vowels, and it is of that the poor bacillus suffers, and dies. As
the poet GROSSMITH sings of the German Rhine,--

"_That_ of the Fatherland,
The happy Fatherland,
Gives the greatest pain inside."

However, the Bacillus is an enemy, and if he can be got rid of by
_grape-shot_, pour it in and spare not.

* * * * *

NEW PUBLICATION.--"_The Dumb D._" Musical Novel. Companion to _The
Silent Sea_, by Mrs. MACLEOD.

* * * * *

INNS AND OUTS.

NO. IV.--THE WINDOW-SHUTTERS.

"And efery time _he_ gif a shoomp, _he_ make de winders sound."

I do not allude to the white wooden Venetian work that shades the
Grand Hotel windows. It is of the clique who insist on shutting the
windows that I write. Briefly speaking, the inmates of the Grand
Hotel may be divided into two classes--the window-openers and the
window-shutters. The former are all British. The same Britons who
at the Club scowl at a suspicion of draught, and luxuriate in an
asphyxiating atmosphere, band against "the foreigners" in this
respect. We have a national reputation to keep up. We are the nation
of soap, of fresh air, of condescending discontent; and when we are on
the Continent every one else, including the native, is "a foreigner;"
we carry our nationality about with us like a camp-stool; we squat on
it; we are jealous of it; it is a case of "_Regardez, mais ne touchez
pas!_"

[Illustration: COMMERCIAL INSTINCT.

_Original Genius_ (_soliloquising_). "Lor, it 'id bin a crool Shame to
miss an Opportunity like this 'ere. The gov'nor oughter lemme 'ave Ten
Bob on that job!"]

This patriotic obtrusiveness culminates in the Battle of the Windows.
It is an oppressive evening. The _Table d'Hote_-room is seething like
a caldron; a few chosen conspirators and myself open the campaign
early; we "tip" ADOLF "the wink." That diplomatist orders the great
window to be half-opened. If things go smoothly, he will gradually
open out other sources of ventilation. The Noah's Ark procession files
in--all shapes and all languages, like the repast itself; DONNERWITZ,
TARTARIN, SHIRTSOFF, SCAMPELINI; there is nothing in common
between them--save the paper collar; they would hail international
declarations of war to-morrow; but the sight of us, and that speck
of air leagues them. "_Mein Gott, Die Englaender!_" coughs DONNERWITZ;
"_Ce sont de fanatiques enrhumes!_" hisses TARTARIN; SHIRTSOFF sneeze