n undersell him in the same
articles, by about fifty per cent.

In all this, however, John Murray is not to blame; on the contrary, it
only shows his headlong popularity, and the implicit trust, with which
is received, every statement he makes. I cannot conceive anything more
frightful than the sudden appearance of a work which should contradict
everything in the "Hand-book," and convince English people that John
Murray was wrong. National bankruptcy, a defeat at sea, the loss of the
colonies, might all be borne up against; but if we awoke one morning
to hear that the "Continent" was no longer the Continent we have been
accustomed to believe it, what a terrific shock it would prove. Like the
worthy alderman of London, who, hearing that Robinson Crusoe was only
a fiction, confessed he had lost one of the greatest pleasures of
his existence; so, should we discover that we have been robbed of an
innocent and delightful illusion, for which no reality of cheating
waiters and cursing Frenchmen, would ever repay us.

Of the implicit faith with which John and his "Manual" are received, I
remember well, witnessing a pleasant instance a few years back on the
Rhine.

On the deck of the steamer, amid that strange commingled mass of
Cockneys and Dutchmen, Flemish boors, German barons, bankers and
blacklegs, money-changers, cheese-mongers, quacks, and consuls, sat
an elderly couple, who, as far apart from the rest of the company as
circumstances would admit, were industriously occupied in comparing the
Continent with the "Hand-book," or, in other words, were endeavouring
to see, if nature had dared to dissent from the true type, they held in
their hands.

"'Andernach, formerly. Andemachium,'" read the old lady aloud. "Do you
see it, my dear?"

"Yes," said the old gentleman, jumping up on the bench, and adjusting
his pocket telescope--"yes," said he, "go on. I have it."

"'Andernach,'" resumed she, "'is an ancient Roman town, and has twelve
towers----'"

"How many did you say?"

"Twelve, my dear--"

"Wait a bit, wait a bit," said the old gentleman; while, with
outstretched finger, he began to count them, one, two, three, four,
and so on till he reached eleven, when he came to a dead stop, and
then dropping his voice to a tone of tremulous anxiety, he whispered,
"There's one a-missing."

"You don't say so!" said the lady, "dearee me, try it again."

The old gentleman shook his head, frowned ominously, and recommenced the