of 'Galignani.' The neologian heresy, the debate in
Convocation which would have stirred the heart of the parson at home,
fall flat in the shape of a brown and aged 'Times.' There are no
"evenings out." The first sign of eve is the signal for dispersion
homewards, and it is only from the safe shelter of his own room that the
winter patient ventures to gaze on the perilous glories of the sunset.
The evenings are in fact a dawdle indoors as the day has been a dawdle
out, a little music, a little reading of the quiet order, a little chat,
a little letter-writing, and an early to bed.

It is this calm monotony of day after day at which the world of the
winter resort deliberately aims, a life like that of the deities of
Epicurus, untouched by the cares or interests of the world without. The
very gaiety is of the same subdued and quiet order--drives,
donkey-rides, picnics of the small and early type. An air of slow
respectability pervades the place; the bulk of the colonists are people
well-to-do, who can afford the expense of a winter away from home and of
a villa at L150 the season. The bankrupt element of Boulogne, the
half-pay element of Dinan or Avranches, is as rare on the Riviera as the
loungers who rejoice in the many-changing toilets of Arcachon or
Biarritz. The quiet humdrum tone of the parson best harmonises with that
of the winter resort, and parsons of all sorts abound there.

But the chaplain is not here, as in other little Britains, the centre of
social life; he is superseded by the doctor. The winter resort in fact
owes its origin to the doctor. The little village or the country town
looks with awe upon the man who has discovered for it a future of
prosperity, at whose call hosts of rich strangers come flocking from the
ends of the earth, at whose bidding villas rise white among the olives,
and parades stretch along the shore. "I found it a fishing hamlet," the
doctor may say with Augustus, "and I leave it a city." It is amusing to
see the awful submission which the city-builder expects in return. The
most refractory of patients trembles at the threat of his case being
abandoned. The doctor has his theories about situation. You are
lymphatic, and are ordered down to the very edge of the sea; you are
excitable, and must hurry from your comfortable lodgings to the highest
nook among the hills. He has his theories about diet, and you sink
obediently to milk and water. His one object of hostility and contempt
is