ver appears infinitely amused at
his friend having obtained a fare. Some chaff passes between them,
which to me is unintelligible, and which DAUBINET professes not to
catch, but I fancy, whatever it is, it is not highly complimentary to
our _cocher's_ fares. In one quarter through which we drive, they are
setting up the booths and roundabouts for a Fair.

"They can't do much business here," I observe to my companion.

"Immense!" he replies.--"But there's no one about."

[Illustration]

"There will be," he returns. "Manufacturing town--everybody engaged
in business. Bell rings--_Caramba!_--out they come, like the
cigarette-makers in _Carmen_." Here he hums a short musical extract
from BIZET's Opera, then resumes--"Town's all alive--then, after
dinner, back to business--evening time out to play, to _cafes_, to
the Fair! God save the QUEEN!"

"But there's nothing doing at night, as we saw when we arrived
yesterday," I observe.

"No," says DAUBINET; "it is an early place." Then he sings, "If you're
waking"--he pronounces it "whacking"--"call me early, mothair dear!"
finishing up with a gay laugh, and a guttural ejaculation in Russian;
at least, I fancy it is Russian. "Ah! _voila!_" We have pulled up
before a very clean-looking and handsome _facade_. The carriage-gates
are closed, but a side-door is immediately opened, and a neat elderly
woman answers DAUBINET's inquiries to his perfect satisfaction.
"VESQUIER _est chez lui. Entrez donc!_" We enter, profoundly saluting
the porteress. When abroad, an Englishman should never omit the
smallest chance of taking off his hat and bowing profoundly, no
matter to whom it may be. Every Englishman abroad represents "All
England"--not the eleven, but the English character generally, and
therefore, when among people noted for their politeness, he should be
absolutely remarkable for his courteous manners. As a rule, to which
there can be no exception taken, never lose any opportunity of lifting
your hat, and making your most polished bow. This, in default of
linguistic facility, is universally understood and appreciated in all
civilised countries. In uncivilised countries, to remove your hat,
or to bow, may be taken as a gross outrage on good manners, or as
signifying some horrible immorality, in which case the offender would
not have the chance of repeating his well-intentioned mistake. But
within the limits of Western enlightenment to bow is mere civility,
and may be taken as a