* * *

A VERY SHORT HOLIDAY.

(_BY ONE WHO ENJOYED IT._)

It having occurred to me that within a few days I might get an entire
change by visiting some thoroughly French seaside places on the coast
of Normandy, I started _via_ Southampton for Havre.

I started mysteriously at midnight. Lights down. We glided out, almost
sneaked out, as if ashamed of ourselves. I had pictured to myself
sitting out on deck, enjoying the lovely air and the picturesque
view. _L'homme propose, la mer dispose._ I retired early, and
enjoyed neither the lovely air nor the picturesque view. "The rest
is--silence," or as much silence as possible, and as much rest as
possible.

[Illustration: The "Screen Scene," as played on a gusty night on the
covered terrace at Frascati's, Le Havre.]

8'30 A.M.--Le Havre. Consul's chief attendant,--_Lictor_, I
suppose, the master being a consul,--sees me and my baggage
through the customs--"customs more honoured in the breach than the
observance,"--and in five minutes I am--that is, _we_ are, the pair
of us--at the Hotel Frascati, which, whether it be the best or not
I cannot say, is certainly the liveliest, and the only one with a
covered terrace facing the sea where you can breakfast, dine, and
generally enjoy a life which, for the time being, is worth living.
_A propos_ of this terrace, I merely give the proprietor of Frascati
a hint,--the one drawback to the comfort of dining or breakfasting
in this upper terrace is the door which communicates with the lower
terrace, and through which everyone is constantly passing. We know
that _Il faut qu'une porte soit ouverte ou fermee_. But this is opened
and shut, or not shut, and, if shut, more or less banged, every three
minutes. If it isn't banged, it bursts open of its own accord, and
whacks the nearest person violently on the back, or hits a table, and
scatters the bottles, or, if not misbehaving itself in this way (which
is only when rude Boreas is at his rudest), it admits such a draught
as causes bald-headed men to rage, ladies to shiver, delicate persons
to sneeze, and, finally, impels the diners to raise such a clattering
of knife-handles on the different tables, as if they were applauding
a speech or a comic song. Then the _maitre-d'hotel_ rushes at the
door and closes it violently,--only for it to be re-opened a minute
afterwards by a waiter or visitor entering from the terrace below!
A mechanical contrivance and a light screen w