erved, the
only article, except education, which is cheaper, is wine; and I am
afraid, considering the thirsty propensities of my countrymen, that is a
very strong attraction with the nobler sex. If claret and all other
French wines were admitted into England at a much lower duty, they would
be almost as cheap in England as they are in foreign capitals; and, as
the increased consumption would more than indemnify the government, it
is to be lamented that it is not so arranged.--Formerly we shut out the
French wines, and admitted those of Portugal, as our ancient ally; but
our ancient ally has shown any thing but good-will towards us lately,
and we are at all events under no further obligation to support her
interests. Let us admit French wines in bottles at a very low duty, and
then England will be in every respect as cheap, and infinitely more
comfortable as a residence than any part of the Continent. The
absentees who are worth reclaiming will return; those who prefer to
remain on the Continent are much better there than if they were
contaminating their countrymen with their presence. How true is the
following observation from the author I before quoted on her return from
abroad:--

"Home, home at last. How clean, how cheerful, how comfortable! I was
shown at Marthien the shabby, dirty-looking lodgings where the -- are
economising, in penance for the pleasure of one little year spent in
this charming house! Poor people! How they must long for England! how
they must miss the thousand trivial but essential conveniences devised
here for the civilisation of human life! What an air of decency and
respectfulness about the servants! what a feeling of homeishness in a
house exclusively our own! The modes of life may be easier on the
Continent,--but it is the ease of a beggar's ragged coat which has
served twenty masters, and is twitched off and on till it scarcely holds
together, in comparison with the decent, close-fitting suit
characteristic of a gentleman."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

Brussels.
Authors, like doctors, are very apt to disagree. Reading, the other
day, a very amusing publication, called the "Diary of a Desennuyee,"
some passages in it induced me to fall back upon Henry Bulwer's work on
France. Among his remarks upon literary influence in that country, he
has the following:--

"A literary Frenchman, whom I met not long ago in Paris, said