s" would
ever have thought of placing the author in these surroundings. The
_raconteur_ of the reminiscences in "Harper's Magazine" must appeal to
the American reader as a sort of bustling incarnation of the
ubiquitous telegraph, unwearied, and knowing not even in his dreams
the first soothing tremor of the sound of the word "rest." On the
contrary, M. de Blowitz rests frequently and smiles quietly. Large
himself, he likes large air, large rooms, large landscapes, large and
general ideas. And what contributes to all this more than rest, which
gives time to think? It is a generous and natural temper, and that is
why the great doors from the veranda are open to the channel winds.

Although M. de Blowitz wears in his buttonhole, in bright contrast to
the famous flowing tie, the rosette of the French Legion of Honor, he
is not in race a Frenchman; yet he is sufficiently French in two
conspicuous characteristics. The French strike me as being, with the
Americans, the most naturally intelligent people on the western part
of the planet. But the Frenchman is also _bon enfant_, and for the
moment I do not stop to consider that he always remains _enfant_. To
be intelligent and _bon enfant_ at once is to promise all kinds of
successes in life, and to be both is to make success charming. M. de
Blowitz is both. He has been, therefore, a charming success. The
nature of this success defies analysis, but as a result can be
described.

THE BEGINNING OF A CAREER.

It is now more than twenty years since a young man appeared before
the enthusiast, Laurence Oliphant, then correspondent of the English
"Times," and rendered himself so indispensable to Oliphant that
the latter, with the quixotic temper peculiar to him, felt it, I
believe, a moral duty to abdicate. This young man had already so
distinguished himself at Marseilles, during Communal riots there, as
to attract the attention and merit the gratitude of Thiers. Justly
rating his powers as a diplomatist, and knowing himself to be an
indefatigable worker, he conceived the notion of becoming a sort
of general self-accredited representative to every European Court,
and of inducing the "Times" to afford him an organ of communication
with his diplomatic rivals everywhere. The "Times" is the secluded
pool into which England loves to gaze when it plays the _role_ of
Narcissus. And when Narcissus-England admires itself therein, that
is, once a day the year round, it not only sees the hea