f the "Chaldaeans whose
cry is in the ships." {121}

[Picture: Sunday ride]

So I ventured near in my dingey, and the imperturbable Egyptians were
fairly taken by surprise. They soon rallied to a word or two in their
language and an Englishman's smile, and rapidly we became friends, and
talked of Damascus and Constantinople, and finally decided that
"Englishman bono!" The shape and minute dimensions of my dingey much
astonished them; but they probably believed, that in that very craft I
had come all the way from London.

The luxury of Paris must have at least some effect in making _gourmands_
of the young generation, even if their fathers did not set the example.
The operation, or rather the solemn function, of breakfast or dinner, is
with many Frenchmen the only serious act in life. When people can afford
to order a dinner in exact accordance with the lofty standard of
excellence meant by its being "good," the diner approaches the great
proceeding with a staid and watchful air, and we may well leave him now
he is involved in such important service. But with the _octroi_ duty for
even a single pheasant at two shillings and sixpence, there are many good
feeders who cannot afford to "dine well," and the fuss they make about
their eatables is something preposterous. It is a vice--this systematic
gluttony--that seems to be steadily increasing in France for the last
twenty years, at least in its public manifestation, and moreover it is an
evil somewhat contagious.

One evening, while some of us had dinner at the Terrasse in St. Cloud, a
family entered the room, and were partly disrobing themselves of bonnets
and hats for a regular downright dinner, when the waiter came, and in
reply to the order of a "_friture_" he calmly said they had none.

At this awful news the whole party were struck dumb and pale, and they
leant back on their chairs as if in a swoon. The poor waiter prudently
retreated for reinforcements, and the landlady herself came in to face
the infuriate guests.

"No friture!" said the father. "No friture, and we come to St. Cloud?"
he muttered deeply in rage. His wife proceeded to make horribly wry
faces, whereat Rob Roy irreverently laughed, but he was not observed, for
they noticed nothing of the external trifling world. The daughters
heaved deep sighs, and then burst into voluble and loud denunciations.
Then the son (who wanted dinner at any rate, and the objurgations m