ime when the wild autumnal gales brush the mountains clear of trippers
and paint the surrounding foliage in glorious tints of red and gold.
For I assure you the proper study of man is man, and the proper study of
woman is both man and woman.

Here comes the Parisian youth with his charming young mamma of forty.
His face is pale and _distingue_, and the black down on his upper lip
has been trained with infinite care. Though his grey mountain suit is
fashioned for great feats of daring, it has the rounded waist and
martial shoulder-lines with which the Parisian tailor pacifies his
conscience when he supplies English fashions. His stockings look
ferocious. His dark eyes sparkle with inquisitiveness behind the
pince-nez. He is vivacity incarnate, he is urbanity on a holiday. Mamma
takes his arm and they trip past me. She is pretty, and would be plump
if the art of the _corsetiere_ had not abolished plumpness. Her hat
conveys a greeting from the Rue Lafayette, her little high-heeled boots
show faultless ankles and the latest way of lacing up superfluous fat
above them. A hole and two uneven stones maliciously intercept the
progress of that little foot. Mamma stumbles, and is promptly and
chivalrously replaced in an upright position by the son. "Mon Dieu!" she
cries; "what a path!" and through my open window there floats the odour
of _poudre-de-riz_ disturbed by nervous excitement. Papa follows. He is
fat. No one can deny it, and I do not think he would like any one to
try. Honesty is writ large on his rotund countenance. Now he is hot and
somewhat weary with the climb. He carries his hat under his arm and
large pearls of moisture shine on the puckered forehead. His hair is
thick and closely cropped, and strives upward with the even aspiration
of a doormat. His cheeks are a little sallow and pendulous. He smiles
under his thin moustache, the contented smile of an honest, hardworking,
successful man. I know him well; I seem to have met him in a hundred
editions in the offices of municipalities and prefectures, behind the
counters of banks and shops. He is generally amiable, but he can lose
his temper, and when he loses it, it is worth your while to help him to
find it.

Here comes the Heidelberg professor, accompanied by two fair daughters.
He is tall, of commanding presence, and walks with patriarchal gravity
under a green umbrella. A large pocket, embroidered and ingeniously
designed with numerous compartments, is strapped