid
things--squares, eh? You're not engaged?

_Angelina_ (_archly_). Not yet!

_Edwin._ Then let's sit it out.


[Illustration: PROVINCIAL MOSSOOS IN THEIR SUNDAY BEST]




MUDDY MILAN


  Once I thought that you could boast
  Such a perfect southern sky,
  Flecked with summer clouds at most;
  Always sunny, always dry,
  Warm enough, perhaps, to grill an
  Englishman, O muddy Milan!

  Now I find you soaking wet,
  Underneath an English sky;
  Pavements, mediæval yet,
  Whence mud splashes ever fly;
  And, to make one damp and ill, an
  Endless downpour, muddy Milan!

  Though you boast such works of art,
  Where is that unclouded sky?
  Muddy Milan, we must part,
  I shall gladly say good-bye,
  Pack, and pay my little bill--an
  Artless thing--and leave you, Milan.

       *  *  *

AT BOULOGNE.--_Ted_ (_to 'Arry_). What's the meaning of "avis" on
those placards?

_'Arry._ There's a question from a feller as 'as studied Latin with me
at the Board School! 'Ave you forgotten all about the black swan? It's
a notice about birds, of course!


[Illustration: _She._ "So, dear baron, you are just come down from the
mountains. What lovely views you get there, do you not?"

_Herr Baron._ "Most lofly!"

_She._ "And what delicious water they give you to drink there!"

_Herr Baron._ "Ach, yes. That also haf I _seen_."]


[Illustration: A CHOICE OF IDIOMS

_Mr. Brown._ "I say, Maria, what's the meaning of '_Sarner fairy
hang_,' which I hear you say in all the French shops, when they
haven't got what you want--which they never have?"

_Mrs. B._ "Oh, it only means '_It's of no consequence_.'"

_Mr. B._ "How odd! Now _I_ always say '_Nimport_'! But I dare say it
comes to the same in the end."]




THEN AND NOW

_Before the Holidays_ (_an Anticipation_)


Really nothing so pleasant as packing. Such fun to see how many
things you can get into a portmanteau. Won't take any books as the
"Continong" will be enough for amusement.

Capital carriages to Dover. Everything first-rate. Civil guards.
Time-table not a dead letter. Splendid boats, smooth sea, and a
first-rate _buffet_ at Calais.

Dear Paris! Just the place for the inside of a week. Boulevards full
of novelties. Theatres in full swing. Evenings outside the _cafés_
perfect happiness. Splendid!

_En route._ Swiss scenery, as ever, lovely. Mountains glorious,
passes, lakes. Delightful. Nothing can compare with a jaunt through
the land of Tell.

Italy--dear old Italy. Oh, the blue sky and the _tables d'hôte!_ What
more glorious than the ruins of Rome? What more precious than the
pictures of Florence? What more restful than the gondolas of Venice?

And the people even! The French the pink of politeness. The Swiss
homely and kindly. The Italians inheriting the nobility of the Cæsars.

And all this to take the place of hard work. Well, it is to come.
Bless everybody!


_After the Holidays_ (_a Retrospect_)

What can be worse than packing? And after all the trouble of shoving
things in anywhere, you find you have left half your belongings
behind! And of course the books you half read during your weary
travels are stopped at the Custom House.

Beastly journey from Paris to Calais, and as for the crossing
afterwards--well, as long as I live I shall never forget it!

Dear Paris! Emphatically "dear," with the accent on the expense. Glad
to be out of it. Boulevards deserted. Theatres playing "_relâche_."
_Cafés_ deathtraps in the service of the influenza.

_En route!_ Who cares for Switzerland--always the same! Eternal
mountains--yet coming up promising year after year! Sloppy passes,
misty views. Beastly monotonous. The Cantons played out.

Italy! Who says Italy? Blue sky not equal to Wandsworth. Rome
unhealthy. Art treasures at Florence not equal to collection in South
Kensington. Mosquitoes at Venice.

And the people! Cheeky French, swindling Swiss, and dirty Italians!

And yet this is all to be supplemented by the same hard work. In the
collar again. Oh! hang everybody!


[Illustration: ALTOGETHER SATISFACTORY

_Aunt Fanny._ "I do like these French watering-places. The bathing
costume is so sensible!"

_Hilda._ "Oh, yes, auntie! And so becoming!"]


[Illustration: A MOUNTAINEERING INCIDENT

_Voice from above._ "For heaven's sake be more careful, Smith.
Remember, _you_'ve got the whiskey!"]


[Illustration: TOURING IN ALGIERS

_Arab_ (_as Mr. and Mrs. Smith appear_). "Sh! You vant a guide! I am
ze best guide in Alger! For five franc I take you to Arab café vare
Inglees not 'lowed. For ten franc I show you ze street vare it is
dangerous for ze Inglees for to go. And for twenty franc--sh!--I stand
you on ze blace vare ze last Inglees tourist vos got shot!"

    [_Mr. and Mrs. Smith wish they were back in England._]


[Illustration: MR. 'ARRY BELVILLE, ON THE CONTINENT GENERALLY

_'Arry Belville._ "Yes! I like it extremely. I like the _lazy ally_
sort of feeling. I like sitting at the door of a _caffy_ to smoke my
cigar; and above all (_onter noo_) it's a great comfort to wear one's
beard without bein' larfed at!"]


[Illustration: MONSIEUR, MADAME, ET BÉBE]




ADVICE TO ENGLISHMEN ABROAD


Excepting for their money, English tourists are perhaps not highly
valued on the Continent. We would therefore offer a few practical
suggestions, which, now that the tourist season has returned, will be
found, no doubt, invaluable to Britons when abroad:--

1. When you begin inspecting a foreign town or city, it is wise to
stalk along the middle of the streets, and make facetious comments on
whatever you think funny. Laugh loudly at queer names which you see
above shop-windows, especially if their owners, as is frequently the
case, are lounging by the doorposts.

2. When you go into a church, strut and stare about as though you were
examining a picture exhibition. Display contemptuous pity for the
worshippers assembled, and make in a loud voice whatever critical
remarks you happen to think proper.

3. If, while you take your walks abroad, you encounter an unfledged
and enthusiastic traveller, who daringly attempts to enter into
conversation with you, do your best to snub him in recital of his
exploits, and render him dissatisfied with his most active feats.
Interrupt his narrative with pitying exclamations, such as "Ah, I see!
you went by the wrong route;" or, "O, then you _just_ missed _the_
very finest point of view." You may discover, very likely, he has seen
much more than you have: but by judicious reticence you may conceal
this awkward secret, and render him well-nigh as discontented as
yourself.

4. When you are forced to start upon some mountain expedition, let
everybody learn what an early bird you are, and awaken them to take a
lively interest in your movements. Stamp about your room in your very
thickest boots, and, if you have a friend who sleeps a few doors off,
keep bellowing down the passage at the tiptop of your voice, although
there may be invalids in plenty within earshot.

5. Should you gallantly be acting as a _courrier des dames_, mind that
your lady friends are called an hour sooner than they need to be. A
pleasant agitation will be thus caused near their bedrooms. They will
amuse those sleeping next them with an incessant small talk, and, as
their maid will be dispatched on endless little errands, their door
will be heard creaking and banging-to incessantly until they clatter
downstairs.

6. When you come into a drawing-room or _salon de lecture_, make
your triumphal entry with all the noise you can, so as to attract the
general attention. Keep your hat upon your head and glare fiercely
at the quiet people who are reading, as though, like Gessler, you
expected them to kneel down and pay homage to it.

7. Should your neighbour at the _table d'hôte_ attempt to broach a
conversation with you, turn your deaf ear, if you have one, to his
insolent intrusion. If in kindliness of spirit he will still persist
in talking, freeze the current of his speech by your iciness of
manner, or else awe him into silence by your majesty of bearing.

8. If, despite your English efforts to remain an island, you find
yourself invaded by aggressive foes to silence, strive to awe them by
the mention of your friend Lord Snobley, or of any other nobleman with
whom you may by accident have ever come in contact. For aught they
care to know, you may be his Lordship's hairdresser; but the title of
a lord is always pleasant hearing in the company of Britons, although
benighted foreigners have not such respect for it.

9. Never give yourself the trouble to order wine beforehand for the
_table d'hôte_, but growl and grumble savagely at waiters for not
bringing it the instant you _have_ ordered it, even though you happen
to have entered the room late, and find a hundred people waiting to be
served before you.

10. In all hotels where service is included in the bill, be sure you
always give a something extra to the servants. This leads them to
expect it as a thing of course, and to be insolent to those who can't
so well afford to give it.

       *  *  *

UNPLEASANTLY SUGGESTIVE NAMES OF "CURE" PLACES ABROAD.--_Bad
Gastein._ Which must be worse than the first day's sniff at
Bad-Eggs-la-Chapelle.

[Illustration: RECOLLECTIONS FROM ABROAD (FREE TRANSLATION)

Row in a Belgian estaminet (In three tableaux)

  "Now then! you be off!!" | "What!! you _won't!_" | "Then stay where
  "I shan't!"              | "_No!!_"              | you are!!"
]

[Illustration: The Dutch peasant is not without his simple notions
of chivalry. As we see by the above, he believes in letting the lady
_have the pull_.]




AN ALPINE RAILWAY


  Abominable work of man,
  Defacing nature where he can
  With engineering;
  On plain or hill he never fails
  To run his execrable rails;
  Coals, dirt, smoke, passengers and mails,
  At once appearing.

  To Alpine summits daily go
  The locomotives to and fro.
  What desecration!
  Where playful kids once blithely skipped,
  Where rustic goatherds gaily tripped,
  Where clumsy climbers sometimes slipped,
  He builds a station.

  Up there, where once upon a time
  Determined mountaineers would climb
  To some far _châlet;_
  Up there, above the carved wood toys,
  Above the beggars, and the boys
  Who play the _Ranz des Vaches_--such noise
  Down in the _Thal_, eh?

  Up there at sunset, rosy red,
  And sunrise--if you're out of bed--
  You see the summit,
  Majestic, high above the vale.
  It is not difficult to scale--
  The fattest folk can go by rail
  To overcome it.

  For nothing, one may often hear,
  Is sacred to the engineer;
  He's much too clever.
  Well, I must hurry on again,
  That mountain summit to attain.
  Good-bye. I'm going by the train.
  I climb it? Never!

       *  *  *

AT MONTE CARLO.--_First Briton._ One never sees any young girls here.

_Second Briton (brutally inclined)._ No! the ladies are obliged to be
_trente et quarante_ to match the tables.


[Illustration: WHY WE ARE SO BELOVED ON THE CONTINENT

_Provincial Tourist_ (_to "Kellner" who offers him sausages_). "I say,
old feller, any 'osses died about 'ere lately! _Chevals morts_, you
know!!"

    [_And the worst of it is, that though his compatriots did not
    laugh, as he expected, the "vulgarian" wasn't a bit abashed._
]




ROUNDABOUT READINGS


Ostend must be a glorious place. From an advertisement which has
appeared in an evening contemporary I gather that "the multitude,
anxious to spend an elegant and fashionable sojourn in the country,
has rendered itself this year at Ostend. It is a long time since such
an opulent clientele has been united in a seaside resort. At the fall
of day the vast terraces of the fashionable restaurants, situated
along the sea-bank, present a fairy aspect. There is quite a confusion
of dazzling costumes upon which sparkle thousand gems, and all this
handsome cosmopolitan society passes through the saloons of the
Kursaal Club, in which one hears spoken all known languages as at
Babel and Monte Carlo, and of which the attractions are identical to
those of the latter place." This is the first time I have heard of a
similarity to Babel being mentioned as an attraction. But no doubt an
opulent clientele has peculiar tastes of its own, especially when its
dazzling costumes sparkle with thousand gems.

In a small Belgian town (naturally not Ostend) I once saw
the following notice hung over the door of a washerwoman's
establishment:--

  Anglish linge tooke here from 1 sou
  Shert, cols, soaks, sleep-shert, pokets.
  I eet my hatt.

The last sentence puzzled me for a long time. Finally I came to the
conclusion that it was not intended so much to be a statement of
actual fact as an enticement to English people, who would of course
take all their washing to a lady commanding so gay and accurate a
knowledge of an English catch-phrase.

       *  *  *

My third example of English as she is spoke is from a notice issued by
an out-of-the-way hotel in Italy, which had changed its management:--

"The nobles and noblesses traveller are beg to tell that the direction
of this splendid hotel have bettered himself. And the strangers will
also find high comforting luxuries, hot cold water coffee bath and all
things of perfect establishment and at prices fixed. Table d'hôte
best of Italy France everywere. Onclean linens is quick wash and
every journals is buy for readers. Beds hard or soaft at the taste of
traveller. Soaps everywere plenty. Very cheaper than other hotel. No
mosquits no parrot no rat."


[Illustration: CONSEQUENCES OF THE TOWER OF BABEL

SCENE--_A table d'hôte abroad._

_He._ "Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle?"

_She._ "No, sir."

_He._ "Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fraülein?"

_She._ "No."

_He._ "Habla usted Español, señorita?"

_She._ "No."

_He._ "Parlate Italiano, signorina?"

_She._ "No!" (_Sighs._)

    [_Pause._]

_She._ "Do you speak English, sir?"

_He._ "Hélas! non, mademoiselle!" (_Sighs deeply._)]


[Illustration: OUR COUNTRYWOMEN IN PARIS

(_The extra half-franc_)

_Aunt Jemima_ (_blue ribbon_). "There, coshay. This is pour
voomaym--sankont sonteems! But it's a _peurmanger_, you know--not a
_pour boire!_!"]




ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRIT


Intending English visitors to Spa, who may wish to become,
temporarily, members of the _Cercle des Étrangers_, will be pleased
with the following courteous circular:--

"_Casino de Spa, Cercle des Étrangers._

"M.,--In polite replying of your esteemed letter of the ---- I will
hasten to send you a statute of the 'Cercle des Étrangers' with a
formulary at this annexed.

"Please to send us the formulary back, as soon as possible, the
formalities for the reception as member wanting two days time.

"We dare inform you that only those persons are allowed to go into
the drawing-rooms of the Casino, which previously have fulfilled the
prescribed formalities of admittance.

  "With the greatest respects
  "In order of the directorship of the Casino
  "THE CHIEF SECRETARY."

"_Casino de Spa, Cercle des Étrangers._"

"Under-signed, having been acquainted with the statutes of the 'Cercle
des Étrangers,' wishes to fulfill the prescribed formalities in order
to have inlet and therefore gives following indications:"

(_Space for particulars as to name, forename, title, or trade, "spot
and datum," with signature, here follows; and so this most interesting
document concludes._)

       *  *  *

QUANTITY NOT QUALITY.--_Brown, senior._ Well, Fred, what did you see
during your trip abroad?

_Brown, junior._--Aw--'pon m' word, 'don't know what I saw 'xactly,
'only know I did more by three countries, eight towns, and four
mountains, than Smith did in the same time!

       *  *  *

THE LOVE OF NATURE.--_First Chappie._ Lovely place, Monte Carlo, isn't
it! Such beautiful scenery!

_Second Chappie._ Beautiful!--such splendid air, too!

_First Chappie._ Splendid!--a--(_pause_)--let's go into the casino!

    [_Exeunt to the tables, where they remain for the rest of the
    day._


[Illustration: SCENE--_Bureau of the Chiefs of the Douanes_

_French Official._ "You have passport?"

_English Gent._ "Nong, mossoo."

_Official._ "Your name."

_Gent._ "Belleville."

_Official._ "Christian nom?"

_Gent._ "'Arry!"

_Official._ "Profession?"

_Gent._ "BANKER!"]


[Illustration: ON THE RIVIERA

_She._ "I wonder what makes the Mediterranean look so blue?"

_He._ "You'd look blue if you had to wash the shores of Italy!"]


[Illustration: SCENE--_A Café in Paris_

_London Gent._ "Garcong! tas de corfee!"

_Garçon._ "Bien, m'sieu'--Vould you like to see zee _Times?_"

_London Gent._ "Hang the feller! Now, I wonder how the doose he found
out I was an Englishman!"]


[Illustration: THE TIME-HONOURED BRITISH THREAT

_Indignant Anglo-Saxon_ (_to provincial French innkeeper, who is
bowing his thanks for the final settlement of his exorbitant and
much-disputed account_). "Oh, oui, mossoo! pour le matière de ça,
je _paye!_ Mais juste vous regardez ici, mon ami! et
juste--vous--marquez--mes--_mots!_ Je _paye_--_mais je mette le dans
la 'Times!_'"]




TONGUES FOR TOURISTS


The Long Vacation is drawing to a close, and parents and guardians may
like to know how reading tours have aided in advancing the education
of their respective scions. Should any doting fathers be interested
in the absorption of foreign languages into their sons' systems,
the following mems from the diary of a University man, who has just
returned from a tour abroad, whither he had gone expressly to perfect
himself in European tongues, may be productive of some reflection.

  _July._

Left Dover for our tour. Met American Colonel X. Y. Zachary at Calais.
Glorious brick. Knew French, and talked for us all. Gave us quite a
twang, and left us devoted to Yankees.

Put up at Grand Hotel. English waiter. Saved us lots of trouble. Went
to English tavern. Excellent beefsteak for dinner. Cheese direct from
Cheshire. Went to open-air music hall in the Shongs Eliza, what they
call a coffee concert. Two English clowns and a man who sang "_Tommy,
make Room for your Uncle._" English family on both sides of us.
Dropped their H's freely. Met two college chums in the yard of the
Grand when we came back.

Went out to buy German Dictionary, French Grammar, and Italian
Dialogues. Bought a copy of _Punch_ instead--great fun.

Started for Italy. Capital guard with the train: knew English
thoroughly. Queen's messenger in the carriage; splendid linguist.
What's the use of trying to speak a foreign language, if you don't
begin in your cradle!

Arrived at Turin. Met the Larkspur girls at the station. Went
everywhere with them. They are all awfully jolly. Quite gorgeous at
slang. Must buy that Italian Grammar and Dialogues. Learnt the Italian
for "Yes" to-day.

On to Venice. How well our gondolier talks English. Lovely weather for
cricket or lawn tennis. Nothing so jolly here. Old bricks, and dirty
punts they call gondowlers.

  _August._

Start for Rome. Fancy a Roman train. What was it? All Gaul, or all the
train, was divided _in tres partes_. Sang comic songs all the
way. Bother Rome! it reminds one of Virgil and Horace, and all those
nuisances. By the way, we must not forget the Italian Dialogues. Hotel
commissioner, such a good fellow. Has lived in the Langham for the
last six years. Told us a capital American story. Left the others to
go round the monuments while I played a game of billiards with Captain
Crawley. By Jingo! he does play well. _He_ never learnt Italian or
French, but I have heard he is a Greek. Speaks English like a Briton.

Meant to have begun Italian to-day; but too hot, really. Go back by
Vienna and Trieste. Better buy a German Dictionary. Charlie's voice
downstairs, by Jove! Hurrah! Off to Vienna. Go over the Tyrol by
night. Sleep all the way.

Vienna. Awfully good beer. English parson in same hotel. Knows the
governor. Wants me to take him round, and as he hears I am studying
German, will I interpret for him? See him further first.

  _September._

Leave Vienna, to escape parson. The German tongue most attractive
when made into sausages. Lingo simply horrible. Couldn't learn it if I
tried.

Arrived at Munich. Drove round the English Garden. Nothing English in
it except weeds and ourselves. Saw _Richard the Third_ played at the
theatre. Call that Shakspeare? Well! I am particularly etcetrad. And
in German, too! Why don't they learn English?

Home in time for some partridges. By the way, wonder what became
of the "coach" who went out with me? Never bought the grammars and
dictionaries, after all. There's nothing like English if you want to
be understood.

       *  *  *

AT BADEN-BADEN.--_Captain Rook._ Yes, my dear sir, although they
have closed the Public Tables, still, if you really want a little
amusement, I think I can introduce you to a very good set indeed.
Where they play low, you know--only to pass the time.

_Young Mr. Pidgeon._ Oh, thank you. I should like it very much indeed.
But I am giving you a great deal of trouble?

_Captain Rook._ Not at all!


[Illustration: AT BULLONG

_Paterfamilias_ (_who_ WILL _do the parleyvooing himself
instead of leaving it to his daughters_). "Oh--er--j'ai bezwang d'oon
bootail de--de--de----Here, you girls! what's the French for _eau de
Cologne?_"]


A CORRESPONDENT reports the following advertisement, written in chalk
on the box of a Swiss shoeblack:--

  "ENGLISH SPOKEN. AMERICAN
  UNDERSTOOD."

       *  *  *

SCENE--_Boulevard Café._

_First Irate Frenchman._ Imbécile!

_Second I. F._ Canaille!!

_First I. F._ Cochon!!!

_Second I. F._ Chamberlaing!!!!


[Illustration: FRENCH AS SHE IS SPOKE

"You like Ostende, Monsieur Simpkin?"

"Oh, yes, orfly! It's so 'richurch,' don'tcherknow. Just come up to
the 'Curse Hall,' will you?"]


[Illustration: "Such a change, yer know, from alwis torkin' yer own
langwidge!"]


[Illustration: KNOCKED 'EM IN THE OLD GHENT ROAD

(_A Sketch in Belgium_)]




FLORENCE IN THE FUTURE

(_A very distant Future, let us hope_)


_Tourist._ Can you speak English?

_Guide._ Yes, sir. I lived in London for many years.

_Tourist._ It is a very long time since I was in Florence. What is
there to see in your city now?

_Guide._ The city has been entirely improved, sir. There is the new
Palazzo Municipale. It is superb.

_Tourist._ I don't think I should care for that. What else is there?

_Guide._ There are the new Boulevards, the Piazza Umberto and the
Ponte Nuovo. They are all magnificent, and the American visitors
admire them very much. So do the English visitors, but there are very
few of them. It is curious, for Florence has been made quite new and
handsome.

_Tourist._ I don't wish to see new buildings. Isn't there anything
old?

_Guide._ Oh, yes, sir, of course. There is the Piazzo Vittorio
Emmanuele. That is more than thirty years old.

_Tourist._ I remember the hideous square. But where are the old
buildings? How about the Baptistery?

_Guide._ Oh, that was pulled down six years ago to make more room for
the tramways. It was a dark, ugly old place. There is a beautiful new
Battistero now, made of glass and iron, like the Crystal Palace near
London, put up in place of the old Cathedral which nobody liked.

_Tourist._ What? You don't mean to say Giotto's Tower has gone?

_Guide._ There was some old _campanile_. I think it was sold to the
Hawaii Territory World's Fair Syndicate.

_Tourist._ Anyhow, there's the Ponte Vecchio.

_Guide._ Oh, yes, sir. But nobody goes to see that. It was pulled down
a great many years ago, and some old-fashioned, artistic Florentines
made a great fuss, so it was put up again on dry land at the end of
the Cascine. The Municipality used to do that years ago. Pull down an
old building, and put it up again in quite a different place, and then
say it was just the same. It hardly seemed worth the trouble. Happily
they did not put up a memorial to every old building, as the English
did to Temple Bar. As for the Ponte Vecchio, it was turned into a
switchback railway at last, but it never paid. There is the Ponte
Nuovo----

_Tourist._ No, thank you. But look here. There must be something.
Where are the pictures?

_Guide._ They were taken to Rome, sir, when the Palazzo Pitti and the
Palazzo degli Uffizi were pulled down.

_Tourist._ How about statues? I remember old statues everywhere, and
some vile modern ones.

_Guide._ Yes, sir, years ago, but the old ones were all cleared away
to make more room for the electric tramways. But there's a magnificent
statue of Italy on the Piazza at Fiesole. The figure is two hundred
feet high, made of cast iron, painted to look like marble. She holds
an electric light in her hand, which you can see at night from miles
away.

_Tourist._ But I'd rather not. How about the churches? Where is Santa
Maria Novella?

_Guide._ Excuse me, sir; Santa Maria Novellissima. There was an old
church once, but the present one is quite new. It is made of steel,
with thin stone stuck all over it, to look like a stone building, just
like the Tower Bridge in London. You know, sir, we get many artistic
ideas from England. It is a very clever imitation, and much admired.

_Tourist._ No doubt. I'll ask you one final question. Which is the
oldest building now standing in Florence?

_Guide._ Well, really, sir, I'm not quite sure. I should think the
gasometer on the left bank of the Arno is about as old as anything.
The Stazione Centrale was very ancient, but of course the new Railway
Station----

_Tourist._ That'll do. I arrived at that station this morning. You
take me back there, and I'll leave this unhappy place for ever. I'm
off to Turin. It may be a rectangular, monotonous city, but it's now
the oldest town in Italy.

       *  *  *

AT LUCERNE.--_Member of Parliament_ (_ending a long explanation of
a pet measure_). And so you see, my dear, by the law of supply and
demand, Capital _must_ be benefited without injury to Labour. I hope I
make myself clearly understood? Perhaps you might give me your view
of the subject. The suggestions of fresh minds are frequently very
valuable. I have noticed that you have been pondering over something
for the last half-hour. You were thinking, perhaps, that greater
liberty might be given to the framers of the initial contract?

_Mrs. M.P._ No, dear. The fact is, I have been considering all the
morning which of my dresses I ought to wear to-night at the _table
d'hôte!_


[Illustration: OUR COUNTRYMEN ABROAD

Sketch of a bench on the Boulevards, occupied by four English people
who only know each other by sight.


[Illustration: AFTER THE FÈTES!

_First Citizen._ "Say then! was it not a fine change to cry 'Vive
l'Empereur' for nearly a whole week, instead of 'Vive la République'?"

_Second Citizen._ "Ah, my brave, it was truly magnificent! And so new!
I'm horribly bored with always calling out 'Vive la République'!"

    [_They smoke and consider._]




OBJECTIONS TO PLACES

(_By a Stay-at-Home Cynic_)


_Antwerp._--Too many pictures.

_Boulogne._--Too many English.

_Calais._--Barred by the Channel passage.

_Dieppe._--Journey there literally a "toss-up."

_Ems._--In the sere and yellow leaf.

_Florence._--Paintings anticipated by photography.

_Geneva._--Can get watches nowadays elsewhere.

_Heidelberg._--Castle too "personally conducted."

_Interlaken._--Jungfrau monotonous.

_Jerusalem._--Looks better on paper.

_Kissingen._--Fallen off since Sheridan's days.

_Lucerne._--Lion in stone too irritating.

_Madrid._--Bull-fights can be supplied by biograph.

_Naples._--No longer an _ante mortem_ necessity.

_Paris._--Used up.

_Quebec._--After the Jubilee, too Colonial.

_Rouen._--Preliminary journey impossible.

_Saumur._--Not to be tempted by the vintage.

_Turin._--Out of date more than a quarter of a century.

_Utrecht._--Nothing, with or without its velvet.

_Wiesbaden._--For ages superseded by Monte Carlo.

_Xeres._--Can get sherry without going there.

_Yokohama._--Products purchasable at the stores.

_Zurich._--"Fair waters" disappointing.

       *  *  *

AT ANTWERP.--_Artist_ (_amateur_). "_The Descent from the Cross._"
Hem! Not a bad bit of colouring, but out of date, sir,--out of date!

_Artist_ (_professional_). You think so! Well, perhaps you are right.
Splendid subject--splendid work; but it mightn't have sold nowadays.
In 1875, Rubens would have painted portraits of fat mayors and
sketches from the nursery.

_Artist_ (_amateur_). Talking of sketches from the nursery, you should
have seen my "_Coronation of Henry the Eighth!_"--the picture, you
know, that they were afraid to accept at the Royal Academy! Afraid,
sir!--that's the word--afraid!

_Artist_ (_professional_). Quite so!


[Illustration: AT A FRENCH HOTEL

"Tell him to clean your boots, John--and mine too."

"All right. Er--garçong, nettoyez may bot, si voo play--et aussee mah
fam!"]


[Illustration: A FRENCH CIRCE

_Landlady_ (_to Jones, who is bargaining for apartment_). "Non,
monsieur! C'est mon dernier prix, à prendre ou à laisser--et encore si
je vous le cède à ce prix-là, c'est parceque la physionomie ouverte
de monsieur m'est si sympathique que je voudrais avoir monsieur pour
locataire!"

  [_We will not insult our readers by translating._
]




TALK FOR TRAVELLERS

    ["The German officials at the frontier, since the relaxation
    of the passport regulations, have been ordered to treat
    foreign passengers with every politeness."--_Daily Papers._]


MEIN HERR, will you do us the honour to descend from the
railway-carriage? It will be merely a matter of form. We need not
disturb those gracious ladies, your wife and daughters.

This is the best way to the Customs. You will notice that we have
swept the path that leads to the door.

Certainly, these arm-chairs are for the use of passengers. We have
placed them there ourselves, and can recommend them.

Is it asking too great a favour to beg you to lend me the keys of your
boxes? A hundred thousand thanks.

Your explanation is absolutely satisfactory. You are bringing these
sixteen unopened boxes of cigars home for your grandmother. It is a
most proper thing to do, and, under the circumstances, the duty will
be remitted.

And these three hundred yards of lace of various makes and ages? An
heir-loom! Indeed! Then, of course, the packet must pass duty-free.

As we have found nothing of consequence in this portmanteau of yours,
it will be unnecessary to search the nineteen boxes of that gracious
lady, your wife. No doubt she has obeyed your instruction not to
smuggle. We are absolutely satisfied with your explanations, and are
greatly obliged to you for your kindness and condescension.

This is the way to the carriage. We have placed steps before the door,
as without a platform it is difficult to ascend.

No, mein herr, it is utterly impossible? We are forbidden by the
Emperor himself to accept a gratuity.

Yes, madam, it is indeed without charge. Do not tempt us. Instant
dismissal is the penalty.

Certainly, mein herr, you could get the same politeness before the
Emperor issued his Imperial instructions.

But then the charge was a thaler!


[Illustration: OUR COUNTRYMEN ABROAD

"Ulloa! Garçong, _here_ you are! Dayjernay, se voo play?"

"Yes, sare! Vat vil you 'av, sare?"

"Oh! Oofs!"

"Yes, sare! [OE]ufs à la _coque_, sare?"

"Oh, nong! Hang it! _Hen's_ eggs for _me_, please!"]


[Illustration:

_Gallant Scavenger._ "Very much the good day,[A] madame! And how fares
mister your husband, this fine weather?"

_Polite Applewoman._ "Much better, I thank you, monsieur! Recall me, I
pray you, to the amiable recollection of madame your spouse!"

_Gallant Scavenger._ "With pleasure, madame. Very much the good
evening!"

_Polite Applewoman._ "Good evening, monsieur, and good night!"

[Footnote A: In the original, "_Bien le bon jour, madame_."]]




INTO SPAIN

(_With a Conversation-Book_)


[Illustration]

_Cannes._--Read that the weather is dismal and cloudy in England.
Shall stay in the sunny South a little longer. Cannes is a charming
place. But might as well see something different. Where to go? Consult
map. Good idea. Spain. Consult time-tables. Easiest thing in the
world. Tarascon to Barcelona. What is there to see in Barcelona?
Nuts probably. Also Spanish manners and customs, dark eyes, fans,
_mantillas_, and so forth. Shall certainly go, after a few days. Good
idea to learn a few words of Spanish. Must be very easy. Italian
and French mixed, with some Latin added. Amiable Frenchman in hotel
supports this view. He says, airily, "_Vous quittez Paris dans le
'sleeping,' vous achetez des journaux espagnols à Irun, et, arrivé à
Madrid vous parlez espagnol._" Cannot hope to rival that linguistic
feat, but may be able to learn a few phrases between Cannes and
Barcelona. Buy a conversation-book in French and Spanish.

_Port Bou._--Across the frontier. Custom-house station. Now is the
time to begin Spanish. Have read some of that conversation-book on the
way. Begin to doubt its utility. Usual sort of thing. "Has thy brother
bought a boot-jack?" "I wish these six volumes of Molière's plays to
be bound in half calf." And so forth. This one is the same, only in
French.

Custom-house officer, in beautiful uniform and bright green gloves,
very strict in his examination of my luggage. The green gloves travel
all over my property, and bring out a small cardboard box. Triumphant
expression on official's face. He has caught me. Open box, and show
him it contains a few white ties. His face now shows only doubt
and amazement. Cannot explain to him verbally. Evidently useless
to mention the binding of Molière's plays. The green gloves beckon
another custom-house officer, also wearing bright green gloves.
Together they examine my harmless white ties. It seems to me the
green gloved hands are held up in pious horror. Try them in French, in
Italian, in English. No good. Should perhaps tip them in Spanish. But
why waste _pesetas?_ So refrain. They shake their heads still more
suspiciously. The only thing remaining for me to do is to ask if the
brother of one of them has bought a boot-jack. Does not seem very
appropriate, but, if said politely, might imply that I wish to change
the subject. Am just about to begin the note of interrogation upside
down, which gives such an uncanny air to a Spanish question, when they
cease looking at my ties, and I pass on.

_Barcelona._--Shall have no difficulty here. Have been told that
French is spoken everywhere. If not, then English or Italian. Everyone
in the hotel speaks French. To the bank. Manager speaks English
beautifully. Buy some cigarettes. Old woman in the shop speaks
Italian. Shall get on capitally. Need not trouble to carry the
conversation-book in my pocket.

In the evening to the opera. Walk out between the acts, seeing
Spaniards also walking out, and enter a café. Order coffee. Waiter
brings a huge glass of water, and a cup, filled to the brim with
sugar, on which the _verseur_ is about to pour my drink. Stop him.
Explain in French that I take no sugar. The two, and another waiter,
stand round me, with dazed faces. By Jove, they speak only Spanish!
Wish I had the conversation-book. But should probably have found
something like "_Nous ne voulons pas faire une excursion en mer, parce
qu'il fait trop de vent_," or "_Ces bottines sont un peu étroites,
veuillez les élargir_." No good trying talking. Turn out eight or ten
lumps of sugar, and so get my coffee. Then return to the opera. Four
polite officials at the entrance gaze wonderingly at the counterfoil
of my ticket, which I concluded served for readmission, no pass ticket
being offered. Ask each one, in turn, if he speaks French. He does
not. Oh for the conversation-book! If only I could say "_Tous les
tableaux dans le Salon Carré du Louvre sont des chefs-d'[oe]uvre_," or
"_Est-ce que mademoiselle votre s[oe]ur joue du piano?_" I should have
shown myself to be an individual with innocent and refined tastes,
and not a socialist or a brigand. The second phrase would have been
singularly appropriate in the opera house. Alas, I cannot! So address
them in French, with bows and smiles. And they respond in Spanish,
evidently with great courtesy, also with bows and smiles, and let me
pass in, probably because they cannot make me understand that I
ought to stop out. For the future I must carry that conversation-book
everywhere.


[Illustration: OVERHEARD NEAR BERGEN

_Norwegian Host_ (_whose English is not perfect--to British tourist_).
"What that I tell you, sarr, it is quite true. Nansen killed his last
dog to save the others!"]


[Illustration: (THE IDEAL) THE MERRY SWISS BOY (THE REAL)]


[Illustration: (THE IDEAL) THE MERRY SWISS GIRL (THE REAL)]




THE TOURIST'S BOOK OF FATE


  IF YOU DREAM OF                                IT MEANS

  _Antwerp_               That you will be bored to death by Rubens.

  _Boulogne_              That you will lose a small fortune in
                                 tenth-rate gambling.

  _Calais_                That you will soon tire of your Continental
                                 trip, and stop prematurely.

  _Dieppe_                That you will have about as much change
                                 and comfort as at Brighton in November.

  _Etretat_               That you will be fortunate if you can
                                 secure comfortable lodgings.

  _Florence_              That you will never enter another
                                 picture-gallery for years.

  _Geneva_                That you will want to go away before
                                 you have fairly arrived.

  _Heidelberg_            That you can never have been abroad
                                 before.

  _Interlaken_            That you will hear the opinions of a
                                 number of Mr. Cook's tourists on
                                 the Jungfrau.

  _Jerusalem_             That if you have been advised to go
                                 there by your friends, you must be
                                 very unpopular.

  _Karlsbad_              That if you intend taking the
                                 waters, you had better insure your
                                 life before commencing the operation.

  _Lucerne_               That if you want to ascend either the
                                 Righi or Mont Pilatus, if you are
                                 judicious you will purchase a railway
                                 ticket.

  _Milan_                 That you will find little difference between
                                 the Passage Victor Emanuel
                                 and the Burlington Arcade.

  _Naples_                 That you had better keep a sharp look
                                  out on the returns of the cholera.

  _Ouchy_                  That you are likely to have a good
                                  time of it at the Hôtel Beau Rivage
                                  if "Perambulating Parsons" have
                                  let it alone.

  _Paris_                  That you are quite subservient to the
                                  wishes and dress-requirements of
                                  your wife.

  _Quebec_                 That you can see what some of the
                                  Colonists have exchanged for the
                                  indiscriminating hospitality of the
                                  Mother Country.

  _Rome_                   That you wish to do a good turn to the
                                  doctors by choosing such a time for
                                  your visit.

  _Sedan_                  That you will develop a taste for the
                                  collection of Brummagem relics.

  _Turin_                  That you will want a good rest after
                                  doing Mont Cénis.

  _Unter den_              That you will be lured to visit a City
   _Linden_                       well worth seeing by the unearned
                                  fame of one of its smallest
                                  attractions.

  _Vevey_                 That you had better stay there than go over
                                 the Simplon into tourist-teeming Italy.

  _Wiesbaden_             That if you can't get "Trente et Quarante"
                                 or "Rouge et Noir" at the Kursaal,
                                 you may yet play at chess.

  _Zurich_                That by the date you get there it will be time
                                 to think of coming home again.


[Illustration: GOING TO THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS AT NICE]


[Illustration: SUDDEN INTERRUPTION OF THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS AT NICE.
"SAUVE QUI PEUT!"]


[Illustration: "L'ENTENTE CORDIALE"

A Sketch on the Normandy Coast.]




REGRETS _EN ROUTE_

(_By our Blasé Contributor_)


That I missed so many chances of doing something more or less novel on
the continent.

That I did not try a cup of coffee on Dover Pier _before_ starting for
Calais.

That I avoided the smoke-room when the steamboat passed through a
choppy sea mid-Channel.

That I did not "declare" something to the _douane_, to see what would
come of it.

That I did not stay a day at St. Pol, and then take the slow train to
Boulogne, stopping an hour or so at each of the interim stations.

That I did not go to a third-rate hotel on the wrong side of the Seine
to find out what it was like.

That I didn't do the Bois de Boulogne in a fog.

That I left Paris without seeing Père-la-Chaise in a Scotch mist.

That I did not ride a horse in Venice.

That I neglected to spend a couple of days in the Catacombs in Rome.

That I refused to picnic on the top of the Tower of Pisa under an
umbrella.

That I neglected to return to Marseilles by a cargo-boat.

That I followed no system at Monte Carlo.

That I went out in summer clothing at Nice.

That I took the train up the Rhine instead of one of the lumbering
steam-boats.

That I overslept myself at the summit of the Rigi, instead of catching
cold under a blanket.

That I followed the system of Mark Tapley without attempting
cheerfulness.

Finally, that when I was in Japan, I did not save myself further
boredom by personally patronising "the happy despatch."

       *  *  *

MEMS FOR TRAVELLERS ON THE CONTINENT.

--First-class abroad is patronised by princes, millionaires, fools,
_and_ wise men.

A sight-seeing trip would be far pleasanter without the sight-seeing.

       *  *  *

ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTEN AT ZERMATT.--

On the back of the business card of a Zermatt shoemaker is the
following notice:--

"PAY ATTENTION TO THIS Visitors are kindly invited to brought your
boots self to the schoemaker, then they are frequently nagled by the
Portier and that is very dammageable for boots and kosts the same
price."


[Illustration: A REMINDER

"Well, good-bye, old man. We've had a high old time in dear old Paris,
haven't we! To me it all seems like a dream!"

"So it would to me, old man, if you didn't owe me thirteen francs!"]




HOLIDAY HINTS

(_By the Expert Wrinkler_)


Where to spend Saturday to Monday is, of course, the prevailing and
stubborn problem in many of the stately homes of England. What then
must be the difficulty when the question to be answered is where to
spend the Easter holidays? The reply depends, of course, very much
upon the time that can be expended upon the vacation. If, to take an
example, a gentleman has only a week at his disposal, it is little
use his thinking very seriously of India or the Cape; but Paris is, of
course, well within his power. Given a fortnight he might get as far
as Rome if he wished to, although for my part I prefer Monte. On this
favourite resort, however, I need not dwell at present, as my readers
will remember a paragraph on Monte and suitable costume there which
I wrote some two or three years ago on the occasion of one of the
infrequent breakings of the bank.


[Illustration: SCENE--_South of France Winter Resort_

_Aunt._ "Kitty, if you don't behave yourself properly, I'll tell your
mamma. When I was your age, I was a good girl."

_Kitty._ "And are you very wicked now, aunt?"]


[Illustration: AN INNOCENT OFFENDER

What is all this about? Why, it is against the law to carry plants of
any kind, alive or dead, into Italy, and the officials at the Italian
dogana (custom-house) near Mentone have just been told that an English
gentleman, with a rose in his button hole, has strolled by, towards
Ventimiglia. So they are after the unsuspecting criminal!]


[Illustration: 'ARRY'S AND 'ARRIET'S 'OLIDAY TRIP]


[Illustration: SCENE--_Hotel in Cologne_

_Fidgety English Party._ "There seems to be quite a commotion in the
hotel, Kellner!"

_Kellner._ "Ja wohl! De _drain_ has chust gom in, kvite full!"

    [_Fidgety Party, who is not yet accustomed to the German way of
    pronouncing English, is aghast._
]




THE IDEAL EQUIPMENT

Any gentleman who really wishes to acquire a reputation as a citizen
of the world must be supplied with a large number of travelling
outfits which he can pack at a moment's notice. A compendious bag
fitted with requirements for the moors is always handy under my bed;
and I am ready to start for the Riviera, the Normandy coast, Paris,
Switzerland, the Bavarian Alps, the Rhine, Norway, Palestine, Iceland,
at ten minutes' notice, according as the invitation may be worded.
No gentleman at all in demand can afford to dispense with such
preparations. But to make travel really pleasant, remember that you
must not only do in Rome as Rome does, but you must dress as Rome (or
Paris) expects you to.


THE NEEDS OF PARIS

Paris being the favourite Easter resort, I cannot do better, even at
the risk of repeating myself, than give a few hints as to costume in
the gay city. A strong light suit of tweed dittoes, of a pronounced
check pattern, should be the basis of one's wardrobe. By way of
headgear a deer-stalker, a cloth, or best of all, a pith helmet, is
_de rigueur_ in the English visitor, and if you are not provided by
Nature with side-whiskers and long projecting front teeth, you must
call in the resources of art to make good these deficiencies.


A SENSIBLE SWISS OUTFIT

For a Swiss tour I should recommend the following outfit, A
dome-shaped celluloid hat for resisting the impact of avalanches; two
climbing suits of stout Welsh homespun or Irish frieze (do not make
the mistake of wounding the susceptibilities of the local _fauna_ by
choosing chamois leather, otherwise an excellent substance); hot-water
tube puttees and purpoise-hide brogues. A good supply of alpenstocks
and blue veils is indispensable. For hotel life, I recommend tourists
to take their own mosquito curtains, a pianola, and a portable
swimming-bath. The changes of temperature in Switzerland are so sudden
that one must be prepared for every emergency. If the noontide glare
has to be faced, bombazine bloomers will be found most refreshing.
But if the Matterhorn is to be scaled by moonlight you cannot be too
warmly clad.


NATIONAL COSTUME

What I would impress on any intending traveller, then, is to be
prepared within certain limits to accommodate his dress to that of the
country he proposes to visit. It is quite a mistake to suppose that
this will involve any serious outlay. Foreigners, though sensitive,
are considerate, and will not expect strangers to adopt every detail
of their national costume. For instance, I have found that the
alterations needful for a visit to Vienna are very few indeed. The
absolute minimum is a butterfly tie, but I should also recommend a
bottle of _pommade Hongroise_ and a tall hat with a flat brim. The
ordinary brim can be made to lie flat with a little coaxing, and can
be curled up afterwards by any good hatter. High heels also create
a favourable impression on the foreign mind, and if you take a black
coat be sure that it is heavily braided.


THE TYROL AND ITALY.

I knew a man who said that you would be welcomed anywhere in the Tyrol
if you could only jodel. Personally, though I think that a little
_tul-lul-liety!_ may be a passport to the affections of the Tyrolese
peasant, it has no influence whatever with hotel-keepers. For Italy,
a velvet or velveteen coat will make you feel at home, and if this
should prove beyond the resources of your purse, then I strongly
recommend earrings as the irreducible minimum. The preliminary
operation, I admit, is a little painful, but it soon passes off.
Earrings, with a red Garibaldi shirt and a Byron tie, give a man a
very stylish and thoroughly peninsular appearance.

       *  *  *

WHAT THEY TAKE ABROAD.--_What She takes._--Three black silk dresses
(Princesse, Watteau, and Duchesse); one green satin robe, with bows;
one fancy silk, with embroidered apron; two black grenadines (one
square cut); two white grenadines, with lace trimmings; four white
tops (two warranted to wash); one violet skirt, with apron and jacket;
four dinner dresses (violet, pink, pink and black, and blue); three
polonaises (yellow, green, and red); one white worked top, with
cardinal bows; two sealskin, one black silk, and three black cloth
jackets; long fur cloak, ulster, and grey travelling polonaise; four
hats (Gainsborough, brigand, shovel, and pork-pie); four bonnets
(black, blue, violet, and red); linen (14 cwt.); boots, slippers, &c.
(1 cwt.); extras, toilet, &c. (76 lb.).

_What He takes._--Linen (10 lb.); two flannel shirts; an extra pair of
boots; his sponge, combs, and brushes; and a wideawake hat.


[Illustration: A STAGGERER!

_Custom-House Officer._ "Now, then, got anything contraband about ye?"

_Mate._ "'Got 'bout bot'l and half brandy; but I'll defy ye to take it
fro' me!"
]




WHERE TO GO


[Illustration]

_Antwerp_--if you are not tired of Exhibitions.

_Boulogne_--if you don't mind the mud of the port.

_Cologne_--if you are not particular about the comfort of your nose.

_Dieppe_--if you like bathing in the foreign fashion.

_Etretat_--if solitude has commanding charms.

_Florence_--if you are partial to 100° in the shade.

_Genoa_--if you have no objection to mosquitoes.

_Heidelberg_--if you are not tired of the everlasting castle.

_Interlaken_--if the Jungfrau has the advantage of novelty.

_Java_--if you wish to eat its jelly on the spot.

_Kandahar_--if you are not afraid of Afghan treachery.

_Lyons_--if you are fond of riots and _émeutes_.

_Marseilles_--if you are determined to do the Château D'If.

_Naples_--if you are anxious to perform an _ante mortem_ duty.

_Ouchy_--if you like it better than Lausanne.

_Paris_--if you have not been there for at least a fortnight.

_Quebec_--if you are qualifying for admission to a lunatic asylum.

_Rome_--if you have never had the local fever and want to try it.

_Strasbourg_--if you are hard up for an appropriate destination.

_Turin_--if it is the only town you have not seen in Italy.

_Uig_--if you affect the Isle of Skye in a thunderstorm.

_Venice_--if you scorn stings and evil odours.

_Wiesbaden_--if you can enjoy scenery minus gambling.

_Yokohama_--if you are willing to risk assault and battery.

_Zurich_--if you can think of no other place to visit.

N.B.--The above places are where to go on the keep-moving-tourist
plan. But when you want to know "Where to stay,"--we reply, "At Home."




[Illustration: THE "MERRY SWISS BOY"]


THE REAL SWISS BOY

A NEW VERSION OF THE WELL-KNOWN BALLAD

(_Respectfully dedicated by Mr. Punch to the Alpine Tourist, on his
return home_)


MR. PUNCH _singeth to Swiss Landlord_--

  Come, carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
  Sack thy gains, and from labour away.
  Stick the tongue in the cheek, and sing "_La République_
  (Like _l'Empire_, as we know) _c'est la paye!_"
  The season's done, with purses low,
  The weary tourists homeward flow--
  Then carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
  Sack thy gains, and from labour away!


_Swiss Landlord respondeth_--

  Am not I, am not I, say, a merry Swiss boy,
  When I hie from the mountain away?
  _Les Milords_ they may climb, without reason or rhyme,
  But, _beigott_, for their climb they shall pay.
  My shutters up, no thieves to fear,
  Till back the tourists come next year,
  Then will I, then will I, as the merry Swiss boy,
  Take purses upon the highway!

  By the nose, by the nose, sir, the knowing Swiss boy
  The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can lead;
  Through the nose, through the nose, too, the knowing Swiss boy
  The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can bleed:
  Hotels so high high charges grow;
  _Point d argent, point de Suisse_, you know.
  So with _Vivent les Anglais!_ locks the merry Swiss boy
  The francs in his strong-box away!

       *  *  *

VENICE UNPRESERVED

[_"Steamers have been started on the Grand Canal at Venice."--Globe._]

  I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs,
  A palace and a prison on each hand.
  I saw from out the wave black funnels rise
  Whence clouds of densest smoke I saw expand,
  And common steamboats, at a penny a mile,
  O'er the canal--saw many a person land
  Upon the piers. O Anguish! it does rile
  The Bard to see all this--and what a smell of ile!

       *  *  *

THE MERRY SWISS LANDLORD TO THE TRAVELLER WHO HAS BEEN PLUNDERED

  Briton, assuage this futile rage!
    Your curses are in vain.
  You vow you'll go, but well I know
    You'll cut to come again!


[Illustration: THE RETURN OF THE TOURIST]


[Illustration: ADVANTAGES OF A CLASSICAL EDUCATION

_Mr. Mould._ "Let it remain here, and I'll come back for it!"

_Chef de Gare._ "Je n'comprends pas, m'sieur!"

_Mrs. Mould._ "Try him in _Latin_, my love."

_Mr. Mould._ "All right. Look here, mossoo--_Requiescat in
pace--resurgam!_"

_Chef de Gare._ "Ah! parfaitement! Que ça reste ici, et puis vous
reviendrez!"]




FIRST IMPRESSIONS

[Illustration]


There is no doubt that one's first impressions are always the
brightest and the best; therefore I resolve to record the first
impressions of a first visit to the Italian lakes.

"_British Bellagio_,"--

"Hôtel Victoria, Prince de Galles et des Iles Britanniques," or
some such name, is usually, as _Baedeke_r says, "frequented by the
English." They are here certainly, and one hears one's native language
everywhere. There are the honeymoon couples, silent and reserved, who
glare fiercely at anyone who might be supposed to imagine for a moment
that they are newly married; there are people who converse in low
monotonous voices about the weather, which changes every hour; there
is an old lady, who gives one startling information, telling one, for
instance, that Paul Veronese was born at Verona; and there are two
or three British menservants, gazing with superb disdain at the poor
foreigners. The hotel is very quiet. The evening of a week-day is like
Sunday evening, and Sunday evening is----!!! If only the weather were
not also English, or even worse. On the last day of September the only
warm place is by the fire in the _fumoir_. So let us hurry off from
this wintry climate to somewhere, to anywhere. By the first boat we
go.

Still English everywhere. At Bellagio a great crowd, and heaps of
luggage. At Cadenabbia a greater crowd, and more heaps of luggage.
Here they come, struggling along the gangway in the wind. There is a
sad-faced Englishman, his hands full of packages, his pockets stuffed
with others, carrying under his arm a little old picture wrapped
loosely in pink tissue paper, which the wind blows here and there.
He is a forgetful man, for he wanders to and fro collecting his
possessions. With him is another forgetful Englishman in very shabby
clothes, who also carries packages in paper, and who drags after him
an immensely fat bull-dog at the end of a cord five yards long, which
winds round posts and human legs and other obstacles. At last they are
all on board--the forgetful Englishmen have darted back for the last
time to fetch in an ice-axe and an old umbrella--and on we go over the
grey water, past the grey hills, under the grey sky, towards Como. At
Cernobbio the shabby Englishman lands, dragging his bull-dog at the
end of the cord, and carrying in his arms two rolls of rugs, a bag,
and other trifles. His sad-faced companion, still holding his tiny Old
Master in the ever-diminishing pink paper, wanders in and out seeking
forgotten treasures, an ice-axe, a bag, another paper parcel. Finally
all are landed, the gangway is withdrawn, the steamer begins to
move. Suddenly there is a shout. The shabby Englishman has forgotten
something. The sympathetic passengers look round. There is a solitary
umbrella on a seat No doubt that is his. A friendly stranger cries,
"Is this yours?" and tosses it to him on the quay. Then there is
another shout. "_Ach Himmel_, dat is mine!" The frantic German waves
his arms, the umbrella is tossed back, he catches it and is happy. But
meanwhile another English man, the most egregious ass that ever lived,
has discovered yet another solitary umbrella, which he casts wildly
into space. For one moment the captain, the passengers, the people on
the quay, gaze breathless as it whirls through the air. It falls just
short of the landing-stage, and sinks into the grey waters of that
chilly lake, never more to be recovered, in any sense of the word.
In those immeasurable depths its neat silk covering will decay, its
slender frame will fall to pieces. It has gone for ever. Beneath
this grey Italian sky some Italian gamp must keep off these Italian
showers. Then the captain, the passengers, and the people smile and
laugh. I, who write this, am the only one on whose face there is not a
grin, for that umbrella was mine.

    A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.

       *  *  *


THE BELFRY OF BRUGES OVERLOOKED

["A more silent city than Bruges does not exist."--_Standard._]


  WHAT? Bruges a silent city!
    Now, nay a thousand times!
  If deaf, accept our pity;
    If not,--oh dear! those chimes!


[Illustration: SIX OF ONE, HALF-A-DOZEN OF THE OTHER

_Three of our Countrywomen Abroad._ "_Well, I never!_ To turn round,
and stare at one like that!"]


[Illustration: A VIEW ON THE FRENCH COAST]




A VIEW ON THE FRENCH COAST


  TALK about lazy time!--
  Come to this sunny clime--
  Life is flowing rhyme--
      Pleasant its cadence
  Zephyrs are blowing free
  Over the summer sea,
  Sprinkling deliciously
      Merry Mermaidens!

  Despite the torrid heat,
  Toilettes are quite complete;
  White are the little feet,
      Fair are the tresses:
  Maidens here swim or sink,
  Clad in blue serge--I think
  Some are in mauve or pink--
      Gay are the dresses!

  If you know Etretât,
  You'll know _M'sieu là_--
  Oh, such a strong papa!--
      Ever out boating.
  You'll know his babies too,
  Toto and Lolalou,
  All the long morning through
      Diving and floating.

  Oh what a merry crew!
  Fresh from the water blue,
  Rosy and laughing too--
      Daring and dripping!
  Look at each merry mite,
  Held up a dizzy height,
  Laughing from sheer delight--
      Fearless of slipping!

  He hath a figure grand--
  Note, as he takes his stand,
  Poised upon either hand,
      Merry young mer-pets:
  Drop them! You strong papa,
  Swim back to Etretât!
  Here comes their dear mamma,
      Seeking for _her_ pets!

       *  *  *

[Illustration: 'ARRY'S 'OLIDAY; B'LOGNE AND BACK]

[Illustration: HARRY'S SON'S HOLIDAY REMINISCENCES--HOLLAND

(_Drorn all by himself, and signed "Harry's Son"_)]

[Illustration: 'ARRY ON THE BOULEVARDS]




ON THE CHEAP

(_From the Journal of a Travelling Economist_)

["On the other hand, however, we must avow some apprehension that
too minute attention to the possibility of cheap travel may render a
Continental tour a continual vexation and trouble. Plain living and
high thinking are, as Mr. Capper says, crying wants of these days;
but the latter condition is hardly to be attained by the self-imposed
necessity of striking a bargain with a landlord at the end of each
day's journey."--_Times._]


3 A.M.--Roused for the seventeenth time since midnight. Vow I will
never go to a fourth-class hotel again. Try to get a little sleep on
four chairs and a sliding bureau. Can't. Begin a letter to the _Times_
in my head.

4 A.M.--Get up and look for ink. Wake the others. Order five
breakfasts for seven of us, and explain to the landlord that we have
to catch the 4.57 cheap "omnibus" train for Farthingheim.

5 A.M.--Row with landlord about _bougies_. Will charge for them,
though we all went to bed in the dark. Explain this. He snaps his
fingers in my face, calls me "_Ein schwindlinder Beleidiger!_" refuses
to split the breakfasts, and seizes my portmanteau.

6 A.M.--Row still proceeding. Cheap train hopelessly missed. Look out
"_Beleidiger_" in a dictionary, and go upstairs and collect all the
_bougies_ in a carpet-bag. Pay bill in full, threaten to write to
_Bradshaw_, and go off, carrying all our own luggage to station,
followed by a jeering crowd.

7 A.M.--Sit down on it, and, with the assistance of a Phrase-book,
tell the crowd in German that "this isn't the sort of treatment a
parcel of foreigners would experience, under similar circumstances, in
the Tottenham Court Road."

Pelted. Make up our minds to catch the 7.43 (fast), if we can.

8 A.M.--Miss it. Nothing till the 12.3 express. Station-master refuses
to take our luggage before 11.58. Start with it to the town. Crowd
increasing.

9 A.M.--Visit the Dom. Descend into Shrine of St. Berthold. Very
interesting. Guide well-informed and intelligent. Give him nothing on
principle. Follows us to the Alten Schloss, shouting at the top of his
voice, and shaking his fists.

10 A.M.--Go all over the Schloss. Capital state of preservation.
Are shown the "reserved apartments." Refuse to give anything to the
_concierge_. He comes out after us with a horse-whip. The guide still
there shouting. We ask the way to tomb of Gustavus the Ninth. Crowd
follows us with brickbats.

11 A.M.--Get in by the assistance of a very civil commissionaire.
Striking. Are shown the boots of Charlemagne, and the spot where
Rudolph the Eighteenth was assassinated. Sign our names in visitors'
book. Give nobody anything. Commissionaire walks by our side, calling
us "Brigands!" Crowd enormous. Symptoms of riot commencing. Reach
station exhausted.

12 NOON.--Prepared to pay anything to escape. Take seven first-class
tickets (express), and are charged nineteen thalers for excess of
luggage. Get off in a storm of execration, after having to give up all
the _bougies_ to a gendarme. Start, threatening feebly to write to the
_Times_, have hysterics, and go to sleep.

1 P.M.--Still hysterical.

2 P.M.--Ditto.

3 P.M.--Still hysterical.

4 P.M.--Ditto.

5 P.M.--Ditto.

6 P.M.--Arrive. Refuse to hire a _voiture_. Tell the omnibus
conductor, with the aid of the Phrase-book, that his tariff of fares
is "utterly ridiculous." Set out on foot in search of a _gasthaus_
of moderate pretensions, where no English have been to demoralise the
landlord and raise the prices.

7. P.M.--Still searching.

8 P.M.--Ditto.

9 P.M.--Ditto.

10 P.M.--Ditto.

11 P.M.--Find what we want at last, in a dark alley, turning out of
a side street, running precipitously to the river. Dine at the late
_table d'hôte_ with one commercial traveller, on pickled cherries, raw
bacon, cabbage, sugar biscuits, horseflesh, and petrified figs.

12 MIDNIGHT.--Retire, and have nightmare.

1 A.M.--Endeavour to sleep on three chairs and a washhand-stand.
Can't. Determine to write to the _Times_.

2 A.M.--Left writing.


[Illustration: A DECLARATION INDEED!

"Avez-vous quelquechose à déclarer, madame?"

"Oh, wee! Je declar que noos avong pairdew too no baggarge!"]


[Illustration: LE PIED ANGLAIS

_Bathing Woman_ (_to English lady_). "Voilà, madame, une belle paire
de chaussons." (_Noticing disapproval in visitor's face._) "Ah, madame
n'en veut pas? Je suis désolée, mais, pour le moment, il ne me reste
pas de plus grands."]


[Illustration: AT THE PARIS EXHIBITION

_He._ "There is Madame Chose flirting with a nigger! Why, she is only
quite recently a widow."

_She._ "Ah, that accounts for her choice. She is in mourning, and the
black suits her!"]




TOASTS FOR TRAVELLERS

(_By our Continental Cynic_)


Amiens--and may the cathedral compensate for the break of the journey.

Boulogne--and may the bathing on the sands never land you in a hole.

Calais--and may the luncheon at the buffet wipe away the recollection
of a dusty passage.

Dieppe--and may the comforts of an English hotel counterbalance the
thraldom of foreign fashions.

Evian-les-Bains--and may the waters be worthy of their reputation.

Florence--and may the pictures soothe the irritation caused by an
indifferent _table d'hôte_.

Genoa--and may the view wash away the recollection of Italian
uncleanliness.

Heidelberg--and may the popular ruins survive the vulgarity of the
personally conducted.

Interlaken--and may sunset on the mountain be not disappointing.

Jura--and may the pass satisfy general expectation.

Kissingen--and may it be worth the bother of getting to it.

Lucerne--and may its advertised "loveliness" not cause it to become
impossible.

Mannheim--and may its distance from anywhere not be a drawback to its
few additional attractions.

Nuremberg--and may its toys be worth the journey and the seeing.

Naples--and may it not become necessary, owing to epidemics, to die
there immediately after its inspection.

Ouchy--and may it be a pleasant surprise after Lausanne.

Rome--and may its monuments be seen without contracting its fever.

St. Malo--and may it be reached without running aground in the
neighbourhood of the Channel Islands.

Turin--and may its departed glory revived reward the end of a tedious
journey.

Venice--and may it be seen before it is spoilt by the modern improver.

Zurich--and may it be appreciated in spite of its inferiority to all
neighbouring Continental attractions.




[Illustration: FINIS]




BRADBURY, AGNEW & CO., LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE




Transcriber's Note:

Sundry missing or damaged punctuation has been repaired.


Page 183: '9 P.M.' corrected to '9 A.M.' to match context.









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