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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 Very Much Abroad.
 
 COLLECTED UNIFORM 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 OP 
 
 F. C. BURNAND'S 
 WRITINGS. 
 
 Jrom "§muij."
 
 
 By Ffc.°BURNAND 
 
 AVTHOll OF " HAl'PY THOUGHTS. 
 
 WITH 
 
 Illustrations from "Jluiub' 
 
 LONDON 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & Co. Ld., BOUVERIE STREET 
 
 1890
 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, ACNEW, & CO. LIMD., PRINTERS, WHITEFRJAR3
 
 To 
 My Dear Old Friends and Colleagues 
 
 THESE VOLUMES 
 
 Containing the greater part of my Contributions to 
 
 ME. PUNCH'S PAGES 
 
 During the last Twenty-five Years are 
 
 Affectionately Dedicated by their Fellow - Worker 
 
 F. C. BUKNAND. 
 
 May 31st, 1890.
 
 y «^f$tu^ ££■ 
 
 /U^. O*- 
 
 L~jZ~~sZJZ~ 
 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PASK 
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS 1 
 
 NOTES OF A FIRST VISIT TO LA BOURBOULE . . . . . 91 
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF A VISIT TO ROYAT 169 
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD 243 
 
 DUE SOUTH 293 
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE 339
 
 VEF(Y JVIU6H /eBf^OAD 
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 Being the Papers of the Boompje Club, 
 Collected by its Secretary. 
 
 PREFATIAL. 
 
 O ALL and singular, 
 individually and col 
 lectively, Boompje ! 
 
 The history of the 
 Boompje Club resem- 
 bles that of most 
 other great and flou- 
 rishing institutions. 
 It has been developed 
 successfully out of 
 small beginnings. 
 
 Such remarks as 
 appear here are made 
 in my capacity of 
 Secretary, and on my 
 own personal respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 No man is a Boompje all at once. 
 
 This must be borne iu mind, because we didn't, as a Club, begin
 
 2 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 by being Boornpjes. We, as it were, awoke one morning in a new 
 country to find ourselves Boornpjes. Of which word, it being 
 double-Dutch, I will not take upon myself to guarantee the 
 correct spelling or pronunciation. 
 
 One of our party — we started as a party and continued as a Club 
 — looked out of the Hotel window at Rotterdam, by the river-side, 
 and says he, gravely, 
 
 " Do you know where we are ? " There was a pause, and he 
 tumnmeu, " Vr'e oxfc on tue Boompje." 
 
 Thereupon, somebody said, "Let us be Boompjes,"and somebody 
 else said, " Let's," and the motion was carried nem. con. 
 
 [On investigation we found he was right. We were on the 
 Boompje. "The steamers," said our friend, appealing to the 
 infallible Murray, " land their passengers on the fine quay called 
 the Boompje." * * * " The philosopher Bayle ended his days in 
 one of the houses on the Boompje." This was enough.] 
 
 We find (so runs the extract from the Boompje diary of that 
 memorable day) that we have hitherto been Boornpjes without 
 knowing it. This is evident on examining Boompje principles. 
 
 BOOMPJE PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Examples. — To say at ten a.m. " I'm off ! " and to he off to Any- 
 where (America, for example), before eleven, is to act upon Boompje 
 principles. 
 
 A man may act on Boompje principles, unconsciously, and 
 without being a member of the society, as that gentleman did, whc 
 marched up and down his room for one hour and a quarter, over- 
 head, while I was trying to write the first stanza of my poem, The 
 Fisherman of Scheveningen. I had begun : — 
 
 It was a Fisher of Schevening, 
 Who went out in the evening, 
 
 but at this point one of our party (the names will be given soon) 
 knocked at the door, on Boompje principles (i.e., he did it so sud- 
 denly that I started up — boompje'd — from my chair), and informed 
 me, when I asked him " if it wasn't pretty," that evening wasn't a 
 rhyme to Schevening, because Schevening was pronounced Skay ven-
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 3 
 
 ing : " and then, having only come in to ask me what time it was 
 (which I couldn't tell him), he walked out also, on Boompje 
 principles, i.e., banging the door violently. So, when I set to work 
 again, I saw no prospect of a rhyme to Schevening, as pronounced, 
 unless the poem could be supposed to be written by an Irishman, 
 who would pronounce "evening" as " avening," which I rejected, 
 after dashing it offon one Boompje impulsive principle, and tearing 
 up the paper on another. 
 
 It was a l'isner of Schevening, 
 Whose . . . 
 
 Something about "hunger" here. On second thoughts it 
 occurred to me, that if you could talk of " stabling a horse," why 
 couldn't a poet speak of " havening a boat? " 
 
 "Oho!" I cried, inspired, "the Boompje!!" and forthwith 
 
 wrote : — 
 
 A Fisherman of Schevening 
 
 His little boat was havening. 
 
 When 
 
 And here the man above began to walk about. Then there 
 
 came a banging of doors in the passage ; then a creaking of a door, 
 
 somewhere, at intervals. So that when the man didn't walk, the 
 
 doors banged ; when the doors didn't bang, the door cracked ; and, 
 
 when I was going to ring my bell violently, and say to the w T aiter, 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, stop this inf ," the noises ceased, and. 
 
 passing my hand through my hair, I once more set myself to find 
 
 line No. 3 for 
 
 A Fisherman of Schevening, 
 
 His little boat was havening, 
 
 f a storm 
 When a hell 
 
 '. a — a — 
 
 Arrival of a party, and " would I mind letting a lady see the 
 rooms 1 " With pleasure : I'm going out. On with hat ; off with 
 self. Boompje ! 
 
 Coming to think of it, I don't know anything more remarkable 
 than the way in which we suddenly struck on the title. Came 
 down, as it were, whop upon it, Boompje ! 
 
 n 2
 
 4 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 It's a wondei-ful word. Boompje ! ! If any one doubts me, let 
 him try it as applicable to all sorts of occasions. 
 
 You talk of your acquaintance, the Duke of Upshire, as " Up- 
 shire " or " old Uppy," after being introduced to him, and saying 
 good-bye to him at the corner of a street. This is Boompje. 
 
 You rise in the morning ; out of bed at last. Boompje ! 
 
 You bound along the pavement, buoyant, light-hearted, and 
 happy. Boompje ! 
 
 Seethe rollicking carelessness of the porters in dealing with your 
 portmanteau and trunks at Dover and Calais. Boompje principles. 
 Boompje ! 
 
 You are sad, despondent, and depressed. B-o-o-mp-je. 
 
 You are up again. Boompje ! ! 
 
 You go out fur a ride, in Rotten Row, on a mettlesome charger, 
 at so much an hour, and tell a friend that you are trying a horse 
 with a view to purchase. Boompje ! Boompje ! 
 
 You have all your electro-plate out and silver too (if any) for a 
 leg of mutton and potatoes. Boompje ! 
 
 In short, if the intelligent reader will but give his mind to it, 
 and just try the word on every possible occasion, he will find it not 
 only suitable, but exactly appropriate to all possible occasions. 
 
 In short, Boompje is everywhere in some form or another. In 
 due course, as Ave proceed, I will give you the Hymn of -the 
 Boompjes. 
 
 **-s#-***-x-# 
 
 Note Post-Prefatiai,. — The mystery or secret of the Boompje 
 Association lies in the mode of pronouncing or giving effect to the 
 word Boompje. It is two syllables ; the first (it is scarcely neces 
 sary to add) being Boomp, while the second (it is important to 
 notice) is je. All that the present writer is at liberty to say on 
 this subject to those whose destiny has not as yet led them to be 
 Boompjes, is, that something of the force of the words may be 
 gathered by coming down heavily, as it were, on the first, namely, 
 the Boomp, and coming up, lightly and sharply, on the je. Boomp 
 on one side of an ordinary see saw, and Je on the other, will 
 convey some idea of this mysterious word to the uninitiated. In 
 any case the Je is to be Je up. Allons I
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 5 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TOUR COMMENCES — THE BOOMPJE PARTY PRIOR TO BOOMPJEISM. 
 
 ANE morning Bund comes to me and says, "I want to make 
 a party to go abroad." As a commencement, we went out 
 for a walk together, and called on Maullie, the eminent artist, who 
 had just finished his great picture of Home Again — (subject: a 
 young cavalier has rushed into an Elizabethan drawing-room to 
 meet his wife or somebody — represented by nobody being there 
 and through the door, which in his haste he has left open, are 
 .seen five interiors in perspective, one after the other, with the 
 hall-door open in the distance, and a very little perspective man 
 taking down a very little perspective portmanteau from a little 
 perspective coach — sold for something over four figures, on the 
 honour of a Boompje) — and was anxious to get away for a holiday. 
 " Now," says Bund, who is an enthusiastic musician, and an 
 amateur of the violoncello, " Here's the party : Painting, Music, 
 and Literature." I was " Literature," and deputed to keep a diary. 
 Somebody suggested that Three wasn't " company," and while we 
 were debating this point, enters to us Dicky Gooch. " Look here," 
 says he, "you fellars : if I come with you," making it a favour, 
 " I must be back in ten days, because of the London season." 
 
 This being an imputation upon our social status, we all asserted 
 that not only must we be back in that time or less, but that we 
 experienced the utmost difficulty in tearing ourselves away from 
 the crowds of parties, balls, concerts, teas, drums, &c, to which we 
 had been invited at the rate of five a day for the next two months. 
 (Boompje !) 
 
 [Boompje note. — Gooch had managed (I afterwards discovered) 
 with some difficulty to get an invitation for a private operatic per- 
 formance at the house of somebody whom he didn't know, and this 
 represented his engagements for the season. But a genuine 
 Boompje of London Society would rather die than own such a 
 melancholy fact.]
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 COMPONENT PARTS — THE START LILLE— GHENT — THE BOOMPJE HATS 
 
 U N D we elected Commodore, 
 Commander-in-Chief, and 
 President of the Travelling- 
 Society, whose object was 
 to be the pioneer of civilisa- 
 tion to Dutchland. He 
 wanted to bring his vio- 
 loncello with him, but this 
 was objected to by the 
 entire party. There were 
 still a few preliminaries to 
 be settled. As to expenses, 
 that is a matter generally 
 ignored as " mere detail " 
 on Boompje principles. 
 
 " Hallo ! " says Gooch, 
 "Who talks Dutch?" He 
 generally prefaces a ques- 
 tion or an observation with 
 " Hallo/' 
 It was explained to him, by the Secretary, that Hollanders, 
 generally talked Dutch. 
 
 "No, no," says he; "look here, you fellars " (another formula 
 "vith him), " I mean which of you talks it. I don't*" 
 
 No one did. Maullie thought it wasn't necessary. The Secre- 
 tary thought it was ; but suggested that French would do, to a 
 certain extent. 
 
 Bund asked if he was Commander-in-Chief or not 1 Yes, he was. 
 " Very well, then," says he, " we'll have a Courier." 
 It was carelessly objected that this course might be expensive, 
 It was statistically proved by Bund that it couldn't be anything 
 of the sort. His answer was, simply, " No, not a bit of it."
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 7 
 
 It was mildly opposed by the Secretary ; while Gooch, whose 
 proclivities are swellish, but whose means are limited, halted 
 between two opinions. Boompje, however, prevailed. 
 
 Maullie said that he'd once travelled with a Courier, and the 
 plan was delightfully luxurious. He had just sold his picture, as 
 I have already hinted, for a sum which would have purchased a 
 wilderness of Couriers. (Boompje adaptation of Shylock.) 
 
 Bund offers to be Paymaster-General, and settle with everyone 
 at the end of the time. 
 
 The Secretary and Gooch immediately agree to this plan, fore- 
 seeing the convenience of a distant settlement, and place them- 
 selves entirely in Bund's hands. 
 
 Maullie yields, on condition that he is to map out what we 
 ought to see. 
 
 Bund knows a Courier, and the thing is done. 
 
 Our reasons for going to Holland may be individually stated thus : 
 
 Bund goes because he's seen the picture galleries once, and for- 
 gotten all about them. 
 
 Maullie, because he knows all the pictures by heart, but has 
 never seen them. 
 
 Gooch, because he has never heard of or seen the pictures. 
 
 The Secretary, because he has never seen the pictures, but heard 
 of some of them vaguely. 
 
 The Courier, because he's taken. 
 
 Coincidence which I notice at Rotterdam after the Boompje title 
 has been adopted, viz., that our Courier's name is Jomp, pro- 
 nounced Jump ; and, therefore, the very name for a leader and 
 guide of the Boompjes. 
 
 On we go to Holland, vid France and Belgium ; and back again, 
 vid Belgium and France. Boompje ! 
 
 "Yes," cries Gooch, as we were carrying it off jauntily on the 
 quays of Rotterdam, with hearts both light and merry (with which 
 " hey down deny " is to rhyme in The Miller and his Men, vide 
 opening chorus), " here we are regularly out on the spree." 
 
 "No," returns Professor Maullie, sweetly rebuking his junior, 
 " do not say ' on the spree ; ' say that Ave are out on the Boompje." 
 
 Maullie is to meet us at Antwerp, which we are to pass through 
 on our road to Rotterdam, but where we do not wish to stop, as
 
 8 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 three of the party " know it by heart." Maullie being of an 
 independent Boompje nature, sets off by himself. 
 
 From the moment of our concluding arrangements with Jomp, 
 the Courier, all trouble is supposed to be taken off our hands. 
 We merely tell Jomp where we want to go, Jomp knows the place, 
 of course, intimately, and he could find the way there blindfold. 
 So Jomp arranges our route. We propose, Jomp disposes. Jomp 
 gets all the necessary tickets, and we are to be oblivious of every- 
 thing until we find ourselves at our first halting place, Ghent. 
 
 The only inconvenience about this plan, we find, is that we 
 change our minds, and Jomp doesn't. We decide that we ought 
 to go vid Antwarp first. Then having decided that, we decide 
 again that Antwerp oughtn't to be taken at all, but begin with 
 Bruges. 
 
 Gooch exclaims, " Look here ! you fellars ! I say ! Why not 
 stop at Lille for a night 1 " 
 
 No one knows exactly why not, but it being discovered that 
 there's nothing to be done at Lille at night, " except go to bed, 
 that's all," says Jomp, disparagingly, the proposal is dismissed as 
 unworthy of notice, and Gooch says, " Hang it : I think you 
 might listen to some of my suggestions." As this looks like 
 breaking up the party before it starts, we compromise by calling 
 in Jomp (which would have saved us considerable trouble at 
 first, as we now find he has taken all the tickets vid his own 
 route) and asking him if we go near Lille. 
 
 Jomp, when questioned, always gives one the idea of having 
 been called out of bed at short notice, and dressed himself in a 
 hurry. He collects his scattered senses by passing his hand 
 forwards and backwards over his head several times, and mur- 
 muring something, partially unintelligible, still in his character of 
 a man not quite awake. 
 
 " Lille," he is understood to murmur vaguely, " veil — urn — 
 um." It should be mentioned that Jomp is, it is supposed, of 
 Swiss origin, and possesses such a knowledge of languages as is 
 enough to render him generally unintelligible in any particular 
 tongue. 
 
 "Lille," he replies, considering, "Lille — veil — um-um-um ! Oh 
 yes ! "—this he gives in the tone of a permission — " Oh yes, you
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. I) 
 
 can go by Lille," wherewith he shrugs his shoulders, as if to give 
 us to understand that such a detour will put the train to consider- 
 able trouble, not to mention the entire derangement of his own plans. 
 
 " Yes. But — " Bund puts it in a barrister-like style, " do we go 
 there or do we not ? " 
 
 "Veil," says Mr. Jump, after polishing his head slowly, pre- 
 paratory to taking his cap in both hands, and holding it behind 
 him, "Veil — you can go by Lille — oh yes — de train pass true 
 dere." Then he adds suddenly, as a conscientious afterthought, 
 which is to take us by surprise, " If you go that vay." 
 
 It is finally decided that we won't stop at Lille. And the route 
 is mapped out to the satisfaction of all parties. 
 
 Bund says confidentially to the Secretary, that he should like 
 to have got down to Milan, or spent the time in Switzerland, 
 instead of Holland. 
 
 Maullie takes an early opportunity (when we subsequently 
 come up with him at Antwerp) of informing me that he gives way 
 to the majority, but for his part he should like to have made Dort 
 his chief place, and stopped there. Maullie's one idea is to go to 
 Dort. Bund, who is always ready with an argument from Murray, 
 points out that his authority says, " There is nothing to detain 
 the traveller at Dort." 
 
 Maullie says that observation is only true after you've seen 
 everything. He is sure that Dort is the most interesting place in 
 Holland. Jomp says, " Oh yes, um — urn — um, you can stop at 
 Dortrecht — um — um." Then, as an afterthought, " if de steamer 
 go dere." On the whole, we keep Dort in reserve for Maullie, if 
 he won't go on without it. First Boompje sonnet by Maullie : — 
 
 To judge by report, 
 I always thought 
 That we ought 
 To stop at Dort. 
 
 Bund thinks it stupid ! Gooch says that Dort doesn't rhyme to 
 ought. Maullie likes it himself, and reads it to me privately. 
 
 Gooch hopes [before we start] that we shall push on to Brussels, 
 and "see some fun." No one knows exactly what he means, 
 except, apparently Jomp, who says, "Oh, yes — um — um, you can
 
 10 VEBY MUCH A B BO AD. 
 
 do something at Brussels," which is the fullest information he can 
 offer us on the subject. 
 
 We start. A broiling hot day. Gooch thinks that there won't 
 be a ripple on the water in crossing. 
 
 Bund is of opinion, having had something to do with nautical 
 affairs in his time, that it may be "blowing freshish outside." 
 The mention of "outside" exercises an unpleasant influence over 
 Gooch. He stations himself as near the centre of steamer as 
 possible, and won't rise from his seat. 
 
 Mr. Jonip, with admirable forethought, places the coats and bags 
 on our seats, which he secures for us several minutes before the 
 boat starts, in such a position that we get the sun in our eyes, the 
 blacks from the chimney, and the heavy moisture from the steam 
 valve pipe. 
 
 On being remonstrated with by Bund, who points out to him 
 (Bund once had a thirty-ton yacht off Erith, which he thought 
 resembled the French coast without the nuisance of having to 
 speak a foreign language) that when the wind is SS. by EE., and 
 the sun is at meridian, also when a boat is steering from SE. by 
 NW. then, if you want to Jceep out of the sun, you must get into the 
 shade, Jonip replies, with an admirable readiness, which shows 
 him equal to any emergency, 
 
 "Veil, yes — urn — um — you can move der tings." 
 
 Gooch, finding that there is no chance of being inconvenienced 
 by the voyage, now becomes hilarious, and ventures upon pale alo 
 and a cigar. He regales us with anecdotes of himself in various 
 towns of Europe, chiefly Boulogne and Paris. He begins to air his 
 French, and points out two or three people on board who he 
 assures us, on his own experience, are " regular foreigners," and 
 who turn out to be commercial travellers from Liverpool. Boompje ! 
 
 At Calais he rejoices in being on the shores of France once more 
 — " la belle France/" he exclaims — as if he'd been born or brought 
 up there. He exhibits the soldiers, the douaniers, and the French 
 people to us generally with this preface, " Look here, you won't see 
 this sort of thing in England, you know. We can't do that 1 " — 
 a summing up generally in depreciation of his own country.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS, 
 
 11 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GOOCH'S DISTRESS — THE TOUR CONTINUES — THE INTELLIGENT JUMP 
 
 -THE BOOMPJE LIVERY. 
 
 OOCH, when on French soil, 
 is very much annoyed at 
 being taken for anything else 
 but a Frenchman. Indeed 
 this is Gooch's peculiarity 
 everywhere abroad. He has 
 no desire when in Holland 
 to be thought a Dutchman, 
 but he is immensely pleased 
 when the Dutch waiters ad- 
 dress him as " Moshoo," and 
 flatters himself that there isn't 
 a trace of the Britannic 
 [slander in him. In Holland 
 and Germany he is strong in 
 his French, even to substitut- 
 ing it occasionally for English. 
 But in Belgium he is more 
 diffident of speech, excessively 
 polite, and full of action. 
 
 Gooch calls the French 
 language so " expressive." His 
 idea is practically illustrated by his seldom finishing a sentence, 
 even if he gets half through it correctly (which is wonderful), 
 but attempting to convey the remainder of his meaning by a 
 shrug and a look. This is quite satisfactory to a foreigner, he 
 says, who understands as much from this expressive pantomime 
 as he does from the previous conversation Bund and the rest 
 assent to this as highly probable, seeing that, on one occasion, 
 when Gooch returned from talking with a Frenchman with the 
 intelligence that " he had found him (the Frenchman) a very
 
 12 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 pleasant fellow, full of information ;" and that he (Gooch) "had 
 picked up a good many valuable hints in answer to his questions," 
 we found the French gentleman in a state of utter bewilder- 
 ment as to " what language your friend (Gooch) had been talking, 
 as he (the Frenchman) hadn't understood one single word he'd been 
 saying." 
 
 Maullie is as decidedly English (which Gooch is perpetually de- 
 ploring) as Gooch is undecidedly French. \_Arcades ambo — 
 Boompjes both.] 
 
 Gooch travels as if he were dressed for Regent Street, so as to 
 be ready, he says, for the towns. 
 
 Maullie, who has started in advance of us, when he does appear 
 bursts on us in a light check coat, check trousers, white waistcoat, 
 and white wideawake. The English tourist complete. Bradshaw 
 in a bag slung behind him, and a sketch-book and pencil in his oil- 
 hand pocket. 
 
 Gooch, not knowing Maullie very well, confides his misery to us 
 in the evening. "I say," he asks, "can't anyone hide Maullie's 
 wide-awake and burn his Bradshmv ? Or, look here, couldn't we 
 subscribe and buy him a black hat and black coat for towns ? 
 And (imploringly to us all) do talk French more. Hang it ; 
 why shouldn't we all talk French ? And, then, we shouldn't 
 get mixed up with these ' travelling English ' everywhere." 
 T Boompje.] 
 
 On account of that white wideawake and light coat of Maullie's, 
 I know that Gooch suffered mental agonies. 
 
 One morning, Bund, the Commodore, exhibited a black soft felt 
 hat, of a Tyrolean form, smashed. It had braved many tours, and 
 was now produced by him to save his other hat and be comfortable. 
 Gooch eyed it, and merely observed that it was impossible for 
 him (Bund) to go out walking in that thing. Maullie was bad, 
 but to be excused solely on the ground that he was an artist. 
 But Bund had no excuse, and his hat was several times worse than 
 Maullie's. 
 
 There is certainly a good deal of Boompje about provincial conti- 
 nental towns, perhaps not more nor less than in ours. But no 
 matter, here, there and everywhere all is Boompje. 
 
 N.B. The careful and inquiring reader will be able to collect for
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPEIiS. 13 
 
 himself, from time to time, such Boompje proverbs as embody 
 most of the Club's leading principles. 
 
 1. Once a Boompje always a Boompje. 
 
 2. When with Boompjes do as the Boompjes do. 
 
 3. Here, there, and everywhere, — all is Boompje. 
 
 As to Lille and Ghent, this being previous to the great Boompje 
 declaration at Rotterdam, suffice it to record the following 
 facts : — 
 
 That being interested in the town of Lille, Gooch asks Bund, 
 who passes it on to the Secretary, if Lille wasn't a very celebrated 
 city. 
 
 The Secretary replies, " Yes." 
 
 Gooch asks, " Celebrated for what ? " 
 
 The Secretary passes this back to Bund the Commodore eating 
 ices, who thinks it was something to do with wars, but he will tell 
 Jomp to get his Murray out of the fly. Gooch implores him not 
 to : he says it's so touristy : so English. Ask the waiter. 
 
 The waiter doesn't know that Lille is particularly celebrated for 
 anything : except perhaps the shop where he is, and its ices. 
 
 " Fortifications] " suggests Secretary. 
 
 "Yes, fortifications," returns the waiter, shrugging his shoulders 
 depreciatingly. 
 
 " Thread 1 " asks Bund. 
 
 " Yes ; it is celebrated too for thread," the waiter thinks. 
 
 " Lille thread," says Bund turning to us, and explaining. 
 
 We tell Jomp to let the coachman take us round the town. 
 
 We are passing a quaint old house ; gabled and carved all over- 
 
 "That," says Jomp, cleverly, from the box, "is the Town 
 House." 
 
 We ascertain it to be the Hotel de Ville. 
 
 We stop before a tremendous cannon, ancient and unwieldy. 
 
 Mr. Jomp, on the box, points it out to us, as if there was any 
 possibility of our not seeing it. 
 
 Bund asks him if it's a gas-pipe 1 
 
 Mr. Jump being taken aback, and having no invention ready to 
 hand (it is the business of a Courier to be always ready with some 
 story about an object of interest) replies, " Veil — um-um-yez —
 
 14 VE11Y MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 perhaps," and we drive on. If Mr. Jomp ever takes another party 
 there, he'll show that cannon as the first gaspipe ever laid down 
 and taken up again in Lille. 
 
 We see an arch. "What is that?" we ask the intelligent 
 Jomp. " That 1" returns our inexhaustible courier, "urn — um — 
 um," he looks at it and thinks ; then to us, as if astonished at our 
 want of perception, "That is an arc, — an arch." With which 
 explanation he expects us to be as perfectly satisfied as he is him- 
 self. We see Vauban's fortifications being pulled down. We view 
 two churches, which are large and have fine windows. We don't 
 know their names, but are as much pleased as if we had heard all 
 about them. 
 
 Gooch says, " There ! now we've done Lille, let's go back to the 
 train." 
 
 We all feel the better for this episode, and presently, about four 
 hours after, arrive at Ghent. 
 
 At the hotel and ready for dinner. 
 
 Ghent. Gooch asks, " Qu'est-ce que votes avez ? " meaning for our 
 dinner. The waiter is a little startled ; but suddenly bursts out 
 with " Roas beef, you can have, and mutton, and some plum 
 puddang." 
 
 " Confound it ! " says Gooch. " What's the good of coming 
 abroad for that ? " And forthwith, the table arrangements having 
 been confided to him, he orders an elaborate menu. 
 
 At dinner Gooch, in his character of mi vrai Parisien, insists 
 upon having hors cCoeuvre. But for these (which turn out to be 
 radishes on one plate and butter on another) the dinner is served 
 in purely English style : whereat Gooch is very angry with Jomp, 
 who, he says, has told them that we are English and like this sort 
 of thing. 
 
 Jomp denies this ; but says he is very sorry. 
 
 " What for 1 " asks Gooch, brusquely. 
 
 " Um — um — um," replies Jomp, " veil — um — / do not hioiv." 
 
 But for a long time he doesn't get over the imputation of having 
 betrayed the secret of our being Englishmen, and living only on 
 "roas beef, mutton, and plum-puddang." 
 
 We apply to Jump, as knowing all about it, to know what there 
 is to be seen in Ghent.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPEB9. 15 
 
 Jump replies, " Veil — urn — um, you can see — um — urn, a great 
 many things." We wait to hear a few mentioned particulai-ly. 
 " There's " (it suddenly occurs to him by a sudden inspiration,) 
 " vatever you like." 
 
 He says this as if Ghent belonged to him, and he was throwing 
 it open gratis for our inspection. 
 
 "Aren't there some fine churches?" Bund suggests as a leading 
 question to freshen his memory. 
 
 " Oh, yez," he returns, shrugging his shoulders ; " thei'e's, um — 
 um — veil — there is churches." 
 
 " Hang it ! " growls Gooch, "go and ask somebody ; " and Jomp, 
 more hurt than ever, in fact, almost shedding tears, quits the 
 room, and we hear voices on the landing. Jomp and the 
 waiter. 
 
 " He said he knew all these places," Bund explains apologetically. 
 [Evidently a courier's Boompje.] 
 
 Jomp, the " intelligent officer," as the police reports say of a 
 policeman who has done nothing but " receive information," 
 returns, having ascertained (from the waiter on the landing) that 
 there is a Belfry to see and a Church of St. Paul. He takes us 
 to the Belfry, and tells us it is St. Paul's ; he takes us to St. 
 Paul's, and tells us it is the Belfry. Both are shut ; but an old 
 man, in his shirt sleeves, offers, instead, to show us the Gymnasium. 
 Declined with thanks. 
 
 
 Jill
 
 10 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GOOCH TITLED " WHAT, NO SOAP ! " MR. JoMP, THE COURIER — IX 
 
 LIVERY GHENT — ANTWERP — ROTTERDAM — THE BOOMPJE. 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ >>*-=■ 
 
 - N^^^vi* 
 
 COURSE, when we meet 
 the Great Boompje Maullie, 
 afterwards at Antwerp, he 
 exclaims — 
 
 " What ! not seen the 
 Belfry ! Not seen the 
 Gymnasium ! Why, my 
 dear fellows, yon've missed 
 the only things you ought 
 to have seen." But this 
 we set down (subsequently) 
 to Boompje. 
 
 Before Maullie and his 
 hat had appeared, Gooch 
 had been horrified at the 
 appearance of Mr. Jomp, 
 the Courier. He says lie 
 doesn't mind it while travelling, nor when we were at Lille, 
 driving round the town in a fly, with Jomp on the box, in the 
 entr'acte allowed us (by Mr. Jomp's excellent management, who had 
 so contrived our journey that there was no station where we didn't 
 stop a quarter of an hour at least — with nothing whatever to do, 
 and no buffet — "Veil," said the inventive Jomp, "urn — um — um 
 — you can valk about") between the arrival and departure of the 
 trains ; but now we are at Ghent, a town, and with a dashing 
 carriage (it certainly is that), and a coachman in livery, with a 
 new cockade, he must protest against Jomp being on the box, 
 unless he has a costume. " What sort of dress? " we ask. 
 
 Well, he has seen the sort of thing he means in the Bois, and 
 <>n a foreign ambassador's, or some foreign swell's, carriage in 
 Hyde Park. He proposes something military. (Boompje ! )
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 171 
 
 First proposed dress — Rejected on account of being too much 
 like a French marechal on the box. 
 
 Second proposed dress — Rejected on account of its being painful 
 to Mr. Jomp's feelings to appear in a footman's dress. 
 
 " But it won't be a footman's dress," explains Gooch, " when 
 you get the colours." 
 
 Thirdly — Gooch recollected a Polish count, whose servant used 
 to appear at Baden in various uniforms. Boompje argument : 
 " Why not be taken for Polish Counts 1 " 
 
 " The dress of a Chasseur," says Gooch, " would be distingue, and 
 old Jomp wouldn't mind that." 
 
 Old Jomp does mind it, however ; but owns that his present 
 appearance is not all that could be desired. " I voud vear anoder 
 hat," he exclaims, " urn — um — urn — " and then adds, after carefully 
 thinking it out, " if I 'ad vim." Jomp can't say fairer than this, 
 evidently. Even the philosophic Bayle, who died in a house on 
 the Boompje, would have been satisfied with this as logical. 
 
 Gooch's opinion is, that Mr. Jomp resembles a travelling pedlar 
 with umbrellas to mend. This comes from our having given him 
 our umbrellas and our satchels to carry for us. The shape of his 
 hat probably arises from its having been slept in for the greater 
 part of the way, and sat upon during the remainder. 
 
 This is the compromise procured in Ghent at a tailor's. A livery 
 coat, formerly the property of a duchess, but sent back because 
 the family had gone into the deepest mourning. Black, with 
 yellow facings, and black tags to shoulders. High black hat, with 
 gold band : cockade, black and yellow. His (Mr. JOmp's) own 
 collars and black tie, also, waistcoat and trousers a discretion. 
 
 Sunday at Ghent. — First day of Courier in livery. We attend 
 early masses at various old Churches ; driving up in our carriage, 
 and Jomp waiting at the Church doors (Boompje) ; Gooch and 
 Bund behaving decorously, and not bringing Boompje principles 
 into play while the people are engaged in their services ; and finally 
 after breakfast, we drive to the Beguinage, the College of .Nuns 
 who live in a little town of their own, take no vows, stay as long 
 or as short as they like, occupy themselves in nursing and teaching, 
 and so forth, and wear a white sort of towel on their heads, which, 
 six hundred of them, as they enter Church, unfold and spread, one 
 
 o
 
 18 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 after another, or several at a time, but all using one action, over 
 their heads, and then they draw down the front to cover their 
 noses, devotionally, retire to their seats. 
 
 We three, and four others of our sex, are the only men in the 
 Church. We shrink into as small a space as possible, and keep 
 near the door, with the view of retiring noiselessly should there be 
 a sermon. 
 
 It is admitted on all hands, that, at all events, there is no 
 Boompje bere. " The Beguins are not the sort of people to put a 
 Courier into livery," observes the Secretary to Gooch. Gooch 
 objects to this, that they do wear a livery. This leading to no 
 issue, the conversation drops. 
 
 Gooch presently says that up till this moment he had always 
 thought the Beguins were birds. 
 
 Commodore Bund supposes he's thinking of Penguins. Gooch 
 considers it not unlikely. Conversation number two dropped. 
 
 At Antwerp we see Maullie's hat in the distance, and, in three 
 minutes more, we find Maullie under it. 
 
 Maullie is hearty and full of spirits. He stands at the door of 
 the Hotel St. Antoine, and cries out, "Hooray ! hip ! hip ! 
 hooray ! " (Boompje.) 
 
 "He might have said, 'Br-r-ravo,' or a la bonne heure/" 
 Gooch grumbles, and expresses his wish that our meeting had been 
 in a private room. This also is Boompje. 
 
 Gooch wants to know if dinner has been ordered. No, it has 
 not. Well, then, what can we have ? 
 
 The waiter answers promptly, " Koas-beef, roas-mutton " 
 
 " And plum-pudeftm# it ! " cries Gooch, in a rage. 
 
 Maullie says, good-naturedly, " Oh, anything for me." 
 
 This disgusts Gooch more than the waiter's announcement. 
 
 "Of course," he protests, "if you say you don't care; and 
 hooray, and hip, hip on the steps of the hotel, of course they'll 
 give you beef and mutton." And he boompjes out of the room, 
 and comes against Jomp on the landing. 
 
 " Hang it, Jomp ! " he says, " you ought to know. What can 
 one get here besides this — this — beef and mutton ? " 
 
 " Veil," replies Jomp, astutely, " um — urn — um — " And we 
 expect, by his considering m long, that we shall hear of some dish
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 19 
 
 peculiar to Antwerp. So we wait while Jomp polishes his head 
 with his handkerchief, and thinks it out. " Veil," he says, pre- 
 sently — " Urn — um — you can 'ave someting else." 
 
 Carried, nem. con., that Jomp is an ass. This unanimity restores 
 good humour ; and the landlord is charged with the task of pro- 
 viding a recherche dinner on the distinct understanding that he is 
 to avoid beef, mutton, and plum-pudding. 
 
 At Antwerp. We see all the great pictures and churches for the 
 fifth time (for three of us) and assist at an al fresco concert in the 
 Botanical Gardens in the evening. Here the best people of Anvers 
 are present in grand toilette. Gooch hears Maullie, with Bund, 
 discussing art in loud tones, and addresses himself to me piteously. 
 " I wish," he says, " Maullie wouldn't come out in that hat. Hang 
 it ! you know, he wouldn't do it at the Zoo in London. And why 
 will he speak English ? Or, if he must speak it, why does he do 
 it so loud ? " Gooch, himself, is delivering all this to me apart 
 and confidentially. What he does say aloud he says in French, 
 and kicks me under the table impatiently if I don't answer in that 
 language. Gooch points out to me, always in his character of un 
 vrai Parisien (Boompje all over), that young Belgium imitates 
 jeune France in dress. Gooch, wishing to be thought young France, 
 or what he calls, a petit creve the haute gomme, evidently thinks he 
 is attracting the favourable attention of a young lady most ele- 
 gantly dressed, who, he imagines, takes him for some leader of the 
 fashion from Paris. He sees Maullie approaching. He foresees 
 that that confounded hat and Maullie's loud and very plain English 
 will destroy all illusion as to his being a French Count. 
 
 Henceforth we call him the Count. 
 
 Another thing very distressing to Gooch, is that Bund insists 
 upon Jomp carrying for him a large bag, containing, among other 
 things, Murray and Bradshaw. With this Jomp has to follow or 
 lead us, as the case may be, and Bund stops him for reference, 
 whenever he requires information. Maullie disconcerts him dread- 
 fully by always wanting to stop suddenly in streets, and " take 
 bits," in his sketch-book. He pulls up before an old gabled house, 
 "There's a bit ! " he exclaims enthusiastically, and out comes his 
 sketch-book. "Hang it," says the Count aside to me, "you don't 
 see foreigners doing that in London. He wouldn't do it in London. 
 
 c 2
 
 £0 VERY MUCH ABROAD. . 
 
 Jf he did, the police would move him on. And then," adds Gooch, 
 piteously, " he gets' all the little boys round him." Which is 
 perfectly true, and they interest themselves as much in the Count 
 as in the sketching. 
 
 And now by train through the flattest country ; then on board 
 a steamer, up a long, melancholy river, embanked by rushes. We 
 are all becoming more and more depressed as we near our destina- 
 tion : at last, Ave see a terrace not unlike that at Southsea, or 
 Littlehampton, with a touch of Ramsgate in it, too, and a dash of 
 Chelsea, by the river-side. This is our first view of Rotterdam. 
 After passing in front of a line of respectable red -brick houses, 
 with little gardens (like those suburban houses on the western 
 outskirts of Chelsea in the position above mentioned), we step at 
 last upon 
 
 THE BOOMPJE. 
 
 There is elasticity in the word. Depression vanishes. In comes 
 our luggage. Down goes Gooch's portmanteau. Whack. 
 Boompje ! Down goes Bund's on the top of it. Don't be 
 annoyed, Gentlemen ; it's all right — Boompje ! Smash the carpet- 
 bag heavily, bang the hat-box, mix our things up with somebody 
 else's luggage — (Gooch asks if there wasn't a novel called, Some- 
 body Else's Luggage, but receives no answer) — shovel 'em up, 
 knock 'em down, stave in the side of that lady's box, drop the 
 large portmanteau on to that evident bonnet-case, — whack, jerk, 
 bang, anything you like ; and here we are in the land of 
 Boompje ! 
 
 Down the passages ; Boompje ! luggage into rooms ; on to the 
 stands ; on to the floors ; wrong box in right room ; right box in 
 wrong room ; bustle, bootjacks, and Boompje ! Landlord apolo- 
 gises ; but one hundred and seventy passengers have just arrived, 
 and the house is full. Boompje ! 
 
 Sorry he can't give us better rooms. There's one down-stairs ; 
 a sitting-room and a bed-room, w T ith four beds in it. All for the 
 Commodore. 
 
 The Count, Maullie, and the Secretary are distributed about the 
 first-floor passages. Mr. Jomp follows everybody else's packages, 
 and finally rescues ours. 
 
 Maullie, of course, has no soap. He is heard crying out for 
 
 c- 
 
 o
 
 TJSE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 
 
 21 
 
 soap loudly to the gargon de chambre (a Dutchman). " What 
 sort ? " asks the Waitei*. 
 
 Maullie, busy unpacking, replies, " Any sort ; only look sharp." 
 
 Gooch says, " Why on earth doesn't Maullie speak French ; he'll 
 never get any soap." 
 
 The Count is right. When we arc nearly ready, Maullie is still 
 ringing an electric bell in his room, and holloaing for soap. 
 
 To him the gargon, in a hurry, with a small tureen, a napkin, a 
 spoon, and a large plate. 
 
 "What the Boompje's this?" exclaims Maullie. "I've been 
 ringing for soap this half-hour." 
 
 " Could not pring 'em pe-fore ; it take some time to hot." And 
 therewith he sets it down on the table ; and, whisking off the 
 napkin, discovers a basin of hot Julien soup. Shouts from the 
 Count, the Sec, and Mr. Jomp. 
 
 Maullie bawls at him — " Soap ! not soup." 
 
 The Count (with dignity). " Le Monsieur veut dire ■ savon : ' 
 comprenez, savon 1 " 
 
 Garcon. " Ah ! vy he ask for soup ? " 
 
 [Exit Gargon with soup, and returns with soap. 
 
 In a lofty room, with a painted mythological ceiling and carved 
 mantelpiece, we sit down to dinner. Gooch has forgotten to 
 inquire about the menu. It is brought in. Soup, roast beef, 
 mutton, and plum-puddang ! ! ! Boompje ! 1
 
 22 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DEVELOPMENTS OF JOMP — ROTTERDAM — AT THE RESTAURANT — DUTCH 
 INSCRIPTIONS — WATER-ZOOTJE DINNER. 
 
 UR order of proceeding 
 through Rotterdam, is, Jomp 
 first, with the Commodore's 
 carpet-bag, containing (es- 
 pecially) Murray and Brad- 
 shcuv. Then the Secretary, 
 then Maullie in his celebrated 
 hat with his weapons, sketch- 
 book and pencil, in hand, 
 "taking bits," lastly, the 
 Count (Gooch) lagging well 
 in the rear, afraid to lose 
 sight of us entirely, but at- 
 tempting to appear as if 
 the assertion on our part of 
 having any sort of connection 
 with him were, as the advertisements say, " an untradesmanlike 
 falsehood." 
 
 Our progress is slow, as we are pulled up every five minutes by 
 Maullie, exclaiming, " Hah ! " then he pauses, shades his eyes with 
 his hand, compresses his lips critically, shakes his head at the 
 antique house, as much as to say, " You're a sly old chap, you are, 
 to be hidden away here in this manner ; " then he opens the book 
 and flourishes the pencil, and in another three minutes he has 
 "taken the bit," and our halt has attracted a small company of 
 little Dutch street-boys and a few loafei's. 
 
 Gooch is utteidy disgusted, and stands aloof, looking in at a 
 shop-window. 
 
 Jomp has to clear away the crowd. 
 
 " Confound it," Gooch complains to me, "you know, they think 
 we're going to perform, and do conjuring. It's all through
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 23 
 
 Maullic's hat, — and — hang it — they think all our tricks, and cups 
 and balls are in that carpet-bag of Bund's. Ton my soul, it's too 
 bad. It only wants a board and a bit of carpet to complete it." 
 
 Jump, a perfect Irvingite in the matter of unknown tongues, 
 somehow manages to explain to the little Dutch boys, that we are 
 not going to give a performance of any sort, and we resume our 
 progress. 
 
 The Commodore's one object in Rotterdam is to find out the 
 statue of Erasmus. Gooch, who has dressed himself as if to walk 
 in Hyde Park, and is suffering from the heat and the wretched 
 pavement, says, " Hang Erasmus ! " Maullie asks where the 
 Picture Galleries are ? These two questions being put to Jomp, 
 that well-informed person stops, takes off his hat (the livery one, 
 which is as hai'd as a policeman's, and as hot as the glazed one 
 worn by voituriers in Paris) performs a sort of extempore shampooing 
 operation with a faded brown cotton pocket-handkerchief (" Hang 
 it," says the Count, " I'll get him a new one ") and having "brought 
 it out," replies deliberately, "Veil, um — um — um — oh yes — there's 
 de statue of Rasums " — this is what " Erasmus " comes to in 
 Jomp's dialect " Yes — oh yes — it's here," which we know, " but 
 ichere ? " asks the Commander, becoming a little irritable. — " Veil, 
 I'll demand — oh, yes — they'll tell me " — as if this was a profound 
 secret not generally divulged by the Rottcrdammers, " and — de 
 Picture galleries — oh yes — You can see dem — um — um — um,' 
 here he thinks it out again, and makes a safe proviso — " if dere are 
 any." 
 
 " I thought you said," exclaims the Count to Bund, "that Jomp 
 knew this place very well." 
 
 " He told me he'd been here before," replies the Commodore, 
 evading the responsibility ; — then to Jomp, " You have been here 
 before, eh 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes," replies Jomp, indignantly ; " oh, yes — been hero 
 before — but I never stojy." 
 
 This confession compels Bund to have recourse to Hurray. To 
 get at Hurray he has to open the bag, remove Bradskaw, two 
 hair-brushes, an old comb, an eau-de-Cologne bottle, a pair of 
 slippers, and a portable boot-jack. On the appearance of this last 
 article, Gooch makes a final protest — "Out in the open air— oh
 
 24 .VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 'pon my soul ! — it's — it's " — and being unable to find words 
 sufficiently strong to express his disgust, he walks away from us 
 and saunters along, as if he were utterly blase, and had seen it all 
 scores of hours before. 
 
 At this rate we don't get on very fast through Rotterdam. 
 Presently Bund cries out (he is sitting on a post, studying the 
 Guide Boole) to Maullie, who is taking a bit, "What do you think 
 Murray saj's ? " 
 
 " Don't know," returns Maullie, placing his pencil horizontally 
 across the bridge of his nose, as, with a puzzled expression, he 
 regards an imaginary vanishing point. 
 
 " He says," continues the Commodore, quoting — 
 
 " ' One day will suffice to see all that is remarkable in Rotter- 
 dam: " 
 
 " Oh," says Maullie, in a tone of utter indifference. 
 
 " Is there nothing to see ! " says Gooch, who has sauntered back 
 again on seeing Murray returned to the bag, and the bag once 
 mrre in Jomp's hands. 
 
 " See 1 Yes ! " cries Maullie, enthusiastically, shutting up his 
 sketch-book with a click. " See ? lots. I could spend weeks here- 
 Isn't there a tower or something to go up and get a view from ? " 
 
 If there are no picture-galleries, Maullie invariably wants " to go 
 up somewhere and get a view." To boompje up a hundred and 
 twenty-five steps gives quite a fresh lease of life to Maullie. 
 
 Gooch says, languidly, " Good heavens ! if you want to do that 
 sort of thing, why didn't you stop in London and go up the Monu- 
 ment." He complains (he is always presenting gravamina to me, 
 privately) that to go up towers and belfries is "such a regular 
 British tourist sort of thing." 
 
 " Let's go to a restaurant's," the Count proposes. 
 
 Comp>romise. — Tower first, restaurant afterwards. In the mean- 
 time (while we're up the tower) Jomp to go and order luncheon. 
 " Not luncheon" says Gooch in despair, "dejeuner a la fourchette, a 
 bon filet, par example, and be sure to order hors d'ositvre, des radis, 
 des sardines, you know, Jomp ; no confounded English things." 
 And Jomp departs on his errand, taking with him, "thank 
 Heaven," says Gooch, after he's well out of sight, " that boompje 
 carpet-bag of Bund's."
 
 TEE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 25 
 
 On quitting the tower, from the summit of which we certainly 
 have a wonderful view (about which Maullie minutely questions the 
 guide who shows us over the place, while the Commodore, who will 
 trust no information except Murray's, listens to him with the air 
 of a man not to be taken in in this sort of way), we walk towards 
 the restaurant, Bund stopping Maullie to draw his attention to 
 what he considers picturesque (a tender of opinion immediately 
 resented by Maullie who likes to choose fcr himself), the Secretary 
 noting down the bright brass milk-pails, the Turk's heads, open- 
 mouthed, over the druggists'-doors (as if always ready for physic), 
 and the costumes of the women, with their wonderful spiral ear- 
 rings, arranged on a startling boompje principle, apparently to 
 shoot out suddenly and hit you, and looking very much as if the 
 Dutch women had extracted the springs from small Palmer's patent 
 candle-lamps, and polished them up into something resembling 
 ornaments for their ears. 
 
 Mem. All Dutch children lovely ; most grown-up Dutch plain. 
 
 At the Restaurant. — Gooch complains it isn't like Paris : more 
 like Leicester Square. He hopes Jomp has ordered some dish 
 peculiar to the country. 
 
 " Oh, yes," says Jomp, " I have commanded a — a — a " 
 
 (Here he thinks it out, and continues) — " a — a — vot they 'ace got." 
 
 Enter waiter with large dish, followed by another waiter with 
 smaller dish. Cover removed. Exclamation (Boompje !) from 
 Gooch, 
 
 "A rtimpsteak and potatoes! Oh, confound it! Why the 
 Boompje " (to Jomp, who stands by, smiling, with an air of intense 
 satisfaction) " couldn't you order a dish of the country 1 " 
 
 " Yell," returns Jomp, hurt, " dis is from de country. Be cow is 
 in the country, and de potatoes in de country? 
 
 Agreed nem. con., for the fourth time, that Jomp is an ass. " And 
 no hors-d'oeuvre I " says Gooch, almost in tears. 
 
 " Oh, yes," says Jomp, triumphantly, " I command them, but 
 there are none." 
 
 Some capital light wine, and plenty of ice, restores us, and we 
 again take to the Hoogstraat (High Street). 
 
 Note. — Dutch inscriptions. TVe notice '■ Kofy Ilaus " and
 
 2C VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Kafly," too, as if they had not yet made up their minds how to 
 settle the spelling. " Slytery Tap>pery " is very popular, and 
 Ilollandsche Spoorweg is far from occasional. It is satisfactory 
 ("satisfactory'' looks like a Dutch word, so do "lottery" and 
 "pottery") to know that 
 
 " Agentschasse der Sliedrechtsche stoorm sleep maatschaffij 
 Haarsnijder Beschen 'en kleingoed." 
 
 Also, 
 And 
 
 " Voor nat en drukken bewarren" 
 
 " Ilet is verboden de lots of things.'" 
 
 " Heavens ! " says Gooch. " Fancy being in a place where ' liet 
 is verboden to slytery tappery ! ' " He makes this remark on seeing 
 some notice not unlike the above, stuck up in a picture-gallery (not 
 here, but at Amsterdam), which he subsequently finds means that 
 visitors are requested not to put their sticks and umbrellas through 
 the pictures. (At least we conclude that to be the idea.) 
 
 Dinner at the Hotel. — Bright idea of Gooch's. lie knows what 
 to ask for. Of course the dish of the country. What 1 Why — 
 fancy not having thought of it before — of course, water-zootje / I 
 suggest souchet or soucM. The Commodore thinks it's zouchy. 
 Maullie says he doesn't know, but should say water-zootje, inclining 
 to Gooch's opinion. Jomp summoned. Does he know if there is 
 any water-zootje ? " 
 
 "Veil," says Jomp, " perhaps there is." He discovers his utter 
 ignorance by offering to "find out for us vere it is." 
 
 " What do you mean — ' where it is ' ? " says Bund, sternly. He 
 is responsible for Jomp, and is beginning to feel that he mustn't 
 be trifled with. 
 
 "Veil — ran — um," Jomp explains, "vere it is — vot part of de 
 town he is in." 
 
 " JVater-zootje is something to eat, you — you Boompje ! " cries 
 Gooch. 
 
 " Ah ! " returns Jomp, with an incredulous smile, thinking he is 
 being chaffed, u you can ask."
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 27 
 
 So the waiter enters. " Now," says Baud, shifting the authority 
 on to the Count's shoulders, " you order what you want." 
 
 All eyes on the Count : the waiter deeply attentive. 
 
 " Have you," inquires Gooch, with the air of a barrister who'll 
 get something out of the witness before he's done with him — 
 " Have you any water-zootje 1 " 
 
 " Vater " the waiter murmurs, puzzled. 
 
 " Water-zootje, you know,'' says Gooch. 
 
 " Vater-zootje," Maullie tries, with a feeble attempt at Dutch. 
 
 The waiter looks at Jomp. Jomp shrugs his shoulders, and 
 smiles helplessly, as much as to say, " You see they will have their 
 joke," which irritates Gooch almost beyond endurance. Then the 
 waiter, evidently entering into Jump's view of the matter, also 
 smiles and shakes his head, as if we really were too funny for him. 
 
 " But, confound it ! " exclaims Gooch, " don't you know your 
 own dishes? Why, it's a regular Dutch dish — always have it at 
 Greenwich " (Waiter and Jomp shrugging and smiling ; Com- 
 modore and Maullie anxious.) "Here, I'll write it down " 
 
 He writes it down. " Now," he resumes, triumphing in this effort 
 of ingenuity, " what's that ? " 
 
 The waiter inspects it, so does Jomp. 
 
 "Well," says Gooch, impatiently, " don't you know it ? Haven't 
 you got it ? Water-zootje, eh 1 Your own national dish ! " 
 
 The waiter, still under the impression that he is the victim of a 
 weak practical joke, replies "No, never 'eard of eet," and retires 
 with Jomp. 
 
 Agreed, nem. con., stupid idiots ! Don't know their own dishes. 
 
 The usual foreign dinner follows — roas beef, &c. No hors d'osicvre, 
 no salad. Capital champagne, however, well iced, restores equa- 
 nimity. After dinner Gooch lights cigarettes. Maullie sleeps. 
 Bund reads aloud extracts from Murray, and the Secretary makes 
 notes. 
 
 Bund, finding it dull, regrets he didn't bring his violoncello, and 
 requests me to note that there is no music in Rotterdam. If we 
 stop any time in one place (Bund throws this out as a sutrsestion), 
 he thinks he'll hire a violoncello.
 
 28 
 
 VERY MUCH ABED AD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 STILL IN' ROTTERDAM — GOOCH S RAILWAY TIME BOOMPJE NOTES — 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE EOOMPJES — THE HAGUE — THE GALLERY — 
 TWO FRIENDS. 
 
 GOOCH is peculiarly slow. 
 It is through Gooch that Ave 
 always manage to " run the 
 starting rather fine," as lie 
 expresses it afterwards. 
 
 He is utterly unable to 
 consider himself as a man 
 slow in his movements. 
 When he wants to give you 
 an idea of his going to be 
 some considerable time (dur- 
 ing which, specially before 
 breakfast, you are implored 
 by him not to wait for him) 
 he will ask you to "call it," 
 
 or " say twenty minutes. 
 This is how he wishes others 
 to compute time, by "mak- 
 ing it" or "calling it," or 
 " saying " so many minutes. 
 He seldom runs into hours. 
 When he does this, if it's an 
 appointment, you may de- 
 pend upon either not seeing him at all, or on his turning up in a 
 week or two, and proudly saying, " There you see, I said I'd come, 
 and here I am ! " 
 
 For instance, he is not ont of bed, he has (by consequence) not had 
 
 his bath, he has to pack his portmanteau, and have his breakfast. 
 
 "Well," says Bund, the Commander at the door, "how long 
 
 will you be, eh 1 " " Oh," answers Gooch, from within, under the 
 
 sheets probably, and the door craftily locked, " about a quarter of
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 21) 
 
 an hour, or," he adds, as if wishing to be particular to a second, 
 and not inconvenience anyone by so much as a five seconds' delay, 
 " eay twenty minutes, and I'm there." 
 
 We say twenty minutes, and, of course, he is not there. 
 
 If he wishes to give us a notion of how quick he will be, when, 
 for example, we want him to come and see some privately-collected 
 picture gallery which is conveniently open at eleven and closed at 
 twelve (on account of the private collector's family dinner), and 
 Gooch has three letters which he has invariably got to "finish " — 
 (not to lurite, oh no, that would be too long and tedious a pro- 
 ceeding, — he appears to keep a lot always by him half written, as 
 Maullie has some three or four pictures always "on the stocks") 
 he says he will come " before you can wink your eye." 
 
 This is his formula for his own rapidity : — 
 
 He'll be dressed before you can wink your eye. 
 
 He'll put on his hat before you can wink your eye. 
 
 He'll come to you (he sends this by telegram a hundred miles, 
 off) before you can wink your eye. 
 
 After this, it is almost unnecessary to state that we find Gooch 
 to be at least three-quarters of an hour dressing, and a trifle under 
 that — not much — washing his hands. 
 
 Gooch's watch is invariably set by "railway time." This he will 
 give with an air of authority, which is convincing at first. After 
 missing the train on three occasions, in consequence of adhering 
 closely to his (Gooch's) watch, we begin to mistrust him, and prefer 
 Jomp's chronometer, which takes us down to any station at least 
 an hour before the train starts. 
 
 Gooch's exclusive possession of " railway time " (no one else's 
 watch ever coincides with his, and he generally manages to correct 
 other statements and come in last, authoritatively) is peculiarly 
 Boompje-ish. He announces it as a fact, by which you may take 
 warning (or not), how it's for your own advantage (or not) ; but 
 that's all one to him, and he pities you, if you don't. He is also 
 consistent, a great point in Boompjeism ; for when we arrive at the 
 station, hardly by his time, and the train has gone, he refei's us to 
 the railway clock as being in accordance with his watch, in which 
 case he at first asserts that the train can't have gone ; and, on 
 hearing that it has, threatens the ticket-taker in the pigeon-hole-
 
 30 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 that he will write to the directors ; or, if the station clock flatly 
 contradicts him (which is very rare) he appeals to us (generally to 
 me) to corroborate his statement of the agreement of his watch 
 with that of the last station we were at yesterday. 
 
 After travelling with him for some time, we prefer Jomp's time 
 to Gooch's ; but end by striking a balance between the two, and 
 then generally having half an hour to the good. 
 
 Something Eccentric in Rotterdam. — I once saw a ballet, or 
 musical piece, called The Dancing Barber. The chief character was 
 dressed in a very closely fitting suit of sables, not a bit like a 
 barber, and he wore a cocked hat. I mention this because Gooch 
 reminded me of it in Rotterdam, where, when anyone is dangerously 
 ill, the relatives send round a couple of these dancing barbers, 
 in black, with funereal weepers to their cocked hats, who go 
 about like two bogies, ringing at the doors, delivering cai'ds, and 
 frightening (I should think) little Dutch children into fits. 
 (Boomp-je !) 
 
 Maullie proposes that, before going on to the Hague, we should 
 visit Dort. The Commodore assures him that there's nothing to 
 be seen at Dort except windmills. 
 
 Maullie retorts, that he likes windmills. 
 
 Gooch yawns on a sofa; and says, " Do let's go to the Hague. 
 There's civilisation there. I say ! " he exclaims suddenly, turning 
 to Maullie, " there's a palace and swell shops there : you might get 
 a hat." 
 
 Maullie would prefer going without a hat to Dort. 
 
 Jomp settles the difficulty by saying, " Veil, you can see Dort 
 if you like ; but — um — um — um — ve don't go near there." 
 
 We take a final walk on the Quay called from the little boompjes 
 on it "The Boompjes" (which, as a peripatetic club, we have 
 long ago decided upon always writing as we pronounce it, Boomp-je), 
 and depart for the Hague. 
 
 Note — I cannot again refrain from drawing attention to the 
 ingenuity of the Dutch as to names. They call a river the Rotter, 
 and they make a dam. It's a sort of charade. My first is Rotter, 
 my second is Dam, and my whole is the name of a place. Ans 
 Rotterdam. It is as clever as a riparian resident, who, having a 
 house on a bank of the Thames, calls it " Thames Bank House."
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 31 
 
 They call a little tree a Boompje. They plant several little 
 Boompjes on a Quay, and they call the Quay The Boompjes. 
 There's a simplicity and a freshness about this which is quite en- 
 chanting. 
 
 The Hague. — Belle Vue Hotel. Very prettily situated, and 
 first-rate altogether. Gooch, delighted, lounges out of window, 
 smoking cigarettes. Maullie, in an arm-chair by a side window of 
 sitting-room, commences "taking a quaint bit." There won't be 
 much left for other artists after Maullie's visit. Bund is immersed 
 in Murray, correcting his statements by Bradshaw, and Jomp is 
 somewhere, asking what is to be seen. 
 
 I sit and admire the view — canal (of course), gardens, deer pai-k, 
 large trees — charming. 
 
 The houses of the Upper Ten at the Hague are generally 
 situated on, as it were, square islands formed by stagnant canals. 
 Smell delicious, naturally. Query, if the people at the Hague are 
 no worse in health than at any other place — say, London — what's 
 the use of attending to drainage, sewerage, and good supply of water? 
 
 This problem puzzles us. 
 
 Having walked about for an hour or so (without Jomp and the 
 bag, thank goodness !), Gooch proposes finding out a restaurant, in 
 order to provide for " dejeuner". He says this travelling makes 
 him so hungry. We don't doubt him, seeing his appetite on every 
 occasion. He is always proposing to sic down to a meal when 
 Maullie wants to take us to a Picture Gallery. " Didn't w r e come 
 to see the pictures ? " asks Maullie, who is usually satisfied with 
 what he calls "a snack." 
 
 " Yes," says Gooch ; " but we can't see pictures without eating." 
 
 Decided : Gallery first, Hotel afterwards. 
 
 In the Gallery. — First striking notice : — 
 
 Het is verboden de schildengen Aanterahen, 
 
 which is, of course, highly satisfactory. 
 
 Gooch and self now taken by Maullie to see " a masterpiece, Sir, 
 by Rembrandt." 
 
 Maullie walks straight into the room where it is, as if he'd beei? 
 there every day of his life regularly. 
 
 " There ! " he exclaims, triumphantly. " There's the Lecture on 
 Anatomy. Rembrandt."
 
 32 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 I see Bund surreptitiously consulting Bradshaw and a Notice 
 des Tableaux, before committing himself to an opinion. 
 
 Gooch says, " Ah ! " and looks round, to see if there are any 
 other spectators besides ourselves. 
 
 I don't exactly know what to say. After considering some time, I 
 venture upon a safe inquiry, founded upon Maullie's previous remark, 
 "I suppose this is considered one of Rembrandt's finest pieces?" 
 
 " Certainly ; yes," answers Maullie, and continues, enthusiasti- 
 cally : " look at old Tulp, there. Fine head, marvellous head." 
 
 I inspect Tzdp's head critically ; at least, the head of the man I 
 take to be Tulp. 
 
 " There's character in that eyebrow ! " continues Maullie. 
 
 I smack my lips, as if I were tasting it, and say, "Yes, indeed," 
 (Boomp-je !) though I can't see that my Tulp has much in the way 
 of eyebrow. Also, which eyebrow 1 
 
 " Then, look at the hands ! " says Maullie. 
 
 This decides me. My Tulp is not his Tulp; mine only showing 
 nne hand. Determine to find out which is "Tulp." I ask, "Are 
 they all portraits of celebrated people 1 " 
 
 "Yes," replies Maullie, who is well up in it. 
 
 " Their names are on a piece of paper, held by one of them," 
 Bund informs us, quoting from Murray, which he has just put in 
 his pocket, "and Tulp is lecturing on the body, in the centre." 
 
 {To myself. "Oh, that's Tulp/") Aloud. "Of course, that's 
 Tulp in the centre." 
 
 Gooch gives it as his opinion, that it's " a doosid unpleasant, 
 subject." And, turning away, suddenly comes upon two friends- 
 (not in tourist suits) who are sauntering through the Gallery. 
 
 " Hullo !" exclaims Gooch, in that tone of utter surprise at any- 
 body being abroad besides himself, peculiar to all travellers on 
 meeting friends. 
 
 " Hullo ! " they return, in precisely the same strain. Then they 
 shake hands warmly, as if a quarrel had parted them for year.?. 
 
 They are introduced by Gooch as Muntley and Finton. I don't 
 quite catch Avhich is Muntley and which is Finton. I seem to 
 have heard the name before, as a Company Limited, or, on second 
 thoughts, in connection with candles and biscuits. No, that's 
 Huntley and Palmer ; Huntley for biscuits, Palmer for candles. 
 Muntley is shortish and stoutish, his head generally a little thrown
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 33 
 
 hack, with the air of a man who is taking breath before making 
 up his mind to tell you a secret. 
 
 Finton is a quick, sharp fellow, with a nervous sort of laugh, as 
 if ready to turn off anything he might say too seriously into a joke. 
 
 Muntley (I discover) congratulates himself upon his conversa- 
 tional powers, and being able to talk to any one on any subject, 
 specially Art. Being introduced to Maullie — whom Gooch takes 
 care to describe apart to his friends as " the Maullie, you know, 
 R.A. ; you recollect his pictures 1 " to which they reply, " Oh, 
 indeed, Maullie, by Jove, is it ? " and they immediately overlook 
 the hat and the tourist dress, which was the Count's object in 
 playing such a flourish of trumpets. Muntley at once joins 
 Maullie. " Very few good things here," says he. 
 
 " Urn ! " says Maullie, frowning at a jovial Jan Steen. 
 
 " They try to take one in with these catalogues," continues the 
 knowing Muntley. 
 
 I ask how. 
 
 " Why," he informs me for Maullie's benefit, " they pretend 
 they've got Rubens's pictures here, but they spell it • Rubbens,' so 
 as to do you. Look here: '122. Venus et Adonis dans un 
 Paijsage.' ' This he reads with a real British accent, adding his 
 translation, " ' Venus and Adonis in a Passage, by Rubbens.' It 
 won't do, you know." 
 
 I confess this does look like imposition. 
 
 "Then," he goes on, "here's 'Snijders' down for Sniders, and 
 ' Wouwerman ' for Woovermans ; and who the deuce ' Vinkeboom ' 
 is, I can't make out." 
 
 Maullie is scowling furiously, but asks if Muntley has come 
 across any Van Dycks. 
 
 " Not one," answers Muntley, ingenuously. " There's nothing 
 about him here under the letter ' D.' There are some pictures — 
 — two Dijks — A. Van Dijk and Ph. Van Dijk ; " (he pronounces 
 these like " Dchick ") ; " but of course they're nothing particular." 
 
 Maullie has not stayed to listen. With a short "Ah !" he has 
 passed on, and we find him fixed in admiration before No. 27 — 
 Vue aux Environs de Dordrecht, by Cuyp. 
 
 " I knew," he says, " we ought to have stopped and seen Dort. 
 [ will, going back." 
 
 He ivill. Boomp-je 1
 
 34 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE HAGUE — AMONG THE PICTURES — ARTISTIC OPINIONS JOMP 
 
 CONSULTED — HOW WE VISIT A PRIVATE COLLECTION RESULT. 
 
 PPOSITE Paul Potter's 
 Bull. Muntley and Finton in 
 ecstasies. 
 
 N.B. Before a well-known 
 work of art, safe to be in 
 ecstasies. 
 
 Gooch exclaims, " C'est 
 magnifique ! " His friends, 
 Muntley and Finton, being 
 evidently of the same mind 
 as himself as to the neces- 
 sity of speaking French 
 when abroad, reply in chorus, 
 " Oui! oui!" 
 
 Bund, who has got Murray 
 by his side — 
 
 [Note. By the way, subject 
 for one of the future Boomp- 
 je Ballads — Air, " With his 
 Sabre hi/ his Side'" — Boomp-je 
 version : — 
 
 With his Murray by his side, 
 And his Bradshaw in his hand, 
 
 &c. etc., when the original words come to hand. 
 
 Maullie, R.A., shows me mems for various Boomp-je Ballads — 
 "All among the Boomp-jes," a version of " All among the Barley." 
 I express my opinion that his notion is very good : he expresses 
 his that my notion is very good. Like a fellow to be sympathetic 
 and appreciative. Maullie, R.A., is.] 
 
 Bund, who has his Murray by his side (out of the bag) says, 
 " Wonderful for its truth to Nature ; " as if he'd lived among bulls
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 35 
 
 all his life ; and, "It's marvellous" — here he inspects the picture 
 closely, and then falls back a few paces, — " It's marvellous how 
 he has arranged his masses." 
 
 As this sounds like knowing something about it, we all (except 
 Maullie, who hasn't said anything as yet) agree with Bund, " that 
 it is, as a fact, wonderful how Potter " — a little too familiar, per- 
 haps, but it shows a thorough knowledge of the artist — " how 
 Potter has arranged his masses." 
 
 [Note. — Consulting Murray afterwards, I find where Bund has 
 got his expression from. Boomp-je !] 
 
 Gooch exclaims, after a minute's silence, " C'est un tableau de 
 grandeur naturelle," on which he congratulates himself as being 
 •excellent idiomatic French. 
 
 I join Muntley and Finton in responding " Oui." 
 
 [Note. — Having purchased a catalogue, I discover that Gooch's 
 French is a quotation. Also Boomp-je !] 
 
 Maullie says, " Yes, clever, of course, but uninteresting. Very 
 •much overrated ; " and he walks off to No. 125, Le Confesseur de 
 Rubbens, a portrait by Rubens of the cheeriest Monk possible. 
 " Isn't that the very fellow you'd pick out for jolly old Peter 
 Paul's Confessor, eh 1 " cries Maullie. We all agree, except 
 Muntley, who is a little bothered by the double b in Rubbens, and 
 inquires of Finton, in an undertone, " Peter who 1 " Subsequently 
 he evinces his knowledge of the subject by mentioning old Peter 
 Paul's Bull, — which sounds as if Peter Paul were a celebrated Pope. 
 
 Bund, who has his own ideas of art, professes intense admira- 
 tion for the works of art painted by the Brothers Both. He takes 
 vis, one by one, into corners where pictures by these artists are 
 hung. He fees officials to lower or draw up window-blinds 
 (the Boths are generally in the worst possible lights), in order to 
 show us the beauties of the Boths. He doesn't ask Maullie to 
 look at them, but canvasses (as it were) for a majority in favour 
 of his (Bund's) opinion before appealing to Maidlie. Bund, being 
 our Commander, Commodore, and Paymaster-General, we agree 
 with him, to a certain extent, about the Boths, of whom we have 
 never before heard. Muntley and Finton join us, and express 
 their sentiments, as far as to say, " Yes, very pretty." 
 
 d2„
 
 36 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Look at the sunset," says Bund, pointing it out enthusias- 
 tically. 
 
 " Mustn't touch the picture ! " says the official who pulled up the 
 blind, translating Het is verboden, &c." 
 
 "No, of course not," returns Bund; "but," to us, "isn't the 
 sunset admirable ? " 
 
 We think it is certainly. "It's so wonderful," continues Bund, 
 "that the Boths, being Dutch, should paint Italian scenery." 
 
 We admit that it is very wonderful. Muntley, after some con- 
 sideration, asks, slowly, "Why?" 
 
 " Why ?" returns the Commodore. "Because," — he begins as 
 if he was answering a conundrum, — " Because — they never 
 saw it." 
 
 This answer being satisfactory to all parties, we move on to 
 another picture. 
 
 Note. — Bund's explanation, as above given, seems to be framed 
 on the Jomp model. For the present we don't hear any more of 
 the Boths, in consequence of Gooch's insisting upon our going 
 back to luncheon. The Couut says that having fed only two hours 
 ago, he is so confoundedly hungry. Maullie remains in the 
 gallery until, having been shut in by the doors being closed for 
 the day, he is subsequently turned out by one of the officials, 
 who finds him sitting solemnly before La leron d'Anatomis 
 du Professeur Tulp, No. 116. After this, he appears at the 
 Hotel. 
 
 Jomp is now summoned. During our absence he is supposed 
 to have found out all that is to be seen in or near The Hague. 
 Muntley and Finton, as friends of Gooch's, have been asked to 
 join us pro tern. 
 
 " Now, Jomp," says Bund, " what's to be seen next 1 " 
 
 " Veil," answers the intelligent Jomp, rubbing his head, as 
 usual, and letting his eyes wander vaguely round the party, as if 
 hoping that some one would suggest something — ■ 
 
 " Veil — um — urn — um— -dere's de pictures." Thinks it out, and 
 adds, " Ah, but you 'ave seen dem." 
 
 " Isn't there a celebrated town near here, eh 1 Leyden ? " sug- 
 gests Gooch, who thinks he's got hold of the place where Li 
 Prophete came from.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 37 
 
 "Isn't there a fishing-place — Scheveningen 1" asks Bund, on 
 Murray s authority, before Jomp can answer. Jomp, who has 
 begun to think out the first question, turns his attention to the 
 Commander's inquiry. 
 
 " Veil " he begins, when Maullie jumps up from his seat 
 
 (Boom-je ! !) and interrupts. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," cries Maullie, apologising to every one in 
 general, and only looking at Jomp, "but isn't there a private 
 collection somewhere here 1 " 
 
 Muntley and Finton, together, say, " Oh, yes, lots." 
 
 Jomp becomes perfectly damp with agitation. He looks as if 
 another question, put suddenly and sharply, would knock him 
 down. A prisoner at the bar asked to plead "Guilty or Not 
 Guilty " could not appear more utterly miserable than Jomp. 
 He mops his head with the dull-coloured cotton handkerchief (" I 
 will get him a new one," Gooch is heard to murmur), pockets it, 
 puts his hands behind him, and having, so to speak, pulled himself 
 together for an effort, says, 
 
 " Veil — dere is Schevening — oh, yes— you can go dere — oh, yes 
 — and a private collection of pictures — oh, yes " 
 
 " At Scheveningen ? " asks Bund, thinking to kill two birds with 
 one visit. 
 
 " At Schevening ? " replies Jomp, considering : then, after 
 cautiously thinking it out, he adds, "No; you can not see de 
 collection dere — urn — um — because, you knoiv, it's here." And he 
 looks round to us as if for confirmation of the truth of his 
 argument. 
 
 "Then where is it?" asks Maullie. "We're hereto see the 
 Dutch school, aren't we ? " We nod our heads, as solemnly as the 
 spectral skittle-players did to Rip Van Winlcle. " Let's go there 
 at once, Jomp ; " and he takes up his hat. 
 
 " But," exclaims Gooch, " it 's a private house. You can't go, 
 in that dress — and that hat." 
 
 "Pooh!" says Maullie, "don't come if you don't like. Now 
 Jomp, you can show us where it is." 
 
 The Count makes one last effort. " Let's have a carriage, and 
 drive there in style. Hang it ! don't let's walk to a private house 
 like rabble — or bailiffs."
 
 38 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Jomp says, " It's not vorth vhile to 'ave a carriage. It's only a 
 few steps." 
 
 We set off: Gooch protesting to his friends, apart, that it's too 
 bad of Maullie ; and " Hang it ! " he adds, " he's got an umbrella 
 now as big as a clothes-bag. It brings such a bad name on 
 Englishmen. Fancy," he goes on protesting, "a lot of fellows 
 with bags, umbrellas, and wide-awake hats, calling on one of us 
 in London 1 Would we let 'em in ? Pooh ! " 
 
 " A few steps," as represented by the intelligent Jomp, turns 
 out to be half through the town, a distance doubled by Jomp's 
 first forgetting the way, and then the name of the street. Arrived 
 at our destination, an elegant newly-painted residence of some 
 municipal notability, Jomp knocks at the door, being induced 
 to do so by the Commander. (" He'll think we've all come to 
 dinner," says Gooch, still protesting, " It's too absurd.") 
 
 A neat maid appears. 
 
 What she says, in Dutch, we don't know. 
 
 " Speak to her," says Bund to Jomp, with confidence in Jomp's 
 acquaintance with the language. 
 
 Jomp appears to become suddenly bashful, and what he says to 
 her is a perfect mystery to everyone, including the maid, who 
 stares at him. 
 
 " Dash it ! " says Gooch, " she'll think we're all drunk." 
 
 There does appear a probability of this, and of Jomp's being 
 removed by some authorities as drunk and incapable, for he 
 stands on the doorstep grinning and sputtering some unin- 
 telligible sounds which may mean something to him, but nothing 
 to anybody else belonging to any known nationality. 
 
 Maullie begins something in French. 
 
 Gooch says, " It's no good, she doesn't understand that." 
 
 Bund, becoming very angry, swears at Jomp. " What the 
 Boomp-je did you bring us here for, if you can't speak the inf — 
 Boomp-je language ? " he asks of the unfortunate Jomp. 
 
 Jomp, in an agony and almost in tears, replies, "Veil, you vould 
 come here. I can't 'elp it. I tought she'd know vy ve came." 
 Then he turns to the girl, who by this time has become almost 
 pale with fear, and with a gentle smile this time, tries some words 
 on her which he believes to be very like, if not absolutely, Dutch.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 39 
 
 This and his smile (" a confounded lunatic leer ! " says Gooch, 
 whose temper has quite gone) settles the question. She bangs 
 the door, overturning Gooch on to Bund, and the next minute 
 we see the family of the private collector at the windows, 
 regarding us with horror and anuizement. 
 
 " Veil," says Jomp, picking himself up from the lower doorstep, 
 " Ve can't see dat if dey von't let vis in." 
 
 "But you can't speak the language, confound you," cries 
 Maullie, boiling over. 
 
 " Veil, um — urn — um," retorts Jomp, hurt by this imputation ; 
 " she don't understand vot I say." 
 
 Carried nem. con. for the twentieth time, emphatically, That 
 Jomp is an Ass. Also, that we'll get some one who does under 
 stand the Hague, and the language. 
 
 It is now four o'clock. 
 
 Proposed by the Commander, that we drive to Scheveningen. 
 Seconded by Gooch heartily (he is always ready for anything in a 
 carriage), with an amendment to the effect that we have a biscuit, 
 or sandwich, and a glass of something first. 
 
 Generally agreed to. Carriage ordered.
 
 40 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A TRIP TO SCHEVENINGEN — THE DRIVE — JOMP's INFORMATION 
 
 MAULLIE'S JOKES — A DISCOVERY A SKETCHING PARTY BUND 
 
 AND HIEROGLYPHICS THE ETABLISSEMENT. 
 
 CHEVENINGEN.— 
 " Scheveningen," says Bund, 
 authoritatively, "is a small 
 fishing village three miles 
 from the Hague, containing 
 
 eight thousand inhabitants.'' 
 Gooch asks if he has coun- 
 ted them. 
 
 Bund, entering into the 
 joke, replies that he has, 
 and finds Murratfs number 
 exact. 
 
 Maullie, R.A., observes, 
 " Exact ? I wonder at that : 
 I should have thought you'd 
 have found several short." 
 
 This is Maullie's fun. It 
 throws a gloom over the 
 party for the remainder of 
 the drive, which had begun 
 very pleasantly. OJooch's friends (both in a rumble, hooked on 
 specially for them, and evincing a strong tendency towards detach- 
 ing itself from the main body of the carriage) beg that Maullie's 
 joke may be repeated to them. It is repeated. Consequence, 
 one short laugh, and then meditative silence and folded arms. 
 
 We take Jomp with us, because he has been instructed as to the 
 beauties of Scheveningen by the landlord of the hotel, and we 
 suppose that for once he is well posted up in the subject. 
 
 We see a large house, apparently of Italian architecture, among 
 the trees. Bund attracts Jomp's attention by poking him in the
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 41 
 
 back with his stick, much in the same manner as the keepers 
 rouse the sleeping animals in a travelling menagerie, or a 
 passenger wishes to intimate to the 'bus conductor that " he's a 
 long way past where he ought to have been set down." 
 
 " Ask him," says Bund, meaning the coachman, " what that 
 place is." 
 
 Jomp turns round again, and mumbles some soft, very soft, 
 nothings in the coachman's ear. 
 
 The coachman makes some reply, evidently not understanding 
 one word used by the intelligent Jomp, who tries again, going in 
 at the conversation this time with his head and arms. The coach- 
 man nods, shakes his head, and laughs ; then turns to us over his 
 shoulder and, taking us into the joke, laughs again. 
 
 " He thinks Jump mad," says Gooch, decisively. 
 
 " Hey ? What 1 " asks Muntley and Finton, in the rumble. 
 
 N.B. The worst of having fellows in the rumble, who want to 
 be sociable, is that everything said in the carriage has to be 
 repeated to them, as if it were being interpreted. I give them, 
 conscientiously, a sort of precis of the conversation and the circum- 
 stances leading up to what Gooch has just said, and they reply 
 together, " Oh ! " A sort of chorus in the rumble. 
 
 Bund says afterwards, " A rumble is only for servants. 5 ' 
 Maullie replies, " Yes, your rumble servants." Another gloom 
 over the party. One laugh, and then gloom. 
 
 " What does he say ? " asks Bund of Jomp, still bent upon 
 knowing what the Coachman knows about the House which we've 
 passed a quarter-of-an-hour ago. 
 
 " He say," replies Jomp, in despair of ever making any Dutch- 
 man understand him, "He say — um -urn-urn — he say it is nothing 
 ■ — um — um — he doesn't know." 
 
 " But you didn't explain," continues Bund, perseveringly. 
 
 "I explain," returns the unhappy Jomp, "but," he adds, 
 shrugging his shoulders, as an expression of pity for the coach- 
 man's want of education, " he vill not onderstand vot I say : he 
 come from somevhere else." 
 
 This, henceforth, is Jomp's excuse whenever a Dutch person 
 does not understand his (Jomp's) language : which case is of 
 perpetual occurrence, the sole exceptions being when, by some
 
 42 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 lucky chance, the Hollander speaks English, or can interpret 
 Jomp's Swiss-French. Jomp's theory (a Boompje theory) is that 
 there is some part of Holland where a number of people come 
 from, who neither understand nor speak their own language. 
 
 A. pretty drive finishing with a newly-made road and young 
 trees on either side, brings us to Schevening, or, as Murray will 
 have it, " Scheveningen,'' throwing a syllable in for luck as it 
 were. 
 
 We drive on until we stick in a sort of dry marsh of fine sand, 
 into which the horses sink nearly up to their knees, and our 
 wheels up to their axles. Further progress is impossible. An 
 idea strikes the intelligent Jomp, who turns to us from his perch 
 on the box and says, 
 
 " Vill you stop here ? " 
 
 Under the circumstances our reply is that we will, whereupon 
 Jomp descends, opens the door, and we step as lightly as possible 
 on to the sand. 
 
 Gooch and his friends being in low shoes protest in forcible 
 language, and stand still, looking about for less sand. 
 
 Bund, preceded by Jomp with the bag and umbrella, ascends 
 the hillock which commands the beach, and Maullie, after 
 shading his eyes with his hand for a minute-and-a-half, as if 
 looking about where to take Scheveningen unexpectedly, com- 
 mences cutting a pencil by way of coming to the point as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 "Coming to the point" was Muntley's joke, and would have 
 been highly successful (as no doubt he has found it on several 
 other px-evious occasions) but for the sand in our shoes, the un- 
 pleasant walking, the hot sun, the peculiarly strong odour of fish, 
 (not unlike that of a poor quarter of London on a Saturday night) 
 and the improbability of our being able to get any refreshment 
 " except perhaps," says Gooch, in a tone of unmitigated disgust, 
 " tea and shrimps." N.B. Always carefully select your time to 
 be funny. 
 
 Jomp makes a discovery. He sees in the distance an etablisse- 
 ment, and with a view to ingratiating himself with Gooch, points 
 it out to him privately. 
 
 Gooch, Muntley and Finton are delighted.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 43 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaims Gooch, whose mind at once reverts to 
 Tronville, Dieppe, and Boulogne. " I dare say there's a band 
 there, and a restaurant." 
 
 " And lots of people," suggests Muntley. 
 
 " And the French papers ; the Figaro" suggests Finton, this 
 being the only French paper he knows. 
 
 " Do you know," Gooch asks of Jomp, who has suddenly inspired 
 liim with confidence on account of his discovering the etablissement, 
 " if there is a promenade here 1 " Muntley and Finton both listen 
 anxiously for the answer. A promenade to them means lounging 
 about vaguely, examining the toilettes of the ladies, remarking 
 upon " Doosid pretty girls those," asking one another, " Who's 
 that 1 d'you know 1 " smoking cigarettes, settling their ties, coaxing 
 their collars, and keeping their wristbands well en evidence, by 
 dint of perpetual pulling up and shooting out their arms as if 
 engaged in some species of gymnastic exercise. This last per- 
 formance, by the way, Muntley terms " flashing his linen." As 
 the Count and his friends would be perfectly happy to pass their 
 afternoon in this simple fashion, they are all ears for Jomp's answer 
 concerning the promenade. 
 
 " Oh yes," replies Jomp, with such fin air of certainty as would 
 make any one who knew him receive his information with a con- 
 siderable amount of caution. " Dere is a promenade." 
 
 " Where ? " asks Finton. 
 
 " Oh," returns Jomp, as if to put such a question was utterly 
 absurd, " Vere 1 — 'ere." He extends his arms on either side in the 
 attitude of a street juggler chucking the balls and knives, and 
 looks from right to left, and then from left to right, thereby taking 
 in the whole line of the seashore of Schevening. 
 
 " But they don't walk about in this sand 1 " exclaims Gooch, who 
 sees no sign, except the existence of the etablissement, of anything 
 like a fashionable promenade. 
 
 "Oh yes," retorts Jomp, "Dey valk in de sand." He thinks it 
 out and adds, " Dere's no vere else." 
 
 " I wish we'd known it was a fashionable place," says Gooch, 
 " we'd have got Maullie another hat at the Hague." 
 
 Maullie is on the sands, sketch-book and pencil out. 
 
 Muntley and Finton go to inspect the etablissement : they are to
 
 ■L4 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 return and report to Gooch. Bund has followed Maullie, and is 
 pointing out to him what he ought to draw. 
 
 Maullie is sketching one of the hundred and fifty picturesque 
 fishing-boats which are waiting for the tide in order to put out to 
 sea, and is carefully noting down all the details. Bund is pointing 
 out a boy with a dog in a totally different direction from that 
 where Maullie's eyes are engaged. " I say," exclaims Bund, who 
 flatters himself on a great appreciation of the picturesque, " there's 
 a bit for you to draw." 
 
 " Eh 1 " says Maullie, steadily continuing his boat. 
 
 " Boy with dog," Bund goes on, as if he was settling the name 
 of the picture in next year's Academy Catalogue, " and fishing- 
 basket. Just look what a quaint old fishing-basket." 
 
 Maullie pooh-poohs the suggestion, whereupon Bund sets to 
 work to make what he calls just an artistic memorandum, which, 
 he informs us, conveys more to his mind, subsequently, than any 
 writing could do. What it may convey to his mind, it is impossible 
 to say ; but having seen the original of the sketch, it is quite 
 certain that this is not conveyed to our minds by what may be 
 called the Boompje hieroglyphic. The Commander, Bund, is 
 always " dashing off," as he 'calls it, a little sketch. 
 
 " There's the basket ; and boy ; and dog," he exclaims, with an 
 air of artistic pride, handing the fly-leaf of Murray (he generally 
 does them in some odd corners of books, or on scraps of paper, 
 preserved afterwards in his pocket-book) to us for inspection. 
 
 I say, "Yes," doubtfully ; but add, " I suppose that'll recall to 
 your mind the whole scene; " i.e., Schevening, the sand, the one 
 hundred and fifty boats, the crowd of costumes, the etablissement, 
 the huts, the houses, the carts, the sunset, the sea, &c, &c. 
 
 Gooch observes, " That it's a great thing to be able to 
 sketch." 
 
 Our opinions are, perhaps, somewhat biassed by the remem- 
 brance of the constitution under which, as a Club, we are travelling ; 
 i.e., that the Commander Bund is Paymaster. 
 
 Jomp, who is evidently trying to recover his position in the Com- 
 mander's estimation, looks over his elbow at the drawing, and says, 
 sagely— 
 
 " Ah, yes, urn — um — um," he is considering the subject — " it is
 
 THE BOOMFJE PAFEBK. 
 
 45 
 
 very goot. Yes, oh yes — dere is de leetle dog," and he carefully 
 points out what Bund intended for the basket. 
 
 Gooch and myself side with Jornp on this occasion only. "We 
 say, " Yes, the dog is very good ; it's the animal itself in a few 
 touches." For the matter of that, it's about as much like a 
 bathing-machine as a dog, but Bund (who had intended it for the 
 basket, or the boy, but certainly not the dog, there is no doubt 
 about it, from the angry expression of his countenance, when he 
 was going to retort upon Jomp) takes all the credit he can for the 
 cleverness of the sketch, and to prevent any future mistakes, 
 labels the thing, which we had settled upon as representing the 
 dog, with a "D," and then, entirely mistrusting his own powers 
 and intention, asks us knowingly, which tvc should say was the 
 boy. 
 
 "We choose, out of the two remaining figures, the boy (of course, 
 it is the basket, though Gooch has some doubts upon the point), 
 and Bund labels that No. 2, with a reference below : thus, No. 2, 
 the Boy, and No. 3, the Basket, adding a line to the effect that 
 the above is a Sketch taken on Sclieveniwj Beach, Sunset.
 
 46 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 STILL AT SCHEVENING — ART IN DANGER DRIVE HOME — AN INVITA- 
 TION THE UNIFORM. 
 
 AULLIE near the boats, 
 and beckoning ns to join 
 him ; his whole action is as 
 stealthy as that of a deer- 
 stalker, or of a somebody 
 who's found something dan- 
 gerous asleep, and is going 
 to take its head off. We 
 join him. A fish auction is 
 going on. 
 
 Carts, empty, are dashing 
 down the beach, driven by 
 boys in command of one, 
 two, or three horses, and 
 being dragged up again 
 heavily laden. There is a 
 fair sprinkling of men, but 
 the auctioneering seems to 
 be chiefly carried on by 
 women. Children, appa- 
 rently belonging to anybody or everybody, are running about 
 and amusing themselves with fish. Dogs, with feline tastes, are 
 growling over and munching fish wholesale and retail. Boys are 
 throwing fish to one another. Men are bringing in baskets of 
 fish, or taking out baskets of fish, or lading carts, or trays, with 
 fish, or unlading other carts, or other trays, overladen with fish, 
 or talking either about the fish they've got, or the prospects of 
 catching more fish, and a few strangers are buying what is not 
 already bespoke [Mem. " Bespoken " would be a good Dutch 
 word], and everybody on or about the spot is doing something 
 or other w T ith fish, and the whole place smells of fish, and there
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 47 
 
 are no meadows, nor grass-lands anywhere near, where you might 
 get a third course of cutlets, or a piece de resistance in the shape 
 of a leg of mutton. But the fish have it all to themselves at 
 Schevening, and the people make a perfect jour maigre of every 
 one of the 365 days in the year. 
 
 " I've got something," whispers Maullie confidentially to me. 
 He is dodging behind a fish-cart, with his sketch-book in one hand 
 and his pencil in the other. 
 
 " What the Boomp-je is the matter with Maullie?" asks Gooch, 
 whose sense of propriety here, with the chance of a promenade, is 
 being utterly outraged by this eccentricity on Maullie's part. 
 
 " He'll attract a crowd," he adds, observing two or three little 
 fishy boys already evincing an interest in Maullie's proceedings. 
 
 At last we discover what Maullie has " got." It is a very tall, 
 hulking, gawky fisherman, in a costume composed, apparently, of 
 various contributions most thankfully received by the present 
 wearer. He is a difficult subject to sketch, as he won't keep him- 
 self in view (he can't help keeping his head in view, except when 
 he disappears behind a fishing-smack, which he does occasionally 
 as a short cut to some other crowd gathered round a fish auc- 
 tioneer), and Maullie has to dodge him, in and out, between carts, 
 to wait for him outside some small crowd into which he has 
 plunged, and out of which he will struggle presently (his head 
 being visible the whole time), when Maullie will follow him round 
 a boat, he on one side, the tall fisherman on the other, like 
 the pantomime business of the Clown and the Soldier round a 
 sentry-box, until making a bad shot as to which way his 
 unconscious model is coming, he and the tall fisherman bump up 
 against one another face to face, that is, as nearly as possible, 
 allowing for their respective heights. From this moment the 
 situation is reversed. Hitherto it has been the Gigantic Model 
 unconsciously escaping from the Artist, now it is the Artist, pain- 
 fully conscious, escaping from the Gigantic Model. 
 
 " Frankenstein" says Bund, thinking the simile peculiarly happy. 
 
 " Yah" says Gooch, who imagines that Bund is saying something 
 to him in German which he ought to understand. The Gigantic 
 Fisherman, who really appears to have grown more grim and a 
 foot taller, evidently suspects mischief. If Maullie retires behind
 
 48 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 a cart, just to " sketch in " the eye, or the nose, or a patch in his 
 coat, the Giant is down upon him round the corner, with such a 
 real expression of interest in his eye, as makes Maullie, as 
 Frankenstein, shut up his book and walk off : monster following. 
 
 Maullie behind a boat : monster after him. Maullie, taking a 
 flying sketch, retreating towards the hillock of sand near the town : 
 giant after him, as if in seven-league boots. A stop. Maullie 
 just sketching man's boots. Giant, scowling fiercely, advances. 
 
 Gooch's opinion : " There'll be a row. 'Pon my soul I don't 
 wonder at it. How would Maullie like to be followed about if he 
 was at home, and sketched and stared at by a stranger ? If I was 
 the man," adds Gooch, emphatically, as if with a view to preserve 
 subsequent neutrality, " I should punch his head." 
 
 Jomp, sniffing, like the war-horse, the scent of battle, says, 
 unlike the war-horse, that he'll go and see after the carriage ; and 
 instantly disappears. His reason, given afterwards is, to say the 
 least of it, honest : " I tought," says he, " dat dere'd be a fight." 
 
 Cessation of hostilities in consequence of Maullic's pocketing his 
 hook and pencil. Gigantic man retires slowly, turning occasionally 
 to look back at Maullie, evidently still uncertain as to whether he 
 oughtn't to have punched his head, or got something out of him 
 i icfore leaving. They couldn't have " come to terms " in any 
 language common to both, but fists are of universal application. 
 
 Muntley and Finton come back, disgusted. The ctablmement is 
 closed. There is no one there. Jomp is (of course) wrong : there 
 is no promenade, except in the season. 
 
 On our return, we find that Bund, who knows some people at 
 the Hague, is asked to an evening party, and his friends are 
 included in the invitation. 
 
 Gooch is delighted ; he says he likes Continental dances, and 
 immediately begins humming a can-can, and jerking his head with 
 such a knowing an, as to send his friends Muntley and Finton 
 into ecstasies. When he finishes, — which he does abruptly, — the\ 
 all laugh together, as if over some secret reminiscence. 
 
 Maullie thinks the party rather a bore, but still he says it 
 doesn't matter to him, as he has no dress clothes with him. 
 
 " You can't go as you are," Gooch protests, hastily.
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 49 
 
 Maullie replies, that if he wants to go he can borrow a suit from 
 the landlord. 
 
 Bund wishes he hadn't met his friends, the De Wordes, who 
 have given him this invitation, and to whom he couldn't say no. 
 
 The Secretary (myself) is pleased. There would be a mixed 
 society of Dutch, French, German, and English. 
 
 After dinner I open my portmanteau, where I had expected to 
 find my new evening suit, fresh from the tailor's on my leaving 
 England, and still wrapped up in its brown papei\ I open it. 1 
 only find a uniform, that of the Southwick Volunteers, which I 
 had lately joined. The tailor had sent them home by mistake. 
 The uniform is not unpretty, being grey with a gentle shade of 
 blue (so as to mingle you with clouds in the distance, and make 
 you a difficult object to hit) and trimmed up and down with a 
 paleish canary yellow, with braided cord on the cuffs and shoulders, 
 and wherever, in fact, there is room for it, and where there isn't a 
 button. 
 
 " Go," says Gooch, " in the uniform." 
 
 I treat such a suggestion with contempt. 
 
 Bund thinks the idea is reasonable. He doesn't see why not. 
 
 Maullie thinks it would give a little colour to the scene. So do I. 
 
 Gooch says, " Why not 1 " adding, that, if he were in my position, 
 he'd go " before you could wink your eye." 
 
 Bund asks what rank I hold. 
 
 I answer that I don't know, but they've promised me a 
 captaincy when I know my drill. 
 
 Maullie says that any English officer in uniform is received any- 
 where. 
 
 I am doubtful of this. I am fui'ther doubtful as to whether I 
 come under ths description of " any English officer in uniform." 
 
 Gooch says, " Certainly, of course. If not, what are you ? Eh 1 " 
 
 That's where it is — What am 1 1 What is a Volunteer ? When 
 abroad ? 
 
 Eoompje Riddle. — When's a Volunteer not a Volunteer? — When 
 he's abroad. 
 
 I try to turn it off with this. But they won't hear of it. 
 Muntley and Finton won't go if I don't go, and I don't go if my 
 uniform doesn't go, with me inside it.
 
 50 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Gooch hopes I won't be selfish. Bund gives as his opinion that 
 he's sure I won't. Maullie offers to do my portrait in colours, " as 
 I appeared," if I'll only go. 
 
 I ask, do they seriously mean that I can go in this costume ? 
 
 They say, " Certainly," of course ; and Gooch brings in his eye- 
 winking formula again, in proof of his readiness. 
 
 I agree, and promise to go. 
 
 Gooch announces that we ought to be " thinking of dressing " 
 (another formula of his for expressing that it is high time to be 
 actually getting ready, or for even being nearly ready), and gives 
 us the railway time. 
 
 Jomp has ordered the carriage. We dress. While dressing, 1 
 have my doubts. 
 
 In the coat alone I feel I could go ; it is decidedly handsome. 
 The trousers I don't like. They are grey, and bear a decided 
 resemblance to what I believe is the colour of a convict's costume. 
 To go to a private ball, which is not fancy dress, as half convict, 
 half soldier (of some sort), is not, it seems to me, to represent the 
 English to advantage. 
 
 Then, again, I reason with myself, sitting on the bed, meditating, 
 " They " (the Dutch) " won't know what I am "—like Watts's little 
 star. The English will. Perhaps they'll sneer : if they don't, 
 they may stick up for the honour of England, and Boompje a 
 little about the Volunteer Contingent. 
 
 This name decides me. The " Volunteer Contingent." 
 
 Question. — What are you ? 
 
 Answer. — An Officer in the Contingent. 
 
 I jump up from my bed. Boompje ! I sat down, Myself, a 
 Southwick Volunteer, and rise an Officer in the Contingent. The 
 True Boompje Spirit does wonders. 
 
 With a light heart I dress. 
 
 I debate with myself whether I will or won't wear a white waist- 
 coat, so as to show my watch-chain, and the coat open. 
 
 Question, then, how about collars ? 
 
 If collars, sha'n't I look more like naval than military ? Kecollect 
 dining at a mess once with Regulars. They wore collars. The 
 more I think of this, the more uncertain I become.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 51 
 
 I decide upon trying it, and asking Gooch's opinion, (lie is a 
 good hand at dress.) 
 
 He exclaims, "Pooh ! collars and open uniform ! They'll fancy 
 you're somehow connected with the Eiver Police." 
 
 Maullie, dressed in the landlord's clothes, which, he says, will 
 allow for growing, is ready. He, speaking "as an artist," gives it 
 against the white waistcoat. 
 
 "Button up," says he. I do. 
 
 At the House. I create a sensation in the hall, but do not seem 
 to command respect. Am introduced to the lady of the house (an 
 Englishwoman married to a Dutchman, and living at the Hague), 
 and she welcomes me with a high-bred courtesy. 
 
 Shall I apologise, or not, for coming in uniform ? 
 
 B 2
 
 52 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 AT THE EVENING TARTY (continued)— K PLUNGE— THE MAZURKA. 
 
 ECIDEDLY not. A uniform is 
 something to be respected, like the 
 British flag. (Boomp-je!) Let 
 them find out what I am. (Begin 
 to wish I was in bed.) 
 
 Gooch disappears. Bund is with 
 people I don't know. Maullie 
 has been introduced to some 
 Dutch artists, and everyone else 
 is either dancing, talking, or 
 walking. 
 
 I fix myself by a door, and begin 
 to indulge in bitter thoughts about 
 the world at large. What an ass- 
 I was (I think to myself) to be 
 persuaded to come in uniform. It's- 
 my confounded good-nature. Dear 
 me ! — two ladies from England, whom I've met before. 
 
 Miss Howker, quite the belle of the ball, and Miss Millar with 
 her mother. 
 
 Miss Howker quite surprised to see me here. She is talking to- 
 a French gentleman with a red riband and an order in his button- 
 hole ; she goes on talking after she has said she is so surprised. 
 Can't enter into their conversation, as I don't know what it's 
 about All 1 can do is to smile on them patronisingly. 
 
 The distinguished foreigner is evidently puzzled ; so is she. I 
 smile again ; I don't know why, but rather as if to say, " Isn't 
 this funny, isn't this just like me?" That is if she views my 
 uniform in that light. 
 
 I feel that many eyes are upon me, and eye-glasses too. The 
 general opinion (T also feel this from little things I hear said in 
 various quarters) is that I am an " eccentric Englishman connected 
 with the Post Ofrn'< ," and that the uniform is common enough in
 
 TEE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 53 
 
 London. One French lady explains to a German that I am an 
 alderman. Muntley, who has been taking champagne, insists 
 upon addressing me as My Lord Mayor, and bowing obsequiously. 
 I beg him not to play the fool. He leaves me. I hope he won't 
 go and spread it about that I'm the Lord Mayor. 
 
 There is an undoubted Englishman in the corner with large 
 whiskers and moustache eyeing me indignantly. I return his 
 look with indignation. We shall have words, "before," as Gooch 
 would say, " I can wink my eye," if I don't take care. 
 
 I tell Miss Howker about the Contingent, which, I am bound 
 to say, she does not believe, and I add that I am going to Aldershot 
 to join the Rifles for drill. 
 
 Gooch, hearing this announcement of mine, says, " Do you all 
 the good in the world, old fellow ; fine you down a bit." 
 
 I smile at Gooch, pityingly, to give Miss Howker the idea that 
 I only tolerate him, and that I don't want " fining down." The 
 Mazurka strikes up. Shall I (not knowing the Mazurka except 
 by having seen it) risk it with Miss Howker, and so cut out 
 Gooch, or not 1 
 
 If I do, it will probably terminate amicable relations for ever 
 between Miss Howker and myself. But still. . . . Boomp-je ! 
 . . . Yes. I might boompje through it. 
 
 Just as the words are on the tip of my tongue, Gooch takes 
 them, so to speak, out of my mouth, and says, " May I, Miss 
 Howker 1 " and Miss Howker consults her card, and finding she 
 has at least six names down for this one dance, settles the 
 difficulty by accepting Gooch. 
 
 I smile disdainfully as they leave me, laughing. At what are 
 they laughing ? At whom ? Muntley, passing me at this moment 
 with a French lady on his arm, bows, and says, " J'espere que vous 
 etes content, mi lord Maire." I frown. I hate such tomfoolery. 
 Will speak to him alone, seriously. Besides, it is rather a liberty 
 on his part, as I hardly know Muntley. 
 
 There are some moments when, if I looked in the glass, I should 
 expect to see myself pale and haggard, with dark dank hair hang- 
 ing about anyhow. I do look into the glass and I see — but no 
 matter. "Time writes no wrinkle on thy something brow," as the 
 poet says of the sea : and as he did say it of the sea, he might as
 
 54 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Ubll have written " winkle" instead of "wrinkle," a notion that I 
 shall put forward in my earliest collection of Boompje Poems. 
 
 I watch the Mazurka. A great man has said, we can always 
 learn something from somebody. This does not mean that we 
 can always learn anything from anybody. Now here are a lot of 
 anybodies and somebodies teaching me, unconsciously, the Mazurka. 
 
 It seems to me, observing this, that you must go a little back 
 like a wave on the shingle with a view to coming well forward again 
 like (also) a wave (same one) on the shingle. That you then hop 
 — or jump — and then slide. Watching the different couples, I can't 
 make out whether you hop first, or slide first. I feel an irresistible 
 desire to dance it. I feel at the same time a shyness which 
 whispers " Don't." I feel immediately afterwards a voice which 
 Kays " This is pride, false pride. Dance ! Boompje, dance ! " 
 Think to myself that I should like to try it alone in a side-room 
 first. Of course to ask for this accommodation is out of the 
 question. 
 
 I look around. Yes, there is Miss Millar near her mother. 
 She is not dancing. " Come desperation lend thy furious hold." 
 Faint heart never danced fair Mazurka. 
 
 Froggey would a-dancing go, whether Miss Millar's mother 
 wouldn't or no. 
 
 All these quotations, adapted, oddly enough flit through my mind 
 as I come up and say, " May I have the, &c. &c," mumble, mumble. 
 
 She declines. I rush on my fate and exert pressure. She 
 declines again. I become impassioned, nay, determined, as 
 the chance of dancing becomes fainter and fainter. She accepts. 
 [N.B. I must possess a wonderful dramatic power, facially, as 
 it was my last look at her made her change her mind, and accept 
 me. Must now use more facial expression, and look supremely 
 happy.] She astonishes me by informing me that she can't dance 
 the Mazurka very well, and hopes I won't be very angry with her. 
 
 I reply, encouragingly, that " she will soon pick it up" I add 
 that it isn't very difficult ; and I sincerely hope it isn't. 
 
 We commence picking it up together. My sword joins the 
 dance. I beg pardon. Must hook it up. Do so. Commence 
 again. Sword too heavy. The start is a difficulty. Two steps 
 totally unconnected with any known dance whatever, and a bump
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 55 
 
 from a couple coming round. Apology from me. Stare from 
 them. Two steps more. Another bump from somebody turning, 
 apparently, the wrong way. Slight apology from me. Anathema 
 I fancy from them. A couple starts behind xis ; their starting 
 puts my starting out, I frown on them, and observe to my 
 partner, that it is astonishing people can't keep out of the way 
 in a ball-room. She says, " Yes, some people are so stupid." 1 
 agree with her. I propose going to another part of the room and 
 commencing again. We go there. It is certainly clearer until 
 we commence our steps, when eveiybody seems suddenly to arrive 
 on the spot. I determine to start and go the whole Bocmpje, or 
 perish in the attempt. We take two steps with tvhat feet I don't 
 know. I feel a sort of galvanic tremor, from my boots upwards. 
 Then one foot will stick down, Avhile the other comes up out of 
 time. We do something which is intended for a hop, and turns 
 out a jump. We struggle together, with clasped hands, somehow, 
 as if we were trying the strength of our wrists, and we manage to 
 turn round in a sort of uneasy jig, like organ figures with the 
 machinery out of order, and then I come down with a decided 
 stamp on somebody's train. 
 
 A sharp crisp sounding tear. I apologise with one leg in the 
 air, having lifted it to do the hop. Apologj' scarcely acknowledged. 
 I hear mumbled words like "gauche," " stupid," " doesn't know 
 how to dance," and so forth. 
 
 Miss Millar thinks we'd better stop. I think so too, but I won't. 
 No, we'll have another turn round. We try : and come sharply 
 backwards on Gooch and his partner. They are laughing. At 
 me. I know it. Should have done this turn well but for that. 
 As it is I finish my next attempt at a hop and a slide by kicking 
 Miss Millar. We stop. I beg a hundred thousand pardons, a 
 million. Good gracious. I didn't mean — heavens 
 
 "It doesn't matter — it was an accident," she replies, and asks 
 to be taken to her Mamma. I protest against this. While 
 I am protesting we are bumped three times in different direc- 
 tions, and are then cannoned into the crowd, where we do more 
 struggling and tumbling, being finally landed near a sort of 
 mantel-piece, on which we both lean, exhausted. 
 
 I apologise again for kicking her. Quite an accident, I say ;
 
 £6 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 of course, she didn't suppose I only took her out to kick her. 
 "Won't she have any refreshment." 
 
 No, she'll go to her mother, please. 
 
 I know, instinctively, what she'll say to her mother of me. 
 
 I take her back. She bows distantly, and I know that hence- 
 forth mountains separate me from Miss Millar. 
 
 I retire gradually, and join a convivial party (Maullie among 
 the number) in the supper-room. 
 
 " Dancing, old boy ? " asks Maullie. 
 
 " No," I reply, carelessly ; " at least only just one turn. Too 
 crowded." 
 
 We sup, and return to the hotel, where we discuss our next move.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PA PEPS. 
 
 f>7 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CLUB VISITS LEIDEN — NOTES BY THE WAY — OBJECTS OF INTEREST 
 JOMP IN THE VEIN RETURN TO THE HAGUE. 
 
 w 
 
 ELL, Jump," says Bund, 
 " have; you ordered the 
 
 1" 
 
 carriage 
 
 "0 yes," replies Jump, 
 deprecating the Commander's 
 insinuation that he had 
 allowed such a command as 
 that to slip his memory, "0 
 yes ; the carriage vill be ready 
 
 " He thinks it out ; 
 
 and, without committing 
 himself to a positive moment 
 for the appearance of the car- 
 riage, adds, " Ven the 'orses 
 shall be in it." 
 
 " QueVespe.ee — " begins 
 Gooch, and then corrects 
 himself, as if he'd really quite 
 forgotten his native tongue, 
 and run into French so easily 
 that it was a difficult matter to get out of it again — " I mean, 
 what sort " — lie emphasises this, as his translation — " what sort 
 of a place is Leiden ! " Then, by way of a relapse, " Triste, 
 nest-ce pas ? " 
 
 " Bien triste" answers Muntley. 
 
 " Vons avez raison ! " says Finton. They are immensely pleased 
 with themselves after this, which is what they call " airing their 
 French for practice." When they want to keep up a conversation 
 in this language, they explain their meaning to one another in 
 English, and so get along excellently. 
 
 Jomp polishes his head with his handkerchief ("That — 
 Boomp-je ! — old rag ! " growls Gooch, for the hundredth time, " I
 
 68 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 rmist get him a new one ! "), looks at Maullie, who is sitting in an 
 arm-chair at the window, " taking a bit," and implies, 
 
 " Veil — Leiden — yes ! " — here he ruminates, as if recalling 
 happy scenes of his childhood passed in Leiden — "Veil — urn — um 
 — yes ! " Then, having thought it well out, he adds, " yes, 
 you can go to Leiden," and looks round upon us w r ith the air of a 
 man who has removed an almost insurmountable difficulty. 
 
 " Murray says," observes Bund, referring to his guide, as a 
 means of refreshing Jomp's memory, and rather as if Jomp had 
 written this portion of Murray, and was to be held responsible for 
 it. "Murray says — ah — where's the place?" Bund has got 
 about a dozen different markers in Murray, and generally exhausts 
 the Rhine before finding what he is really looking for — " Ah ! 
 here it is ! Now — let's see. ' Leiden,' " he reads at intervals — 
 " was called Lugdunum BatavorumJ ' Jomp smiles at this, as if he 
 didn't believe it. Bund proceeds : " ' There's a fragment of a round 
 tower ' — hem — ' Drusus ' — yes — ' Anglo-Saxon Hengist ' — nothing 
 that concerns us particularly." Jomp looks on in an attentive atti- 
 tude, but with the fixed inane smile of a big head in a pantomime. 
 Bund, having skipped over some paragraphs, as we suppose, con 
 tinues : " ' It stands in a tea-garden ' " Here he pauses, puzzled. 
 
 " What stands in a tea-garden 1 " asks Maullie, who is cross 
 because he considers that every minute spent cut of a picture- 
 gallery is so much time wasted. 
 
 " What sort of a place is the tea-garden 1 " asks Bund of Jomp. 
 
 " Une espece d'un Jardin de Paris ? " suggests Gooch. 
 
 " Like Mabille used to be, is it ?" inquires Muntley with the air 
 of a man who has been a viveur under the last Empire, when, by 
 the way, he was probably in the nursery. 
 
 Jomp thinks it out. " Veil — um — um — um — you can 'ave tea 
 dere, if you like." He shrugs his shoulders as much as to say 
 that he, personal!}-, couldn't recommend it. 
 
 " But," urges Gooch, who sees a cafe chantant looming in proba- 
 bility, " is there any fun there 1 " 
 
 "Any band?" throws in the Commander, fondly thinking of his 
 violoncello at home. 
 
 " Veil," replies Jomp, considering his evidence in a way that 
 would drive a Judge and Counsel wild, and give a Special Jury
 
 THE BOOMPJE FA PURS. 59 
 
 the fidgets ; " veil — dere's — dere's a — garden for tea, you know- - 
 yes ! " 
 
 " Any pictures 1 " demands Maullie, sharply. 
 
 "Veil — urn — urn," Jomp, becoming very warm from some in- 
 terior conflict, mops his head with the handkerchief, and finally, 
 putting his hands behind him with the bearing of a man prepared 
 to die a martyr to his love of truth, says, " / do not knoiv. I 'ave 
 never been dere." 
 
 " Then, why the — Boompje ! " from everybody. 
 
 " Carriage ready ! " the Waiter announces, and Jomp escapes. 
 
 On the road to Leiden, Bund proposes to read Murray's account 
 of it to us. The country is monotonous, and the new entertain- 
 ment of a reading from Murray partakes of the same character. 
 In half an hour we are all asleep. I employ the remainder of the 
 drive in making the following observations : 
 
 My imjjression of Holland — up to noiv (N.B. Confirmed here- 
 after). — From first to last all is Boompje, utter Boompje, unmiti- 
 gated Boompje. Understanding that Boompje be always used in 
 our accepted Club sense. Murray's travellers, be they who they 
 may, from lucky Number One, who does all the good hotels, to 
 poor Number Five, who only lives to tell others what to avoid, 
 are all robustious, periwig-pated fellows. 
 
 Were I telegraphing my impressions to England, I should say, 
 economically, " Disappointed with Holland." Bund is not ; for he 
 believes in Murray, and the blameless Bradshaxo. What Murray 
 says, Bund, our Commodore, sticks to. Muntley and Finton do 
 (in words) to Hollanders what the Hollanders did to their own 
 country when they made it what it is ; I need say no more. 
 But Maullie, R.A., is eager for pictures, and swears to see every 
 public and private collection in Holland ; even if he has to lug 
 out private collectors by the collar. As for Gooch, Holland is 
 not Paris ; and to him Paris is the Continent. 
 
 But why did Murray lead me to expect so much in Holland ? 
 Why does he say (quoting, perhaps, but no matter, he adopts it) 
 " that here the order of Nature is inverted." Here, in effect, 
 fishes swim into your bedroom window. That here you live two 
 thousand feet below the level of any known sea. Why am I 
 given to understand that my drives are to be under water. By
 
 60 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Murray I am led to expect that for the shooting season one must 
 take out a licence to fire at red herrings, but sprats are vermin, 
 fzaak Walton, if here, would have to angle for jackdaws, troll for 
 cocksparrows, and bottom-fish for larks. We were to be in a sort 
 of dry Red Sea land with water walls on either side. All the 
 trees would be (I expected) of scaweedy character, and I was to 
 be (I had fondly hoped) awoke in the morning by the piping of a 
 fresh cock salmon on the upper branches. But what is the fact 1 
 Why simply that the country is flat, and canalled, instead of 
 tunnelled, as it would have been if mountainous ; that in the 
 towns you are as much above the canals as Londoners are when 
 walking along the Harrow Road by the side of the canal, name of 
 which I don't know, never did, and never shall, but it seems to 
 ine to commence in Pacldington, to meander at right angle? 
 about the pleasant vale of Maida, to disappear somewhere at a 
 small outpost of London (where mortuary stone works are made, 
 suggesting the idea that those mighty efforts of the sculptor's art 
 in the New Road had come down here for an airing), and to lose 
 itself finally in the country, probably in the Uxbridge direction. 
 This repeated, without any undulation of country, is Holland : that 
 is, an eternal canal, and something to walk on on either side, with 
 bridges to cross it whenever yoti want to vary the monotony of 
 being on the left bank by changing it for the right one. 
 
 There is a good deal of bright polished brass about Holland, as 
 you might expect in a Boompje land. 
 
 While writing the above, it occurs to me that a free translation 
 of " Boompje" as settled and fixed by the Club Dictionary, would 
 be " Bounce." 
 
 Leiden at last. — What shall we do 1 Evidently, to begin with, 
 wake iip. We wake up. Here is Leiden. Ask the coachman. 
 Can't, he's a Dutchman. Tell Jtimp to ask Dutch coachman what 
 w r e're to do here. No use. Jomp tries. As usual, Dutch coachman 
 can't understand a single word. Jomp shrugs his shoulders 
 pityingly. 
 
 We manage, between Jbrnp's Dutch (limited), and our French and 
 English, to make an intelligent Baker understand us. The pro- 
 cess is a long one, and all Leiden is out-of-doors to hear and see 
 and, if possible, join in the conversation.
 
 THE BOOMrjE PAPERS. 62 
 
 "Ton ray soul," exclaims Gooch, in a tone of unmitigated dis- 
 gust, " We're being mobbed •wherever we go. We might as well 
 be a cracked Chinaman, or the Japanese ambassadors, in London- 
 Confound it, it's too bad." He is very wrathful with Bund and 
 Jomp, but settles down ultimately on Maullie. " If he was only 
 dressed like a civilised Christian, and not in that Boompje hat and 
 tourist suit, they wouldn't stare at us like barbarians, Hang 'em ! " 
 
 " Are there not objects of interest here ? " asks Muntley, in the 
 rumble. "Yes," growls Gcoch, "we are: confound it." 
 
 We try to gather information from the intelligent inhabitants 
 of Leiden. " Is there a church to be seen here 1 " This puzzles 
 them for ten minutes, during which time we repeat the question 
 in all sorts of forms, and in ingenious variations of languages. 
 The intelligent Baker, assisted by our intelligent coachman who 
 rouses himself for an effort, suddenly grasps the meaning of our 
 question. He explains to the populace (a crowd of about forty 
 people of all ages and sizes), who take up the reply as a part-song 
 for several voices. Hopelessly unintelligible. We demand a solo 
 by the Baker, or the Coachman. They insist on making it a duett. 
 (Gooch, writhing, says, " Boompje 'em — drive on : do ! " but we 
 don't stir.) From a solo by some one we are given to under- 
 stand that there is no church open. (" It's not like Paris," says 
 Gooch ; " they don't keep 'em open. Hang it ! let's drive back 
 again." But we don't stir.) We insist that there must be a church 
 worth seeing. The populace (after five minutes allowed to reduce 
 this to intelligibility) ridicule the idea of our being driven over 
 from the Hague to go to Church. (" They think we're mad. Do 
 drive on ! " says Gooch, piteously.) Maullie asks boldly for the 
 Stadhuis. They don't know it. " Not the Stadhuis 1 " reiterates 
 Maullie, surprised. No : not the Stadhuis. " Then isn't the 
 University worth seeing 1 ?" Populace take this up as a riddle (it 
 seems as if we are a travelling company for conundrums), and 
 after considering it in parts as before, put the puzzle together, and 
 desperately the answer is No. "0!" exclaims Gooch, "you be 
 Boompje'd. Here, let's get out and walk about the town." 
 
 We discover the University at last. Down a street : very 
 retired. It could be put into Trinity Hall's waistcoat-pocket. 
 There are some comic drawings on the wall of the staircase, repre-
 
 C2 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 senting a scholar leaving home for the Academy, and his return 
 therefrom. Dutch boy's humour. We yawn about the place. 
 We ask about Jean of Leiden. We inquire for {Murray's) Botani- 
 cal Garden, the Egyptian Museum, the Churches of St. Peter and 
 St. Pancras. Nobody knows, nobody cares. It is vacation time. 
 Leiden is asleep. Our conundrums are all given up, and we 
 
 return to our carnage. 
 
 Dull road home. Bund reads extracts from Murray as to what 
 we ought to have seen. Then he turns, angrily, on Jomp : 
 
 " You ought to have known all about it. It's your business. 
 You said you'd been all over this country before. And if you 
 hadn't been, you ought to have made all the inquiries, or sent 
 somebody with us who could take us everywhere." 
 
 "Veil," replies Jump, deeply injured, and almost shedding tears, 
 " I say dat I 'ave not been in Leiden. I cannot tell you vot I do 
 not know." 
 
 Finton, in the rumble, is humming the march from the Propliete: 
 inspired by Leiden. Suddenly, he stops, and addresses us : " I 
 say, what a capital match Jean of Leiden and Joan of Arc would 
 have made ! Almost the same dress, too." 
 
 This induces meditation, and we wake up at the Hague.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 G3 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE CLUB VISITS THE QUEEN OF HOLLAND. 
 
 HAT'S the time for seeing the Palace? - ' asks the 
 Commander-in-Chief and Pavmaster Bund. 
 
 " Four o'clock," Jomp answers, " vill be the best time for to see 
 the Palace." 
 
 " La Reine est-elle chez eUe 1 " asks Gooch in his usual momen- 
 tary obliviousness of his native tongue, adding his translation : 
 " The Queen, is she at home % " 
 
 Jomp believes that the Queen of Holland is at home. He has 
 been all the morning making inquiries, and the above represents
 
 M VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 the result. Gooch thinks that, under such circumstances, " tc 
 call would be an intrusion." He emphasises " call," as if ours, 
 was going to be a visit of friends who had been hospitably asked 
 to come in a general way when they liked, and who had (as is- 
 invariably the case) taken advantage of the invitation at the most 
 inopportune moment. 
 
 " Pooh ! " says Bund, fresh from Murray, " it's the regular thing 
 to see." 
 
 Muntley, Finton, and Gooch, the Opposition, object to it solely 
 on the grounds that, being the regular thing, it is so British- 
 touristy and snobbish. 
 
 Maullie, who has been spending his morning in two private col- 
 lections which he found out for himself without Jomp, votes for 
 the Palace, with a view to probable pictures. 
 
 The Commodore has the casting vote, the Opposition gives in, 
 and Bund, relying upon Murray, decides upon the visit of inspec- 
 tion. 
 
 " Not in that hat ! " Gooch implores Maullie. " Not in that 
 hat— to the Palace ! " 
 
 Maullie, who has something of the rigid obstinacy of the 
 Puritan in him, combined with his taste for simplicity in dress, 
 replies that he doesn't intend to change it until he arrives at 
 Brussels — " when," he adds, " I will astonish you in my Sunday 
 best. I have," continues Maullie, proudly, " an Opera hat." 
 
 "French?" asks Gooch, anxiously, "silk, glossy, that you can 
 wear in the day-time ? " 
 
 To which Maullie replies that Gooch will see. As Maullie gets 
 into the carriage, I hear Gooch telling his friends, sotto voce, "II a 
 un chapeau — he has a hat." 
 
 "You are sure," asks Bund of Jomp, "that the Palace is open 
 at four 1 " 
 
 " yes," answers Jomp, expressing by his manner that he is 
 utterly astonished at Bund's doubting his accuracy even for a 
 second. " yes — um — urn — um — it is open at four. yes ! " 
 
 We drive through an avenue — very pretty this — and enter the 
 courtyard of the Palace. A pair-horse carriage, and a Victoria, 
 are waiting. Some servants in Pioyal liveries are chatting with 
 other servants (belonging to the aforesaid carriages) at the door.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 0* 
 
 ' Some one's making a call," observes Gooch, pulling up his 
 wristbands, and settling his hat, under the impression, apparently, 
 that the Queen may be looking out of the window, and might be 
 induced, by his distinguished appearance, to ask him in (not us, 
 of course, and certainly not Maullie, except on sufferance in the 
 character of " any friend of yours, Monsieur Gooch, of course," 
 &c), perhaps to dinner. 
 
 "It doesn't look like sight-seeing time," says Maullie. Even he 
 is a little oppressed by the proximity of Royalty, and makes a 
 concession to propriety by cramming his sketch-book into his 
 pocket, and pulling his tie down under his coat, its tendency 
 during a drive generally being to "ruck up" and obliterate his 
 shirt-collar. 
 
 Bund bashfully produces black kid gloves, but as they have 
 weathered several storms of rain, and the middle fingers are 
 arranged on ventilating principles, this addition to his costume 
 only induces Gooch to say, in a rapid undcr-tone, as we draw up 
 at the portico, " Do put those things in your pocket, or you'll 
 look like a respectable begging-letter writer." He casts his eyes 
 up to the front windows, to see if, by any chance, the Queen is 
 looking : but no one is visible. 
 
 Jomp, in his Boomp-je hat and livery, unintelligible to the 
 servants, commands instant respect : at first. 
 
 Two servants in gorgeous coats and knee-breeches, six foot high 
 each of them, let down the steps, and open the door. 
 
 A bell is rung. 
 
 Instantly we see the hall within lined on either side by tall 
 servants, all in the same sort of costume, and standing bolt 
 upright like theatrical nobles at a shilling a night in an opera 
 chorus. 
 
 Muntley in the rumble leans over and says, "Isn't it just as if 
 they were going to sing, ' Hail to the something or other,' eh ? " 
 
 Gooch silences him with a frown. We are all seated in the 
 carriage, not liking to get out, as no one is certain what may 
 happen next, and there is among us a latent, undefined feeling 
 that the Queen is coming to receive us. 
 
 " There's some mistake somewhere," murmurs Bund, who has 
 got his gloves out again, as if the display of these would rectify 
 
 v
 
 66 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 any misapprehension as to our being noblemen — " In disguise," 
 adds Gooch, looking first at Maullie's hat, then at Bund's gloves. 
 
 Jomp is wholly incompetent, and utterly flabbergasted by the 
 situation. He stands helplessly by the steps, staring at the tall 
 men in liveries, but has nothing to say. Another five minutes 
 like this would send Jomp to a lunatic asylum, where he would 
 be shown as the " Idiot Courier" for the remainder of his life. 
 
 Two bells more. " Like on board a ship," says the Commodore, 
 faintly, wishing he was at home with his violoncello. 
 
 In answer to these two bells appear two footmen in more 
 resplendent liveries than the others, and about two inches 
 taller. 
 
 They w r alk down to the door, and take their places, as if by 
 clockwork arrangement or previous rehearsal, by the door. They 
 don't notice us, except by a glance, having evidently enough to do 
 to attend to their own deportment at the present juncture. 
 
 Another bell, this time more distant, as if some way down a 
 passage ; a slight delay, and then one grander and more gorgeous 
 footman, a sort of Swiss from a cathedral, topping by an inch all 
 the rest, walks slowly forward, and approaches our carriage. He 
 w y aits by the steps, inviting us (in Dutch we fancy) to descend. 
 The Swiss gracefully removes his hat. The two by the door 
 having a second before put on their hats, now politely, but stiffly, 
 take them off. We all take ours off, and that part of the 
 ceremony, whatever it means, is over. 
 
 Bund addresses Jomp. " Ask," he says, " if the Queen is in, 
 and whether we can see the palace ? " 
 
 In such Dutch as he can manage, Jomp inquires as to Royalty 
 being at home. The Giant looking down with some curiosity on 
 Jomp, does not comprehend the question at first. Then on Jomp 
 trying it again, he grasps it. 
 
 Yes, the Queen is at home. We will descend, of course. 
 
 Now comes a ticklish point. We have to explain what we want 
 to see — not the Queen, but the palace. The Swiss cannot under- 
 stand. " The Queen is waiting to receive us," he explains through 
 Jomp, who gives us a very vague translation. Finding that we 
 don't move (" There'll be a ruw," cries Gooch in despair, " and 
 letters in the Times about Cockney Tourists. Let's go back "),
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 67 
 
 and being tired of standing with his hat off (all the other lesser 
 giants being fatigued too), he pulls a small door-bell, which is 
 responded to by a little wizened man in black, like the shade of a 
 departed butler. (" Good effect among the liveries," says Maullie 
 under his breath, making a mental note of it. N.B. He has 
 subsequently put the whole thing into a picture full of halls in 
 perspective, grandly costumed nobles with flambeaux in their 
 bands, and a secretary in black. He calls it Reception of the 
 Dutch Republican Ambassadors at the Court of the King of Spain. 
 All our likenesses are there, and it has been on his easel some 
 considerable time. Everybody says it's a very fine picture, but 
 nobody has bought it, as yet.) 
 
 The Butler's Ghost receives some information from the Chief 
 Giant. He glides towards us along the carpeted hall noiselessly. 
 He is at our carriage-door. He salutes Bund, fixing upon him 
 instinctively as the Commander, and ignoring Jump altogether. 
 
 "Her Majesty," he says, "is within. Your Excellency ." 
 
 We look at one another. In an instant the Butler's Ghost sees a 
 mistake somewhere. Bund takes the opportunity, and informs 
 him that we wish to see the Palace. 
 
 The vision of greatness is dispelled. At a word from the Butler's 
 Ghost, three of the Giants replace their hats on their heads super- 
 ciliously, and disappear. After them disappear", in perfect order, 
 and without any show of confusion, their hatless but equally 
 gorgeous brethren-in-livery. Then we are all alone with the 
 Shade and one giant, the tallest. It is explained to us : this is 
 the time for private receptions. Not the time, oh, dear, no, for 
 seeing the Palace. Up to four o'clock the Palace is open to sight- 
 seers, but after that closed. Everyone here knows that. Jump 
 wishes to make a personal explanation, but is called to order, and 
 stands by the carriage-door, discomfited. 
 
 Butler's Ghost declares that, the Queen being at home, sight- 
 seeing is impossible — utterly out of the question. Bund puts it to 
 him that we are going very early to-morrow, that he (Bund) has 
 only to call on his friend the Ambassador that moment, and he 
 would return (in effect) with orders to see every room in the 
 Palace, from the attics to the cellar. That he (Bund) and party 
 are most distinguished people, representing Literature, Science, 
 
 f 2
 
 OS VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 and Art (Science being, perhaps, Muntley and Finton in the 
 nimble, who have been hitherto taken for our valets), anil that, 
 to sum up, if the Butler's Ghost will only break through rules, and 
 show the Palace, the Butler's Ghost shall find that we will make 
 " it ivell worth his while ; " and therewith Bund, having craftily got 
 a large coin of the realm out of his waistcoat pocket, presses it 
 upon the little man's acceptance, much to Gooch's horror, who 
 exclaims, " I say ! Hang it ! You might as well tip the Lord 
 Chamberlain at home," evidently under the impression that the 
 Butler's Shade holds that office. 
 
 The tip has its effect. The Butler's Shade takes the giant into 
 his confidence, shares (probably) with him, or makes arrangements 
 for future sharing, and finally announces to us, after disappearing 
 into and reappearing (for mere form's sake, I am sure) from, a 
 dark passage, that the Queen has graciously permitted us to see 
 the Palace. 
 
 I don't believe the Butler's Ghost ever went near the Queen. 
 This is strongly borne out by his subsequent conduct. 
 
 He shows us through the rooms hurriedly, and as quickly as 
 possible, as if he was doing something wrong. He stops now and 
 then to describe, but his descriptions are abbreviated, and his eye 
 wanders from one door to another as if to intimate at the shortest 
 notice that, as the Pantaloon says to the Clown when he's stealing 
 sausages, there's " somebody coming ! " We're all, so to speak, 
 stealing sausages, as Clown, and he's the Pantaloon. 
 
 We enter a drawing-room beautifully and curiously furnished 
 with Japanese hangings and coverings. Jomp, who follows in our 
 wake, and who has been rather snuffed out by our wizened little 
 cicerone here explains to us that " Dese come from Japan," but on 
 receiving a severe reproving look from the Butler's Ghost, he 
 retires into himself (he can't go very far, I should say, on such a 
 journey), and is satisfied with corroborating with gloomy nods the 
 various points of our cicerone's information. 
 
 " Hush ! " says the little man, suddenly stooping down, and 
 looking through a keyhole. 
 
 We now discover that we are hunting the unfortunate Queen 
 from room to room. Royalty flees before us. Royalty, for what 
 we know, may be concealed behind a screen or a window-curtain,
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 69 
 
 as we pass. A sort of hide-and-seek. The guide ascertains, as 
 far as lie can by the aid of the keyhole, that the Queen is not in 
 her boudoir, and we enter. Evidently she has not long left it. 
 There is her book open, and music on the piano. 
 
 A servant, in livery, suddenly appearing, motions to Butler's 
 Ghost to pause before rashly visiting the next apartment. " It's 
 too bad," says Gooch. " Hush ! " says our mysterious attendant. 
 We halt, looking dubiously at one another, and then, on a sign 
 from our leader, who has again satisfied himself through the key- 
 hole, we proceed stealthily, like conspirators in an opera. We 
 only want daggers, to complete the resemblance. But our "sticks 
 and umbrellas have been left " in the carriage. 
 
 We talk, when we do talk, under our breath. We hurriedly 
 admire furniture and imitation bas-reliefs on the wall. We wonder 
 at paintings on the ceiling, and w r e are hurried on to the ball-room, 
 where, it being a very large place and only used on State occasions, 
 we, as it were, breathe again. 
 
 The breathing time is very short, however, and we are once 
 more hurried along a passage, then a corridor, where more pictures 
 are explained to us, in a sort of patter-song, as fast as ever it can 
 be given, by the Butler's Ghost, who, evidently very much to his 
 own satisfaction, brings us out on a landing which leads by the 
 back stairs and servants' offices to the front hall, and so we are 
 smuggled ignominiously out of the building, and into our carriage. 
 
 Here we resume our dignity, and largesse is bestowed by Jomp 
 (on our behalf, but we ignore the process, as not dealing in such 
 dirty matters) upon our Guide and the tall Swiss. 
 
 Then we are driven through some lovely avenues, where all the 
 peasants take off their hats to us (" They think we're the Queen, 
 or something," says Gooch, much pleased), and at last we reach 
 the hotel. 
 
 " Veil," says Jomp, perfectly satisfied with his arrangements, 
 " you 'ave seen the Palace." And so we have ; and agree that we 
 won't see another in the land of Boomp-je. 
 
 " Dere is not another," says Jomp, which settles the matter at 
 once.
 
 70 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT AMSTERDAM THE BOOMPJE MOTTO — THE NEW GUIDE AN 
 
 EXCITING PROSPECT. 
 
 EEMS to me, after visiting 
 various Churches in Holland, 
 that to take oft' your hat in 
 a church is rather a si^ni of 
 irreverence than otherwise. 
 As the fashion-books would 
 say, " Hats are much worn in 
 church." 
 
 At Amsterdam. — New Grand 
 Hotel some distance out of 
 the town. We have it all to 
 ourselves. 
 "Why," says our Commo- 
 • dore to Jump, " we're the 
 only people in the hotel. 
 How's that?" 
 
 We listen ; expecting to 
 hear the cause of the con- 
 spicuous absence of visitors, 
 something about dull season 
 or want of funds, or whatever else may account for the emptiness 
 of a Grand Hotel. We look for this, seeing that Jomp has been 
 half an hour in the hotel, conversing downstairs with the pro- 
 prietor and hall-porter. 
 
 " What's the reason," asks Bund, "of our being the only people 
 here, eh ? " 
 
 •lomp shrugs his shoulders. It is, evidently, to his mind, too 
 absurd to put such a question. The fact, he thinks, speaks for 
 itself. However, he replies, " Veil — urn — um — you are the only 
 people 'ere — yes ; because — you see — um — um — " here he 
 finishes thinking it out as usual, " you see, — dere is nobody else in 
 de place."
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPEJiS. 71 
 
 Maullie delighted. Galleries of pictures. He spends his first 
 day with Jan Steen, Rembrandt's Night Watch and Van der 
 Heist's City Guard of Amsterdam. 
 
 It seems to me, speaking inartistically, that one doesn't under- 
 stand what portrait-painting is until these marvellous pictures 
 have been studied. 
 
 " Why," says Gooch, meditatively, " can't they paint groups of 
 portraits now-a-days, this size ? " 
 
 Maullie gives as the probable reason for there being so many 
 grouped portraits, and so, comparatively, few " portraits of single 
 gentlemen," that individually the Hollanders were not rich enough 
 to have a picture every man of himself to himself, and so they 
 clubbed together, "The artist," says Muntley, "making a reduc- 
 tion on taking a quantity." 
 
 We all visit Mr. Six's collection, and enthusiastically admire the 
 pictures of Burgomaster and Burgomistress Six, painted by 
 Rembrandt. Both equally good. Six of one and half a dozen of 
 the other. 
 
 We drive about the town. The whole party, except Maullie, 
 who prefers taking a sketch of the market-place from the carriage, 
 visit the large church, Nieuive Kerh (first cousin to Scotch Kirk, 
 evidently), and on returning therefrom we find Maullie in a great 
 state of excitement. 
 
 " Here ! Hi ! " he exclaims, vociferating and waving his umbrella 
 and sketch-book. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " says Gooch, considerably scandalised, " he 
 needn't do that. We shall have a crowd round us again." And 
 dreading this, he hurries on towards the carriage. 
 
 " Eureka ! " cries Maullie, excitedly, which Jomp thinks is a 
 real Dutch Avord, "I've got the motto for the Boompje Club. 
 Look up there ! " 
 
 With his umbrella he points upwards, towards the other side of 
 the open Place. At first we see nothing except the tall houses 
 closely wedged in between one another, as if they'd come lato 
 to see a performance and there was only standing-room for 
 them. 
 
 " Don't you see 1 " he asks. We do see, but, clearly, not what 
 lie wants us to fix upon. " That inscription — there ! " he urges,
 
 72 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 prodding the umbrella upwards always in the same direction, as if 
 
 he could touch the spot to which he is drawing our attention. 
 
 There are names of shopkeepers, of trades, of houses, all in large 
 
 letters, and we, more or less incorrectly, read them. "Now," he 
 
 cries, " the next one," and Bund reads aloud an inscription, high 
 
 up over the second storey of one of the tallest houses, the letters 
 
 of which are painted in a decided undeniable black on a white 
 
 ground, „ _ 
 
 fo "Dam No. 2." 
 
 " There ! " says he, " isn't that the motto ? Isn't the Boompje 
 principle to take precious good care of Number One, and let 
 Number Two look out for himself 1 " 
 
 We know by this time that the meaning of " Dam No. 2 " is 
 nothing more than, for instance, " No. 2, Portland Place," or 
 " No. 2, Fleet Street," but the aspect of the words in this position, 
 and their sound when given in the true Boompje-ish manner, 
 recommend them at once to us as the motto for the Boompje 
 Club. 
 
 When we separate and return to England, each member will 
 take this motto back to his own house, and " when in doubt," as 
 directions for whist have it, he will then act on the above Christian 
 sentiment, and be a happy and virtuous Boompje. 
 
 We won't see the Palace, but we pass through its hall in order 
 to ascend a tower (Maullie will go up a tower wherever there is 
 one), in order to see the bird's-eye view. 
 
 " Now," says Bund, on the second day, " as Jomp never knows 
 anything about any place, I have hired a regular Amsterdam 
 Guide." 
 
 We applaud the Commander, and the Amsterdam Guide appears. 
 He is a young man with a fresh complexion, and a Hebraic nose, 
 dressed in a brown coat, bright check trousers, yellow waistcoat, 
 blue tie, and a white wideawake, being the only living creature I 
 ever remember to have seen in any way realising the coloured 
 frontispieces of Music-Hall songs. If the Amsterdam Guide had 
 suddenly thrown himself into an attitude, and announced himself 
 as having been christened " Champagne Charley " by his godfuthers 
 and godmothers, none of us would have been more than slightly 
 astonished.
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 73 
 
 After the following conversation, which I will here recount, we 
 come to the conclusion that he is Jomp's nephew : — 
 
 Ourselves. Is there much to see in Amsterdam '? 
 
 Guide. Plenty. Full. 
 
 Ourselves. What is there ? 
 
 Guide. Veil {uncommonly like Jomp this) — 'ave you 'zeen de 
 Canals ? 
 
 As nobody could walk two steps outside any door in Amsterdam 
 without seeing the canals, this question does appear somewhat 
 pointless. We reply, naturally, that we have seen the canals. 
 
 Guide (who, to our astonishment, is rather taken aback by our 
 answer, pauses, and then resumes). 'Ave you zeen de shoops 
 (shops) 1 
 
 Ourselves (somewhat impatiently). Yes, we've seen the shops. 
 
 Guide looks round at the party, as if we were evidently going to be 
 one too many for him). Veil, den, you 'ave zeen the quays 1 
 
 Bund (snappishly). Yes, of course we have. 
 
 Gooch (aside). Qu'il est bete ! (kindly translating.) What an 
 ass the fellow is ! 
 
 Jomp, in the background, watches the Guide with a patronising 
 air, as much as to convey to us the idea that he could have done 
 just as well as this Guide — "only you would have him ! " 
 
 Guide. Ah ! (taking a new line), den you must zee de tower. 
 (He is evidently prepared to hear us exclaim, rapturously, " Show its 
 the tower ! ") 
 
 Maidlie (shortly). We've seen the tower 1 
 
 Guide (faintly). And de Palace? 
 
 Muntley. Right through the Palace to the tower. 
 
 [Jomp smiles, and looks towards us, deprecating our engage- 
 ment of this Guide. 
 
 Guide (coming out with a trump cord). You 'ave zeen de 
 Bazaar ? 
 
 Finton. No. We passed it yesterday. 
 
 Bund (quickly). And we don't want to. 
 
 Chorus. No. Hang the Bazaar ! 
 
 Guide (staggered). De — de — Hotel de Ville ? 
 
 Bund. Seen it. 
 
 Guide (almost gasping). De New Church V
 
 74 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Maullie. Went all over it. 
 
 Guide (despairingly). De Jews' Synagogue 1 
 
 Everybody. yes ! Yesterday in the Jews' Quarter. 
 
 Guide {tries to collect his thoughts, his memory fails him, he looks 
 wildly round the room, then suddenly composing himself he shrugs 
 his shoulders resignedly, and says) " Veil, den, you 'ave seen it all." 
 
 Jomp, too, shrugs his shoulders and nods first at the Guide, then 
 ;it us, as much as to say, " There, you see, I told you how it 
 would be ; better trust your own Jomp." 
 
 We have engaged the Guide, at least we suddenly discover that 
 Jomp has engaged him, for the whole day. What are we to do with 
 him for the twelve hours ? 
 
 Gooch positively objects to walk about in company with a Dutch 
 " Champagne Charley." 
 
 " Hang it," says he, " one can't go about with a sort of a ' Lion 
 Comique.' Fancy, if we meet any one we know ! " 
 
 Maullie wants to see a Private Collection. The Guide knows it, 
 and offers to conduct Maullie thither. Offer accepted. We watch 
 their departure. " Sure such a pair ! " quotes Gooch. 
 
 "And when they return," says Bund, who is settling down to 
 Murray, " we'll go to the village of Broek. It's the thing to see. 
 A wonderful place." And forthwith he reads an extract from 
 Murray concerning all the marvels to be met with in this unique 
 village. 
 
 We all wish Maullie would make haste and return, so that we 
 might hurry off post haste to Broek, where there are model farms, 
 model dairies, model houses, model peasants, model roads, pleasure 
 grounds, a mermaid, talking mechanical figures, temples, groves, 
 and, generally speaking, it is a place where, apparently, wonders 
 never cease. 
 
 " Hurrah for Broek ! " we all cry, enthusiastically. 
 
 " Jomp," cries Bund ; " isn't Broek well worth seeing? " 
 
 " Veil," returns Jomp, " yes — um — um — it is vorth seeing — O 
 yes ! " Then he adds with his usual profound regard for the 
 truth, " / 'ave never been dere."
 
 THE BUOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 75 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE CELEBRATED PLEASURE GARDENS OF THE MODEL. 
 
 VILLAGE OF BROEK. 
 
 ^ DRIVE to Broek. Ob- 
 jects of interest, wind 
 mills, canals, ditches, flat 
 country bearing a family re- 
 semblance to that cheerful 
 swamp on either side of 
 the line between Fenchurch 
 Street and Tilnury, cattle, 
 and peasants who touch their 
 hats vaguely to any body in 
 a carriage. This touching 
 custom does not aim at the 
 traveller's pocket, for there 
 are no vagrant beggars in 
 Holland. In the Jews' quar- 
 ter, on our coming out of the 
 svnagogue, we were assailed, 
 it is true, by a noisy crowd 
 of female mendicants (why 
 not say womendicants ?), all 
 daughters of Israel, or rather 
 grandmothers of Israel, to judge by their appearance, who held 
 out their palms and shrieked for largesse. Jomp, who was 
 frightened by this demonstration, threw coins among them (to 
 be charged to Bund the paymaster in a future account), and 
 climbed on to the box of the carriage as quickly as possible. This 
 was the only instance of begging that we encountered during 
 our sojourn in the Land of Boompje. 
 
 Our driver, with whom we could not argue in any language, had 
 us completely in his power on the road to Broek. A flourish of 
 his whip and a jerk of his hand towards a turning to the right
 
 7G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 indicated that he intended leaving the straight road in order to 
 drive through a pair of open iron gates. 
 
 " What's he doinff 1 " asks Bund. 
 
 Jomp answers with his usual characteristic readiness and love of 
 truth, "Veil — um — urn — he is going through the gates." 
 
 "Where to ?" inquires Maullie. 
 
 Jomp looks about him from his perch of observation, and having 
 thought the matter out, replies, " Veil— um — um — I don't know," 
 which, of course, is highly satisfactory. 
 
 It turns out, however, that we are being taken up to a Model 
 Farm. 
 
 "Useful thing," observes Maullie R.A, "for Artists." He 
 makes a note to the effect. I believe that when he returns 
 to England he will propose to the Governing Body of the 
 Academy the institution of a Model Farm, or a Farm for 
 Models, where Artists shall be able to call and make their own 
 selection. 
 
 The Model Farmeresses are at the door of their cottage. Two 
 of them. There are no Model Farmers visible. Bund informs us 
 (on what authority we do not know, as there is nothing about it 
 in Murray) that the Dutch are very fanciful about their cattle, 
 and decorate the cows' tails on Sundays and holidays with bunches 
 of ribands. 
 
 The elder Model Farmeress shows us her neat dairy, the milk- 
 pans, milk-pails, and cheeses in various stages. It is all scrupu- 
 lously clean and tidy. She explains to us, that is, we imagine she 
 is explaining to us, the process by which milk is made into cheese, 
 and we are much obliged to her. We are led into the cowhouse, 
 but the cattle are in the fields, so we don't gather much from this 
 inspection. She then shows us the family beds. These curiously 
 illustrate the semi-canal life of the Dutch, for they are berths made 
 up in cupboards in the wall. Perhaps the house itself has no 
 foundations, but only a keel, so that in case of unexpected inun- 
 dation, the entire farm would rise from its moorings, and sail about 
 doing business with other farms and villages (similarly provided), 
 just as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary course of 
 events. 
 
 Noah must have been a Dutchman ; and if Ham hadn't gone as
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 77 
 
 a colonist to Africa, Van Ham would have been a peculiarly Dutch 
 name. 
 
 After seeing Holland one prostrates oneself before that Grand 
 Romantic Genius who could so far shake off the trammels of fact, 
 as to conceive such an improbable character as the Flying Dutch- 
 man. The Swimming Dutchman, the Diving Dutchman, the 
 Floating Dutchman, the Sculling Dutchman, the Punting Dutch- 
 man, all these would have occurred to the ordinary mind, but the 
 Flying Dutchman is, so to speak, the result of such a flight 
 of imagination as to command our admiration and excite our 
 wonder. 
 
 The idea might have been suggested by the contemplation of 
 the Flying Fish, which ought to be, if Nature were only consistent, 
 a Dutch Herring. 
 
 Quitting the Models, we drive on to Broek. Gooch is looking 
 forward anxiously to Broek, or " Brook," as it is pronounced. Bund 
 quotes Murray about Broek. He says, " Such an accumulation of 
 pavilions, arbours, summer-houses, pagodas, bridges, and temples 
 — Gothic, Grecian, Chinese, and Rustic — are nowhere else to be 
 seen." 
 
 " By Jove ! " exclaim Muntley and Finton simultaneously. Bund 
 tells us that here we shall see wooden figures moving by clockwork 
 to a tune played by some invisible instrument. Here he pauses 
 and sighs, for his thoughts are upon his violoncello at home, and 
 lie never ceases to regret that he did not bring it with him. He 
 believes it would have enlivened us as we drove about, or, at all 
 events, have kept us awake after dinner. 
 
 Gooch has a proposal for him. It is that he might have his 
 violoncello made portable : the handle to take in and out, the back 
 to open, and the inside might serve as a portmanteau, "from 
 which," says Gooch, "you would only have to remove your stock- 
 ings and things when you wanted to play." 
 
 The consideration of this novelty occupies us till we reach Broek. 
 Our driver stops at an inn outside the village. 
 
 " Why doesn't he drive into the village 1 " asks Gooch, who likes 
 to make an imposing entry. 
 
 Jomp explains, "He cannot drive into the village — urn — uni — 
 because dere is no road."
 
 78 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Bund corroborates this from Murray. 
 
 We enter the village path, paved in the centre with tiles, like a 
 back kitchen. There is a row of little houses on either side, not 
 very unlike those meteorological toy-cottages, in which the little 
 old-fashioned lady and gentleman never could live together under 
 any circumstances, except perhaps something going wrong with the 
 pivot on which their lives turned. 
 
 We are pounced upon by an elderly syren lady in a satin dress 
 {a "Mature Syren," article for Sat. i?ev.) who with various blandish- 
 ments induces us, all more or less objecting, to enter her abode. 
 
 In her front parlour the Lowther Arcade, the penny bazaar of 
 Oxford Street, Margate and Ramsgate shops, and those unique 
 •emporiums on Brighton pier have poured out their choicest 
 treasures. Here are " trifles from Broek " in Dutch, pen-wipers 
 inscribed " Broek," views of Broek (Shanklin, Isle of Wight, I 
 believe, with Broek written under them) in glass paper weights ; 
 knives with wooden handles, on which is carved the magic name 
 of Broek, as if it was that of a Sheffield cutler. Japanese stores 
 innumerable, as if Broek had once been to Japan, and brought all 
 these things away ; or as if the Japanese had fled from Broek, 
 leaving valuables at hap-hazard behind them. 
 
 Then the old lady must needs show us her autograph-book 
 and her photograph-book. The former contained the signature 
 •of the Emperor Nicholas, who seems to have visited Broek, 
 and " expressed himself much pleased," as the visitors' books 
 have it. 
 
 We escape from the elderly show-woman (leaving Jomp in her 
 clutches) glad to get away from her at any price. 
 
 A troop of children follow us, most objectionable children, 
 evidently jeering. Maullie injudiciously makes a face, and shakes 
 his umbrella at their ringleader, and from that moment we are 
 mobbed by the children of the Model Village. 
 
 Where are the gardens so celebi'ated by Murray ? Jump insists 
 upon a turning to the left being the direct road. This induces us 
 at once, and instinctively, to choose the right. 
 
 Jomp takes his road : we ours. The children follow us. 
 
 We find ourselves in a dilapidated ragged garden, cut up into 
 various narrow paths, full of weeds, bordered by straggling bushes
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPEES. 70 
 
 and exhibiting no signs of the gai'dener's care and attention for 
 years past. 
 
 It depresses us. "This," said Maullie, " cannot be the garden." 
 
 " No," exclaims Gooch, with an attempt at assurance (all 
 Boompje !) "didn't you say," referring to Bund, "that there was 
 a mermaid here, and many swans, and mechanical figures, and a 
 lake?" 
 
 Bund had ventured upon this, relying upon Murray. We stop 
 in the middle of a path. The children behind us jeer. We are 
 losing our amiable tempers. An old crone comes towards us, bent 
 with age. She can only laugh and chuckle, and jingle some keys 
 she has in her hand. From her signs we gather that she is the 
 Guardian of the Art Treasures. Maullie makes a sketch of her for 
 his new picture, The Lancashire Witches. She only wants a broom 
 to be the very thing : only if she had a broom we shouldn't see 
 any more of her, as nothing could prevent her flying away on it to 
 a " Sabbat " somewhere in the neighbourhood. 
 
 She is full of chuckles, evidently at the idea of any party 
 of people being such fools as to waste their time in visiting 
 Broek. 
 
 She takes us to the lake, points out the pavilion, where a 
 wooden man, sometime mechanical, is now lying on the ground 
 with broken legs and arms, and the paint washed almost entirely 
 off his face by the rain through the roof; and she points out the 
 mermaid. 
 
 " That ! " we all exclaim. Yes, there is no doubt of it. On the 
 top of a ruined summer-house (everything is in ruins) is perched a 
 little zinc or tin mermaid, about eight inches high, intended to 
 serve as a weathercock, only (this being Broek) of course it is out 
 of order, and won't move. 
 
 "Gentlemen," says Maullie, seriously, addressing us collectively, 
 " we have come all the way from England to Holland, have endured 
 much, and have travelled night and day in order to see a broken 
 weather-cock in the shape of a diminutive mermaid ! " 
 
 The crone shows us two mechanical figures which do move on 
 being wound up. The children follow us and are delighted. Jt is 
 a melancholy performance, and only the model children of Broek 
 could find pleasure in such an entertainment.
 
 80 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 The two mechanical figures look as if they'd been rejected by 
 Madame Tussaud's Committee of Selection for the Chamber of 
 Horrors. 
 
 Finally, there is a cuckoo-clock, of which the old woman is 
 very proud. 
 
 In fact, imagine our Golden .Square in autumn unswept, and 
 strewn with toys of children as at the seaside, the gai'dens of any 
 seaside Tivoli on a wet Sunday in October, without tea and 
 shrimps, waiters or visitors, the ruins of the once-famous Rosher- 
 ville, people the place with a few old battered ships' figure-heads 
 from the works by Vauxhall Bridge, throw in a tenth-hand rustic 
 ai'bour or two from some suburban villa to be sold a bargain, and 
 you will have some faint idea of the appalling desolation of the 
 Pleasure Gardens of Broek. 
 
 Broek, to be true to itself, and to save travellers time and money, 
 should be spelt and pronounced " Broke." 
 
 The immortal advice once given by Mr. Punch to mankind with 
 regard to those about to marry, may be well repeated here : — 
 
 Advire to those about to visit Broek: — Don't !
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BRUSSELS. 
 
 UNTLEY, Finton, and 
 Gooch in their glory. Here 
 is a town, a Paris in minia- 
 ture, cafes, gardens, prome- 
 nades, theatres, operas 
 bovffes, and everything in 
 holiday trim. 
 
 "We arrive dusty and tired. 
 We all disappear to our 
 rooms in the hotel. "We re- 
 appear transformed. Gooch 
 & Co. resplendent. Bund 
 sedate and tidy, but his 
 general effect marred by his 
 Murray still in his hand, and 
 Bradshmv (let, like the cat, 
 out of the bag) protruding 
 from a frock-coat-tail pocket. 
 Gooch remonstrates : dwells upon those blots as being a bad 
 example to Maullie, who has not yet issued from his apartment. 
 Gooch tfc Co. hope anxiously that Maullie will have some regard 
 to social requirements, and not inflict upon us his " tourist's 
 complete suit of dittos " and white wide-awake. Maullie enters. 
 Grand and startling effect. Latest thing in summer clothing. 
 Black frock-coat, white waistcoat, brilliant trousers, polished 
 boots, check necktie, snowy collars, flannel shirt apparent beneath 
 (""Why can't he go the whole animal ?" complains Gooch, who is 
 down upon the blot at once), disappearing behind his waistcoat 
 and coat, and turning up again at the wristbands. Taken alto- 
 gether, Maullie is in " go-to-meetin' costume," and is justly proud 
 of the surprise which he has given us. 
 
 "Now," says Gooch, "where is your hat?" Then Maullie 
 produces a " gibus," and exclaims, " There ! " triumphantly.
 
 82 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Put it on," says Gooch. 
 
 He puts it on, turning his profile, right side, towards us. 
 Applause. 
 
 Gooch cunningly walks round him, and stops, in horror, on 
 the left. He has found out the weak point of the "gibus." 
 Maullie's countenance falls. " Yes," he admits, " the spring is a 
 little gone on one side, but I don't think it'll be noticed." 
 
 " Not noticed ! " exclaims Gooch, while Muntley and Finton 
 laugh derisively. 
 
 " My dear fellow," continues the Count, " this is a fete day. 
 There are two bands playing in the Gardens : tout le monde et 
 sa femme will be there in the height of Parisian fashion. You 
 can't escape remark." 
 
 Maullie thinks he can. He defends his hat. Bund, being 
 impatient to go into the gardens, and hear the concert (he looks 
 forward to something cheery on the violoncello), says, " never 
 mind his hat ! — come along ! " 
 
 Gooch sacrifices himself for the reputation of the Club's first 
 appearance in Brussels. He announces his intention of walking 
 with Maullie, adopting an idea of Muntley's (who knows some- 
 thing about theatrical effect), and keeping his companion with his 
 bright side towards the audience (as it were), and his shady side 
 towards himself. 
 
 The audience being seated in the gardens, this plan is found to 
 answer ; but Maullie, happening to get free for a few moments, 
 takes the wrong side of Gooch, who, momentarily oblivious of the 
 change, is talking to Muntley on his other arm, and at once 
 becomes the cynosure of neighbouring eyes. " What a hat ! " 
 " Regard, my dear, that hat ! " " How it is droll, that hat ! " we 
 cannot help hearing, and even Maullie is induced to recognize 
 the fact that he is bearding Society to its very face. He joins 
 Bund, who has found out a secluded restaurant in the gardens 
 and is icing himself. 
 
 After two hours' promenade, Jomp appears at the gates with a 
 gorgeous carriage. 
 
 " Is it," asks Gooch, who likes to do everything in its proper 
 season, " the right time for driving in the Bois ? " 
 
 " yes," replies Jomp, " you can drive in the Bois — yes ! "
 
 THE BOO MP 'J E PAPERS. 83 
 
 as if, after mature reflection, he, personally, knew of no just cause 
 or impediment to such a proceeding. 
 
 " But," persists Gooch (for Gooch & Co.), " is it the time when 
 jdl the swells — all the swell equipages — drive out 1 Eh ? " 
 
 " Dey all drive out," Jomp returns. "0 yes — um — um — dey 
 -all drive out now — um — um — as much as at any oder time." 
 Carried, for the hundredth time, Jomp is an ass. 
 We drive into the new and unfinished Bois. It will be 
 undoubtedly very beautiful, it is certainly very dusty. So dusty 
 that after a time, and in one part of the drive, we cannot 3ec 
 anything three yards a-head of us. All consequently in bad 
 temper, except Secretary and Gooch, who happen to be seated with 
 their backs to the horses. Jomp smothered ; Bund and Maullic 
 as if they'd been left for months on a shelf without being touched ; 
 Muntley and Finton, in the rumble, grimy and using strong 
 language, chiefly French, and very bad French too. 
 
 We encounter two carriages besides ours. This represents du 
 monde out driving in the Bois. 
 
 Gooch is very angry. " Confound it, Jomp," he exclaims, 
 " they don't drive out here at this time, you see." 
 
 " No," answers Jomp, shrugging his shoulders, " um — um — dey 
 do not." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggests Maullie, " we've come to the wrong place." 
 Jomp has nothing to meet this with, except another shrug, as 
 if acknowledging that this may be the case. 
 
 " Is there no other drive ? " asks Bund of the Coachman. 
 "0 yes, all round the town. Drive wherever Monsieur likes." 
 " Then," says Bund, resignedly, " drive all round the town." A 
 simple means of coming upon the fashionable rendezvous at some 
 point or another. 
 
 We determine (after our drive) to dine at the table d'hote. 
 Gooch protests, but yields to majority. Places taken. Dinner 
 at a comparatively early hour, to allow of going to theatre. Gooch 
 selects two theatres : one where there is a Diablerie piece 
 announced, and another where Le Petit Faust is being done, the 
 airs of which Muntley and Finton immediately commence to 
 whistle or hum, more or less incorrectly. In view of an opera 
 bouffe and a French melodrame, they are in high spirits. 
 
 O 2
 
 84 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Bund hears there are concerts in the evening after the theatres, 
 and foresees the chance of taking back some new solo pieces for 
 his violoncello. Maullie visits photograph shops, and buys views. 
 
 Jomp, at liberty, employs his time in a manner most useful to a 
 courrier. Being unacquainted with Brussels, he contrives to 
 improve the occasion by standing in front of the hotel-door all 
 day, doing nothing except joining in an occasional chat with the 
 landlord. 
 
 " Why don't you go and see the town ? " asks Maullie. 
 
 " veil," answers Jomp, smiling at the absurdity of such an 
 idea. " Derz is nothing here — urn — um — all towns is de same." 
 
 And so they are — to Jomp.
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 REASONS FOR THE BREAKING UP JOMP's DESTINY THE LAND OP 
 
 FATE — THE FUTURE MARTYR THE BUMPER AT PARTING— 
 
 BOOMPJE FINISH. 
 
 HE musical Bund has re- 
 ceived letters from London. 
 He is inagreat state of agita- 
 tion. He is very sorry, but 
 lie must be off. They(who ?) 
 can't do without him. 
 (Boompje !) 
 
 It appears that he has 
 received an invitation from 
 a quartette party in town ; 
 
 \Mi\ • lll/mm^W^^h '""' '"' is to hring his owe 
 
 violoncello. Two violins, a 
 piano, and a violoncello. 
 The dinner is to come first, 
 and afterwards the four are 
 going to play Somebody's 
 Something in G. Maullie 
 says he should like to heai 
 the tuning and screwing up. 
 Bund replies that the 
 screwing will be probably 
 done in the dining-room. 
 But this is only his way of 
 turning off the banter good-humouredly, as, if ever man was in 
 earnest and bent on playing something no matter what in G, 
 Bund is that man. He resolves to get the music in Brussels, and 
 study it. Jomp having had a day with the Landlord, is expected 
 for once to know something about Brussels. Bund asks him, 
 " Do you know if there are any good music-shops 1 " 
 
 " yes." Jomp, the intelligent, replies without the slightest 
 hesitation, as if he'd been born among them. " yes " — then, as
 
 86- VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 usual, his sprightliness vanishes, and he begins to appear almost 
 sorry he'd spoken, "Yes — um-um — dere are " — he admits it now 
 as a probability — "dere are music-shops." 
 
 His tone implies that though there are music-shops, yet, he 
 should say, they wouldn't sell you anything except ham sand- 
 wiches, or would sell everything except music. 
 
 " They ought to be first-rate music-shops," observes Maullie, 
 "in this place." 
 
 Jomp rubs his head slowly, thinking this out, then shrugs his 
 shoulders, and puts his hands behind him, resembling in this 
 attitude himself (Jomp) in winter at a fireplace, or himself again 
 (Jomp) in some celebrated impersonation of the first Napoleon 
 deliberating. So far he does resemble the Great Emperor, he 
 does deliberate. There the likeness ends. 
 
 " Well ! " exclaims Bund, impatiently, to whom, now, minutes 
 are crotchets, " where are these music-shops ? " 
 
 " Veil," answers Jomp, deprecating the commander's impetu- 
 osity, "Veil — um — um — dese music-shops — um — am — dey are 
 'ere." 
 
 " Go and ask somebody to tell you," says Bund, testily. Exit 
 Jomp, in tears. The Landlord enters, and gives Bund the re- 
 quired information. Bund goes all over Brussels, and can only 
 find Somebody in F. They're out of Anyone in G. So the Com- 
 mander busies himself with Bradshaw, to find out the shortest 
 and most convenient route back to his beloved Violoncello. 
 
 Maullie, R.A., has had his letters forwarded. Waterglass, the 
 eminent dealer, wishes to see him at once : an enormous com- 
 mission. We suppose it to be to paint the Norfolk giant in a 
 series, with perspective background, and giants of various ages in 
 the gardens. However, he must go, and as for Gooch, and Muntley, 
 and Finton, finding that if they stop at Brussels they will be 
 alone in their glory, and as, with the departure of Bund, the office 
 of paymaster and commander is in abeyance, it does not take them 
 long to decide on a course of action which will not precipitate the 
 temporary separation of the Club members, a painful necessity 
 which we agree to leave until we are once more upon the shores 
 of Perfidious Albion. 
 
 "One Boompje bumper at parting " is Gooch's proposal, speaking
 
 THE BOO MP J E PAPERS. 87 
 
 for himself, &c. Carried nem. con. And the proposition being duly 
 developed, takes the form of a dinner, and the presentation of the 
 Boompje livery, which he has worn so long and with so much 
 credit to himself, to the immortal and amiable Jomp. 
 
 We are astonished at finding that Jomp is most anxious to get 
 back to Jjondon as quickly as possible. On being questioned he 
 is somewhat reserved, but, as hitherto, so now, veracity itself. 
 
 " You want to get back quickly, eh ? " asks Bund. 
 
 " Veil — um — urn — yes — I should like to get back — urn — yes," 
 — after considering whether there is any other better form of ex- 
 pression, he settles in his mind that there is not, and adds, " Yes 
 — quickly — yes." 
 
 " Why ? " asks Maullie. 
 
 "Veil," Jomp returns, very slowly, and rubbing his head, 
 letting his eyes wander all over us, the walls, the looking-glasses, 
 and the carpet pattern, as if the reason he was going to give us 
 was written somewhere among these articles, like a revelation, — 
 " veil — um — um," — fails to discover it in the carpet, and tries the 
 right-hand window pane over Bund's head, — " veil — um — um — I 
 wish to go because," — another failure, he tries up the left wall as 
 far as the cornice, where he is stopped by some ornamentation, 
 which drives him to the looking-glass on the opposite side, — 
 "because — veil — it is nothing," — here he smiles to himself rather 
 bashfully, and we begin to think that he is going to tell us of his 
 fixed intention of getting married, — " veil — only because," — the 
 furniture failing him entirely, he settles on Bund's watch-chain, 
 and brings himself to bay as it w r ere, — "I vant to go — um — um 
 — because — / do not wish to stay here." 
 
 " Is there no other reason?" asks Gooch, inquisitorially. 
 
 "Yell — um — um," Jomp admits there is. 
 
 " What is it 1 " 
 
 " Veil — um. I vill tell you " — Jomp begins in a tone of most 
 abject apology, " I ave taken a — um — um — I ave taken a 
 Otel." 
 
 "A what?" we all exclaim. 
 
 He is as frightened as if we'd all suddenly forbidden the banns 
 of that imaginary marriage we had fixed on him. 
 
 *'A Otel," he resumes. "0 yes, I ave him. Vy not?" Then
 
 88 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 warming with the subject, he continues, " Dere is mosh more 
 money to be made as that, dan as Courrier, yes, mosh. It is in 
 a good place." 
 
 " Where ? " we inquire. 
 
 " Veil," he pauses and looks round at us, to see how we'll re- 
 ceive the intelligence ; " Um — urn — urn — it is in London." 
 
 He names London as if the idea of starting a Hotel in such a 
 place was entirely novel and original, and calculated to make an 
 unheard-of fortune from its taking the people so by surprise. He 
 had evidently looked forward to every one saying, " Hallo ! here's 
 a hotel ! Why it's Jomp's Hotel. Dear me, let's go in and sleep 
 there, and dine there, and, in fact, live there. All, everybody ; let 
 us desert London and live in Jomp's Hotel." 
 
 We cannot discourage him, as he has taken the premises. 
 
 "A great place," he explains. "Make dee — two — tree — four — 
 an twenty or tirty Billiard Tables." 
 
 " How many beds ? " was our natural question. 
 
 " dere will be beds — yes — plenty of beds. Enough for 
 every one to sleep most comfortable." 
 
 Now what Jomp means by this is not to us distinctly clear : 
 but it does seem that up till now sleeping accommodation has 
 been a consideration of secondary importance by the side of 
 Billiard Tables. Unless those who couldn't get beds, were to be 
 accommodated with pillows and sheets on the billiard tables. 
 
 He goes on, evidently pleased, to give us particulars. " Veil 
 den — dere is varm and cold vater always turn on — yes — den 
 dere is a large Organ dat play several tunes " 
 
 " Good gracious ! " exclaims Maullie, " what's the use of an 
 Organ to a hotel ? " 
 
 " Veil," Jomp returns, " he is no use, no. But I bought him at 
 a sale. He plays," he adds, with pride, to show that he's not been 
 taken in, " yes, he plays." 
 
 "Any other curiosity in your hotel?" asks Gooch. 
 
 "Veil, no," answers Jomp, innocently. "But you must come 
 dere von day. I shall be delighted if all de gentlemans vili 
 come." 
 
 " If it's conveniently situated," cried Bund, " we might have a 
 weekly Boompje dinner at your hotel, Jomp."
 
 THE BOOMPJE PAPERS. 89 
 
 He is radiant. He would be glad, he would give us a dinner — 
 O yes, we should dine. 
 
 "Where is it? " asks Maullie, pleased, as we all are, at the idea. 
 " If it's in the neighbourhood of the Clubs, or about that part, it 
 will suit us down to the ground." 
 
 "Veil," Jomp considers, "veil — um — urn — it is not near de 
 parks — no — veil it is — no," as if he were mentally calculating its 
 exact distance in inches from the Marble Arch or Wellington 
 statue, — "veil — no — it is not near de dabs — no — but you can 
 get dere — yes — you can get dere." 
 
 This possibility is, we think, almost a necessity to the success 
 of the hotel. However, where is it 1 
 
 " Veil, it is — um — um — it is in Smithfield ! ! " 
 
 " Is it ! " exclaims Bund ; " then, Jomp, you've made a martyr 
 of yourself ; your friends will roast you, and, 'pon my life, you 
 
 deserve it. What on earth " but Bund is so annoyed with 
 
 him that we are obliged to come to Jomp's rescue, and start 
 suppositions that he (Jomp) had some good grounds for thinking 
 he should get business in Smithfield, in preference to any other 
 place. 
 
 " yes," replies Jomp, brightening up, as if anything like a 
 tangible reason for taking this Hotel in Smithfield had never 
 occurred to him before, as perhaps it hadn't — " It is a good place 
 for a Otel. Dere are a number of " " Farmers and Gentle- 
 men Farmers from the Country on business," suggests Gooch. 
 
 "No — vim — um — No." Jomp rejects this source of wealth, 
 and we wonder on what vein, unknown to us, he is going to rely. 
 " No — dere are a number of Siviss Clochnalcers living about dat 
 part, and — um — um — / tinlc dey vill come." 
 
 Jomp's notion, fully developed, is that these Swiss Clockmakers, 
 firstly, " must eat ; veil — dey come to my Otel." In vain we 
 point out to him that they'll probably continue to dine, as they 
 are doing now, and have done for years, at home. He meets this 
 objection by saying, "Ah veil — but veil dere is a Otel, dey vill 
 come." Secondly, that the hot and cold water always on will be a 
 great inducement to them ; thirdly, that, their work over, they 
 will be delighted to recreate themselves with billiards. Again, 
 we point out that, being chiefly, in all probability, family men,
 
 90 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 they will prefer to do as they have done for years, the chances 
 are, and stop at home. 
 
 " Ah," says Jomp, " but ven dere is a Otel and twenty, tirty, 
 billiard tables, dey vill come." 
 
 We advise him to get rid of his speculation to anyone who will 
 buy it, but he thinks we are wrong, and we hope he is right. 
 
 He says he must get back to manage it, as " it vill vant me to 
 be always dere," he tells us. 
 
 The above explanation of Jomp's views stood in lieu of a speech 
 from him at our dinner, where he waited on us, for not, let us 
 hope, the last time. 
 
 Bund from the chair made a neat and appropriate speech. He 
 expressed his pleasure at having been, conjointly with the present 
 company (Muntley and Finton excepted, and welcomed as Junior 
 Members) the founder of the Great Boompje Club, whose exis- 
 tence would be synonymous henceforth with that of Science and 
 Art. They would all of them dine with him that day fortnight 
 in town, and book it. " Messieurs," concluded our courteous and 
 hospitable Commander and Paymaster (who has never yet sent in 
 the bill, and never will) " Messieurs, au plaisir ! Gentlemen, let 
 us stand up and drink the Motto of the Club, which emphatically 
 and concisely expresses our sentiments towards Number Two, and, 
 at the same time, a long farewell to the Land of Boompje. Hip ! 
 Hip ! Hooray ! One, two, three, 
 
 'BOOMP-JEl'"
 
 LA BOURBOULE.
 
 NOTES OF A FIRST VISIT TO 
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EN ROUTE TWO HOURS FOR REFRESHMENT A FRIEND IN NEED 
 
 MY TRAVELLING COMPANION " EN VOITURE ! " 
 
 f~\ N the morn- 
 ing of the 
 "Glorious 
 Twelfth" (of 
 August) I find 
 myself not on 
 the Moors and 
 among the 
 grouse and 
 Gillies, but 
 entering the 
 departement of 
 France called 
 the Puy -de- 
 Dome, en 
 route for the 
 Station Ther- 
 m ale, La 
 B ourboule, 
 whose rising 
 reputation for 
 curing all sorts 
 of ailments 
 has brought 
 us, myself and 
 Dudley Oli- 
 vers, all the 
 "way from London (driver? came vid Dieppe, myself vid Calais,
 
 94 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 meeting at the Gave d? Orleans, — quite a historical event) to consult 
 La Bourboule's doctors, drink and bathe in La Bourboule's 
 waters, and in a general way do at La Bourboule as La Bour- 
 boule does ; and we sincerely hope the young Lady with a rising 
 reputation, — for of course " La Bourboule " must be a feminine 
 personage, — will pay us every possible attention, treat us kindly, 
 and turn us out as " perfect cures." 
 
 From London (vid Calais) to Paris. — Victoria early Continental 
 train. Who hasn't experienced this trying start ! To bed early 
 the previous night, and in consequence unable to sleep. Very 
 wakeful up to midnight. Restless and feverish till about 4 a.m., 
 " when daylight does appear," — for of course the shutters are 
 open and the blinds up on this exceptional occasion, so that 
 darkness may offer no subtle inducement to take another turn 
 round and go to sleep again, — and, having given particular orders 
 about being called punctually at a quarter to six, and having 
 anticipated the arrival of this hour by jumping up hurriedly to 
 look at the clock three times already between four and a quarter 
 past five, I return to bed, and while congratulating myself on 
 having just exactly half an hour's more rest, I fall off into the 
 deepest, sweetest, and soundest sleep, from which nothing short of 
 shaking, rapping, hammering, and shouting can arouse me. 
 
 Then — every early voyageur is familiar with it — comes the 
 trying moment of " pulling oneself together," which is only 
 partially successful, and your glass shows you the ghastly 
 spectacle you really are in the very early morning, — an un- 
 healthy, half-awakened sleeper, momentai-ily galvanised into un- 
 natural life. At this juncture the idea will flash across you, 
 " Can anything be worth this thorough upset of my system 1 
 Isn't this derangement of my natural night's rest quite sufficient 
 of itself to demand imperatively some medical treatment in order 
 to restore me sain et sauf to myself again ? " Till this morning I 
 was (comparatively with what I feel now) well. But this restless 
 night, this anxiety, this unnatural eai'ly rising, this breakfastless 
 excitement, has utterly boideversed me .... and — and — upon 
 my word, if I hadn't got two pounds' worth of French money and 
 my pink ticket to Paris in my pocket, I should feel strongly in- 
 clined to chuck up everything, so to speak, and — go to bed again.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 05 
 
 But Courage, mon ami ! my cab is at the door, and my barque 
 (the steamer) is on the sea, and faiblesse, adieu ! 
 
 From London to Calais. — Hungry and feverish. Is life worth 
 living, Mr. Mallock ? Why go abroad? why all this nuisance 
 and trouble merely because three Doctors have told me that if 
 there be a place on the earth to cure me " it is this, it is this " La 
 Bourboule, whither I am now wending my way ? Why not 
 Harrogate ? I don't know : but too late to discuss the subject 
 now, and I have no one to discuss it with. Why aren't these 
 sulphurous and arsenical waters in England 1 Naaman the Syrian 
 asked, quite naturally, why the waters of Pharphar, which he 
 could get at easily, wouldn't do for his complaint ; and I put the 
 question (not in the same spirit, but diffidently) about Harrogate 
 adding a propos of Pharphar, why go /ar-^ar-farther, only, perhaps, 
 to fare worse ? 
 
 Calais. — This always excellent Buffet restores my equanimity. 
 It invariably does. If it were only for this I would choose the 
 Dover and Calais route. The Calais-DoUvres has taken us across 
 beautifully. At the station there are scarcely any voyageurs, I 
 am accommodated with a compartment all to myself, and begin to 
 be a little, a very little happier. 
 
 Paris. — 5*40. At the Gare du Nord. My old friend George 
 Doe (no relation to the defunct Richard Roe) is waiting to receive 
 me. He is the friend in need, — I mean I'm in need, and he's the 
 friend. He is in Parisian summer suit, hot, of course, but fresh 
 up and beaming. He knows everybody worth knowing in Paris, 
 including the station-master and the officials of the Douane at this 
 terminus. The result is that within ten minutes he is driving me 
 in a cab, while his Chasseur Charles, in uniform (George Doe does 
 the thing well), is on the box directing the cocker along the shortest 
 and cheapest route to the Gare d'Orle'ans, and keeping his eye on 
 the luggage. 
 
 Arrived, Charles, the Chasseur, takes all responsibility on his 
 own shoulders ; he will get my ticket to La Bourboule ; he will 
 pay the supplement for the coupe toilette ; he will come to fetch 
 me at the very moment when I ought to start ; and, I believe, 
 60 actively obliging is Charles, the Chasseur, that he would
 
 9G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 actually go, instead of me, to La Bourboule, take the waters there, 
 solely on my account, and would let me know by telegram when 
 he considered I ought to look upon myself as thoroughly cured. 
 
 So, while the gay Chasseur is thus engaged, George Doe accepts 
 my kind invitation to dinner at a small cleanly table, in the shade, 
 outside the Station-Buffet. Yes, this is just one of the things they 
 do manage better in France. The Buffet of the Gare d' Orleans 
 serves up a very good repast ; the small tables I notice are nearly 
 all occupied, and not by voyageurs only. Our waiter is brisk and 
 civil, and the sommelier is confidential, as, with a twinkle in his 
 eye, he recommends a choice Burgundy. We have already had a 
 remarkable Bordeaux, bat as my worthy friend in need is very 
 fond of Chambertin, I sacrifice myself to my friend, for I am not 
 bound to undergo a course of sulphur (like the Ghost of Hamlet's 
 Father) and arsenic, so what harm can just one glass of the 
 generous, the too generous Burgundy, do to one who must suffer 
 anyhow? This is George Doe's opinion, too; not perhaps quite 
 disinterested. So we decide for the Chambertin, and, such is its 
 excellent effect, a little later I find myself deeply regretting my 
 having to quit Paris, and begging Charles, the Chasseur, to see 
 that the change is all right in francs, as, somehow or another, 
 what with the heat, the pleasure of meeting an old friend, the 
 fatigue of the journey, and the excitement generally, my head is 
 rather in a whizzle when I try to translate pounds into francs, 
 and attempt the details of complicated calculations. After at- 
 tempting it seriously with a pencil on the back of an old letter, I 
 sum it all up in a generally convivial total of " All right ! " and 
 Charles, the Chasseur, leads the way to the platform, where he 
 trusts me with my railway-ticket and luggage-number (which is 
 only on a wretched thin slip of yellow paper — so easily lost), and 
 is not satisfied until he sees me put them both, with the utmost 
 care, in my watch-pocket. 
 
 At this moment it suddenly occurs to me that I have yet to 
 meet my companion in illness, or, let me say, in getting-well-ness 
 (that being our common object), Dudley Chivers, "who ought," 
 I say to George Doe, " to be here by now, as Dudley is a man of 
 
 business, a constant traveller, and " Then I explain to George 
 
 Doe that Dudley Chivers — the Honble. Dudley Chivers, with
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 97 
 
 whom he may perhaps be acquainted. No ? Well, he is an 
 immense Swell, has been on several occasions accredited on 
 " important Missions " — whereat George interrupts me to ask if 
 he's a Clergyman, " because I used the word ' Missions,' you 
 know," he says, apologetically, and I immediately emphasise 
 " Diplomatic Missions ; " whereat George seems a bit scared 
 " And so," I add, noting an inclination on my present friend's 
 part to decry my absent friend, " and so he will probably travel 
 
 FESTIVE SCENE A LA GARE D'ORLEANS- Dehors. 
 
 Making the most of our time, or "One (or two, or more) bumpers at parting, 
 fill fill for me," previous to going in for the waters of La Bourboule. 
 
 en prince, and be now saying good-bye to the President of the 
 liepublic, with the entire firm of Rothschilds taking farewell of 
 him at the station door." 
 
 " There's some one waving his hat to you," says George Doe ; 
 " there, standing by that carriage — man in light shooting-coat 
 and billycock hat." 
 
 " Ah, yes, I see ! " It is — though I own I am surprised — it is 
 Dudley Chivers. He is having a dispute with the ticket-collector 
 about the supplement, and has stopped in the middle of the 
 discussion to signal to me. 
 
 ir
 
 98 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 I have met him in gilded saloons, where he is the very pink of 
 courtliness ; we have dined together in the pleasantest company, 
 he heing an adept in the art of being agreeable to everybody : he 
 has always been the youngest, the gayest, the most amiable, the 
 most even-tempered of men, with an air of authority and mystery 
 that at once convinces and commands respect. 
 
 But now — well, to begin with he isn't well, or he wouldn't be 
 going with me to La Bourboule ; and, secondly, he seems to be 
 much exercised by having left most things that he requires behind 
 him, including a servant. 
 
 I introduce George Doe to Dudley Chivers, who becomes sud- 
 denly as pleasant and agreeable as ever. I tell him I've got a 
 coupe' toilette for six francs extra. Will he change, and come to 
 mine 1 
 
 He replies, heartily, " I'll do whatever you like — my name's 
 Easy ! " — what a charming travelling companion ! — adding imme- 
 diately, " I've got all my things in here, and I've paid eighteen 
 francs. Hadn't you better come into mine ? " 
 
 Charles, the Chasseur, murmurs in my ear that I shall have to 
 pay another supplement of twelve francs, and that then we shan't 
 be so comfortable, as there is a washing-place in mine. 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," says Dudley, pleasantly, "you won't 
 always want to sleep. You'd better come in here." 
 
 And so, yielding to the gentleman who has announced that " his 
 name is Easy," I pay the extra amount, and Charles moves all my 
 things — my "goods and chattels," as the little curate calls them 
 in The Private Secretary, and mount into Dudley's coupe lit, in a 
 corner of which he has already comfortably installed himself. 
 
 " It's fitted up with sliding-seats," says Chivers ; " yours wasn't." 
 
 "No, but mine has a washing-stand," I return; to which he 
 only replies, — 
 
 "Oh, pooh ! What's that, when you want to sleep? I really 
 don't care where I am when I'm travelling." He is at full length, 
 and ah-eady turning over for a doze before we're out of the station, 
 with his legs barring the portiere, so that I cannot do more than 
 stretch myself out at an acute angle to his prostrate form, and 
 wave my aclieux to George Doe, and Charles, the nimble and 
 willing Chasseur. We are off by the 8 p.m. train to La Bourboule.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WITH A GROWLER ON A NIGHT- JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO 
 
 LAQUBUILLE. 
 
 UDLEY CHIVERS 
 
 has commenced the 
 journey by saying plea- 
 santly that he is "prepared 
 to rough it," and that " his 
 name is Easy." However, 
 I soon find that his tone 
 of mind belies the name 
 which he has chosen for 
 himself. 
 Dudley Chivers has become quite a changed character ; that is, 
 at the present moment en route for La Bourboule. Had I been 
 asked at any time within the last twenty years to point out the 
 man whom nothing could ruffle, I should, without hesitation, have 
 named Dudley Chivers. Now, d I'heure qy!iL est (one glides into 
 French as Wegg did into poetry, and Chivers is tout-a-fait le 
 Franeais — " Quite the Frenchman "), he is a grumble personified. 
 I discover it at once. And the effect upon myself is curious ; for 
 wherens, up to now, I had looked upon this obligatory journey to 
 undergo a course of water-treatment at La Bourboule as a purga- 
 torial discipline to which only the prospect of a certain future and 
 lasting beneficial effect could in the least reconcile me, now, owing 
 to the wretched view that Dudley Chivers takes of everything and 
 everybody, I am forced into so strong an opposition as to find 
 myself becoming quite a Mark Tapley, every minute growing- 
 more and more cheery and sanguine, though occasionally shaken 
 in my own beliefs by my companion's apparently well-founded 
 scepticism. 
 
 "A long journey before us," I commence, pleasantly, "but the 
 reward of returning quite well ! — eh 1 " 
 
 "Ah, that's it," growls the Gentleman whose 'name is Easy,' 
 moving himself restlessly in the seat, where he evidently can n<,1 
 
 h 2
 
 100 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 make himself comfortable. " What carriages these are ! beastly \ 
 and eighteen francs supplement/ What an infernal roAv that 
 engine makes ! Why the deuce can't the French start a train 
 without all this confounded shouting, screeching, foghorn blowing, 
 and bell-ringing ? Ugh ! the fools ! " 
 
 "They are noisy," I reply, cheerfully, "but there's life in it." 
 
 Here the engine gives a series of screeches as if in extremest agony. 
 
 " Go it ! " shouts the Easy One, — Chivers nomine Facile, — sarcas- 
 tically. " Go it ! — allez I — don't mind me ! " This adjuration 
 addressed to the Stoker, Driver, and Railway Officials generally, is 
 perfectly unnecessary. They don't mind him in the least, and for 
 a few minutes all attempts at conversation are rendered impossible. 
 
 Sharp, shrill, convulsive shrieks, answered by other engines in 
 different quarters with similar sounds, make the night hideous. 
 
 " If this is to go on, we shall never get any sleep," growls Chivers. 
 
 " Oh," I say, to comfort him, and get him to be a little more 
 agreeable, — otherwise I shall regret not having retained my own 
 carriage, and travelled, ' for this night only,' alone — " this horrid 
 noise won't continue when we're once clear of the station." 
 
 " How do you know V he asks, discontentedly. I don't know ;. 
 I only suggest it in the kindliest spirit. The shrieking ceases for 
 a while, and then we talk. 
 
 " I expect it will be a beastly place we're going to," begins the 
 Easy One. 
 
 "I hear," I return, "that it is dull, but very prettily situated." 
 
 " I shouldn't have been going there at all if it hadn't been fur 
 y 'U," says the Easy One, angrily. 
 
 " Indeed 1 " 
 
 "Yes — you gave such a glowing account of it when w T e dined 
 together," — (I remember I did ; but that was when I was rather 
 touting for a cheerful companion than speaking from absolute 
 knowledge) — " that I at once asked my Doctor, and he strongly 
 recommended me to come here, and wrote me a letter of introduc- 
 tion to one of the Doctors at the place itself." 
 
 " Dr. Probite 1 " I inquire, that being the name of the eminent 
 practitioner to whose care I have been confided. 
 
 " Yes, that's it ; Probite ! " he replies, in a tone of the deepest 
 annoyance. " Probite ! what a name ! "
 
 LA BOVRBOULE. 101 
 
 " First-rate man," I say, at haphazard, and chiefly because I've 
 been recommended to him. For surely my Doctor wouldn't send 
 me to anyone but a first-rate mau ? 
 
 " Is he 1 ?" returns Chivers, in a sharp suspicious manner — (never 
 saw a man so changed as Chivers !) — " I don't believe it. I believe 
 the whole thing's a swindle." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " I ask, for I am bound to expostulate 
 with him, as, in bringing such a sweeping charge as this against 
 the place, he is not only condemning the Doctors abroad, but the 
 Doctors at home who have written on the subject, and setting 
 down the experts and scientific men, who have published their 
 analyses of the waters and their salutary effects, as all humbugs, 
 everyone of them engaged in one grand conspiracy to beguile 
 patients into going to La Bourboule. 
 
 " I mean," goes on the Easy One, with the brutal frankness of a 
 man who having suddenly discovered that he has been a dupe, 
 now wishes to undeceive everybody else, " I mean that the whole 
 place is a humbug, a speculation. It was got up, it's a well-known 
 fact " — (then how is it I've never heard of it ? But I don't inter- 
 rupt him — I want to hear all his startling revelations, and, if his 
 facts are proved, back I go to London again, firmly resolved to 
 burst the La Bourboule bubble) — "it was started by Dr. Schiissel, 
 — a thorough speculator under the Empire, — and he got a lot of 
 Doctors to form a Company, and work it." 
 
 " Well," I object, " but there must have been natural sulphuric 
 and arsenical springs as a basis of speculation 1 " 
 
 "Not a bit," replies Chivers, with triumphant malice, — "ordinary 
 mountain springs, doctored." 
 
 " What ! " I exclaim, horror-stricken at the idea of such villany. 
 
 " Yes — doctored," he proceeds, with an air of being thoroughly 
 well up in his facts — " yes, doctored. That is, the sulphur and 
 arsenic are supplied every morning from Paris, and put into the 
 wells and springs. Steam does the rest. The whole thing's a 
 regular swindle." 
 
 " Then why go there ? " I naturally inquire. 
 
 He shrugs his shoulders, and answers — " Well, you see, if the 
 medicated mixture called ' the waters of La Bourboule,' produces the 
 desired effect, what does it matter whether it's a swindle or not 1 '
 
 102 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 I admit that this is true to the extent of individual benefit, at 
 the expense of general and professional morality. To which 
 Olivers simply replies, — 
 
 " Blow general and professional morality ! " 
 
 " There's another thing," he continues presently — " the Romans 
 were great chaps for baths." Chivers is a well-read man. " There's 
 not a Station Thermale, as they call it, existing now but what was 
 exploite by the old Romans originally. Take Aix-les-Bains, Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, any of 'em, — Mont Dore, — beyond where we're going, — 
 
 La Bourboule according to Fancy. 
 
 and there is a Roman history to each of 'em, Roman ruins and 
 Roman relics in every one of them. But at La Bourboule not a 
 vestige, not a trace of a Roman having ever had even so much as 
 a hip-bath there, — no Roman coins, no Roman ruins. If it had 
 always had the present reputation, wouldn't the Romans have made 
 the place 1 Bah ! I don't believe in La Bourboule ! I know it will 
 be beastly ! But mind," concludes the Easy One, as he turns on 
 his side, away from me, and closes his eyes, " I'm hanged if you're 
 not responsible for taking me there ! "
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 103 
 
 I am now bound to tell him all I know about the place, its 
 virtues, its benefits, its charming climate, its situation — high up 
 in the mountains, — and its system of baths. I am going on in 
 this strain when he looks round sharply and interrupts me with — 
 
 " Have you ever been there 1 " 
 
 I am compelled in truth to answer, " No, I have not." 
 
 "Very well," retorts the Easy One, sitting suddenly bolt 
 upright, — "then, till you have, you don't know any more 
 about it than I do. Your information is on hearsay, — so is 
 
 ^ ■ \ ~JgB^S5^^B 
 
 La Bourboule not according to Fancy. 
 
 mine. But when you spoke of the place at that dinner-party" — 
 he is always twitting me with this, as if I were to be tied to every- 
 thing being taken literally that I said at any dinner-party,- — 
 specially on an occasion when I naturally stretched several points 
 in order to gain the one I had at the moment in view, that is of 
 getting an agreeable travelling companion, who would beguile the 
 weary hours of the night with pleasant talk and amusing anecdote 
 — "when you spoke of La Bourboule at that dinner-party, you 
 certainly gave me to understand you had been there yourself, and 
 knew all about it. Oh yes, you did." And down he goes again 
 on the sliding-seat.
 
 101 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Did I speak at that dinner-party about LaBourboule as if I had 
 been there myself? 
 
 I'm really very sorry, but I don't think I could have, — at least 
 I didn't mislead him intentionally. Besides, the conviction grows 
 upon me that he could not possibly recollect, with any exactness, 
 much that I had said at that dinner-party, because I remember 
 his telling me that he was taking champagne, and smoking a big 
 cigar, on that occasion only, as an exception to his rule ; and then I 
 remember distinctly that, on turning to ask him a question, I 
 suddenly missed him, and, on subsequent inquiry, I found he had 
 left comparatively early, but that no one had noticed the precise 
 moment of his departure ; insomuch that, on my asking for him, 
 the wag of the company had at once pretended to look under the 
 table. I am emboldened by this remembrance to affirm that I 
 could never have said I had been to La Bourboule, as it would 
 have been absolutely untrue, and therefore, &c, &c. 
 
 " No," replies the Easy One, who can't fix himself in a comfort- 
 able position ; " I don't mean that I understood you to positively 
 say so ; but from your manner and way of talking about the place, 
 anyone would have inferred that you had been there for several 
 seasons." 
 
 Of course, I can't help what he inferred from my manner, — but 
 here the engine re-commences shrieking, and brings this part of 
 our conversation to an abrupt conclusion. After anathematising 
 the noise, and once more preparing himself for repose, Chivers 
 complains that he knows he shall be miserable, as he has left his 
 valet behind him, and that in consequence he shall have to carry 
 his own bag — (Docs he throw this out as a hint that he wishes me 
 to carry it for him 1) — and he will have to unpack for himself, and 
 brush his own clothes, and — ! — he knows he's going to be very 
 wretched, — he has quite forgotten that "his name is Easy," — and 
 he does hope I won't trouble him any more with talking (here's a 
 pleasant companion whose " name is Easy " !), as he wants to get 
 to sleep, and he must request me not to get out at Limoges, or 
 any other station, as he is lying just across the portiere, in front 
 of which his legs form a sort of bar, and I shall have to put him 
 to all sorts of discomfort. 
 
 And this is the man whom, from knowing him for the last
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 105 
 
 twenty years in various circumstances, I have selected as the best 
 and most agreeable travelling-companion in the world ! Moral. — 
 Take care how you tout for a companion for a journey ; stick 
 ciosely to facts when describing what you Jcnoiv nothing about except 
 from merest hearsay, and don't be too expansive in manner at a 
 d inner-party. " What great effects from trifling causes spring ! " 
 
 "By the way," he murmurs, before dropping off to sleep, "what 
 Hotel did you tell me to take rooms at ? " 
 
 I tell him the name of the one where we are both expected. 
 
 "Ah!" he groans, "you've let me into a nice thing. My 
 friends in Paris, Parisians who know all these French watering- 
 places, tell me that the hotel you're taking me to is quite second- 
 rate. Ugh ! " he growls, " I shall leave the beastly hole if I don't 
 like it. And, dash it, no servant ! I shall have to unpack my 
 own things ! and Ugh ! " 
 
 Why doesn't he get out at the next station, and take a return- 
 ticket to London 1 But suppose what he says should happen to be 
 true ? Suppose we are the dupes of cunning and designing men 
 and that the whole thing is a swindle ! ! Suppose that we find 
 La Bourboule to be pretty much what Martin Chuzzlewit and 
 Mark Tapley found that Eden really was, after the American 
 agent's glowing description of the place as seen on the map 1 
 What then? As they used to say in old melodramas, "The deadly 
 poison (of Chivers's conversation) has» done its work," — and Iago 
 (Olivers) has whispered into the ear of Othello (myself ) his distrust 
 of Desdemona (La Bourboule). 
 
 This thought bothers me. The sliding-seat of the coupe-lit is a 
 nuisance ; it slides when I don't want it to, and then won't be got 
 back again without much physical exertion, which is too fatiguing 
 this blazing hot night, only to slide out again when least required, 
 — and for this I have paid eighteen francs supplement, simply 
 because the gentleman who said he was going to "rough it," that 
 everything was "all one to him," and that "his name was Easy," 
 would not move his things from his carriage into mine. 
 
 I cannot sleep. But . . . the Grumbler can. His name is Easy 
 at last. There he lies, extended on his sliding-seat, his feet 
 encased in natty slippers — "pumps," with striped socks just 
 visible, after the manner of the pantomimists, who in old pantomimic
 
 105 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 days used to be down in the bills as " afterwards Harlequin " — an 
 intimation scarcely necessary then, as the future Harlequin invari- 
 ably played the Lover in "the opening," and was immediately de- 
 tected by the least experienced habitue, on account of his pumps and 
 silk stockings, — yes, there lies drivers — as "afterwards Harlequin" 
 — fast asleep, and no longer grumbling or growling, but snoring — 
 but even in his snoring there is so strong a note of discontent that 
 it only sounds as if he were still grumbling, in his sleep. At 
 Limoges he must play the part of the " Sleeper Awakened," as 1 
 shall descend and seek the buffet, in search of a cooling draught. 
 
 Riddle composed, said to, and guessed by myself, while Monsieur 
 qui s'appelle " Le Facile " dort en ronflant. — Why might I just as 
 well have come to La Bourboule in a four-wdieeled cab % — Because 
 I have taken a growler. 
 
 Limoges. — No cooling draught. No ice. Nothing, except anathe- 
 mas from drivers, to which I pay not the slightest attention. On 
 we go again, shrieking, whistling, and screaming without. Snoring 
 within. "Sleep no more " — but I drop off about 5 a.m., and at 8*45 
 — just one tedious hour late — we arrive at Laqueuille, where we 
 have to get into an omnibus to take \is on to La Bourboule !
 
 LA BOUEBOULE. 
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 NEARING LA BOURBOULE — OBJECTS OF INTEREST EASY AND UNEASY 
 
 — ON THE ROAD— ARRIVAL RECEPTION — FIRST IMPRESSIONS 
 
 DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 RRIVAL at 
 Laqueuille. — 
 Hot, dusty, dirty, 
 weary, and 
 
 not in the most 
 angelic temper, 
 either of us. 
 Still, as Chi vers 
 sticks to it that 
 but for me he 
 would not have 
 come to La 
 Bourboule, I feel 
 \ bound to make 
 the best of every- 
 thing for the 
 sake of my own 
 reputation as an 
 adviser; besides, if we were both to succumb to melancholy, the 
 very strongest waters would never do us any good. 
 
 So I begin, as cheerfully as possible, by pointing out that it 
 seems to be a pretty-ish country. 
 
 "Pretty country be blowed!" growls Chivers, peevishly. "Why 
 we can't see anything a hundred yards away from the station." 
 
 This is not strictly the fact, but I admit there is not much to 
 be seen as yet. 
 
 "Wish to goodness I had brought a servant," exclaims the 
 gentleman whose "name is Easy," adding, in despair, " I know I 
 shall never get my things brushed. And then " — turning to me 
 with an air of supreme dejection — "who's to unpack my con- 
 founded luggage 1 " 
 
 The Boots will do this, I suggest, or the Porter, or the Chamber-
 
 108 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 maid. But he sneers at the mention of each one of these domestics 
 separately, as if, though they might be good enough for the simple 
 task of unpacking my luggage, or anybody else's, it "would bo 
 utterly impossible for them, individually or collectively, to venture 
 upon unpacking his. He speaks as if he were carrying dynamite. 
 What he means by " unpacking " is not simply undoing the straps, 
 but taking everything out, and laying each article, from the 
 button-hook to the slippers, in its proper place. The fact is, that 
 for seven or eight years of his life, — during which I had lost sight 
 of Chi vers, and it is only just at this moment it occurs to me that 
 I had lost sight of him for so long, — Dudley Chivers held a 
 supremely important post in the East, where he was waited on 
 hand and foot by grovelling slaves, who, like sweet Alice in the 
 song, " trembled with fear at his frown," and who " wept with 
 delight" on the rare occasions when he deigned to "give them a 
 smile." His every wish in that Oriental Palace was anticipated 
 before it could be expressed, and, at first, before it could be even 
 understood when it was expressed. And so, having been for 
 eight years in the habit of clapping his hands as the signal for a 
 hundred ebon slaves, more or less, to bring him his boot-jack, or 
 his button-hook, or whatever it might be, it is no wonder that, in 
 spite of his still affirming his name to be "Easy," he should be a 
 trifle put out at having come on a long journey to a new place 
 without any servant at all, and so find himself reduced to clapping 
 his hands as much as he likes, without any immediate effect beyond 
 that of making them very red and tender. Dudley Chivers is 
 emphatically a man whom a Leader-writer in any paper would 
 declare was "born to be a Ruler of Men." Quite so. Only he 
 must have some one on whom to exercise this gift, and, at present, 
 that one has been left behind. 
 
 " I shall never get anything done," he exclaims, wretchedly, 
 and almost wrings his hands in the utter helplessness of his 
 misery. 
 
 Pour le dlstraire un peu (as I have before remarked, one does 
 drop into French as Wegg did into poetry), I direct his attention 
 to the Station-master of Laqueuille, who is very much decorated, 
 with about half-a-dozen silver medals hanging in a row on his 
 breast, as if he had been convicted of uttering bad coin, and these
 
 LA BOURBOULR 109 
 
 were false specimens fixed on to him as a warning to others, just as 
 a keeper hangs up stoats and weasels on a barn door, or a shop- 
 keeper nails " duffer " halfpennies to his counter. 
 
 The appearance of this Station-master makes Chivers very angry. 
 He says he hates officials, — specially decorated officials, — and, 
 more especially, decorated French officials. He won't even 
 condescend to obtain renseignements from him about the omnibus 
 to La Bourboule. However, not much information is necessary, 
 as here are the omnibuses all in a row, and, a little way off, some 
 dusty, broken-down-looking two-horsed open flys, with very un- 
 professional-looking drivers, dressed as ordinary peasants, in 
 blouse and casquette. 
 
 The omnibuses have four horses each, — and such horses ! They 
 look as if another mile in any direction would shut them up alto- 
 gether. The poor things hang their heads, as though ashamed of 
 being seen by strangers in this miserable condition ; and, if they 
 cannot even " carry their heads," how they are going to carry 
 their loads is a puzzle to any unprejudiced person, for the omni- 
 buses are by this time choke-full inside and out, being apparently 
 licensed to carry as many as can manage to seat themselves with 
 out regard to personal comfort. 
 
 We debate whether it would not be better to take one of the 
 open vehicles ; but on being informed by a driver that his fare 
 will be twenty francs, we determine to take out the money's worth 
 of our railway ticket, which includes the 'bus. 
 
 Chivers is very angry. " Twenty francs ! — a regular ' do ! ' 
 just like 'em ! " and he won't even make a bargain. 
 
 Ours is the last 'bus to start. We are on the roof of the omni- 
 bus, on a seat of peculiarly ingenious open-work construction, 
 warranted to keep the traveller awake, and prevent his falling 
 over the side. 
 
 " What a beastly seat ! " cries Chivers, wriggling. " What a 
 wretched old omnibus ! Ugh ! " Then, as I really cannot help 
 agreeing with him, though I still smile, and try by that simple 
 means to put the best face possible on the matter, he goes on — ■ 
 "Did you ever see such horses! Poor devils ! We shall never 
 get to Bourboule. We're an hour or more late as it is ! That's 
 what comes of railways being under State control ! " And for a
 
 110 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 few minutes he is buried in the deepest meditation, from which I 
 would no more rouse him than I would venture to disturb the 
 Poet's inspiration, for he is evidently revolving some tremendous 
 scheme of European Railway Reform, which shall unite the Great 
 Powers as one man, and be the inauguration of a new Golden Era 
 for France, consolidating the Commercial alliance between the two 
 countries, putting an end to State monopoly, and which, as an 
 immediate practical but important result, will terminate the 
 authority of the decorated Station-master at Laqueuille, and bring 
 to an end for ever the wretched omnibus service between here and 
 La Bourboule. 
 
 I am convinced that this is what is passing through Chivers' 
 mind, but all he says, and herein he shows the caution of the 
 true diplomatist, is, " What an infernally uncomfortable seat ! " 
 
 Again I draw his attention to the prospect, which really begins 
 to be very pretty, though not, at present, anything grand. 
 
 " I don't think it's a very friendly sort of country," he says. I 
 subsequently find that the expression " friendly " goes for a good 
 deal in Chivers's vocabulary, as he applies it, when in a better 
 humour than at present, to everything and everybody. 
 
 " Ah ! of course ! " he exclaims, presently, jerking his head in 
 the direction of the driver, " I thought so — I knew he'd do it ! 
 Just like 'em ! Our stupid ass of a coachman has waited till all 
 the others have gone on ; and now he is sticking close behind, and 
 we shall have all their dust. What a pig of an idiot ! What a 
 beastly drive ! " And then comes the melancholy refrain, which 
 is like the burden of an old song, " I wish to goodness I'd brought 
 a servant ; I shall never get my clothes brushed." 
 
 It is a dusty, up-hill journey. The sun has come out strong for 
 tha occasion, and the rosses (Anglice, our 'osses, — first symptom of 
 au international calemhour*) have come out weak. 
 
 " Oh, the idiot may crack his whip, and shout as much as he 
 darned pleases, but he'll never get 'em up this hill ! " says Chivers, 
 angrily. 
 
 This seems to be the universal opinion of the passengers outside, 
 who begin to express great pity for the poor animals. But no one at 
 present offers to lighten the load by descending. At last the horses 
 come to a standstill. They don't stir, no more does anybody else.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 "Dashed if I get down," says Chivers, The Easy, with a touch 
 of the Oriental despot in his tone. " I didn't pay to walk. Let 
 'em get more horses, or stand us a fly." 
 
 However, half-a-dozen passengers do take to the road. I am 
 too tired to walk. We have had no breakfast, and no refresh- 
 ments except the abominably warm lemonade at Limoges, since 
 dinner last night in Paris. 
 
 " Why," growls Chivers, " if one hadn't anything the matter 
 
 The First Example that catches my Eye of the Habitues who 
 drink the Waters of La Bourboule. 
 
 with one, this infernal journey would make some sort of medical 
 treatment absolutely necessary. Ugh ! beastly ! " 
 
 I point out the picturesqueness of the scenery, — it is for the 
 most part a beautiful drive from Laqueuille to La Bourboule, with 
 a good view of the Puy-de-Dome itself in the far-off distance, — but 
 iie keeps his back turned on it. I point out to him the volcanic 
 character of the rocks before him, but all he growls out is, — 
 
 " Bah ! seen the same sort of thing in Devonshire. I 
 believe La Bourboule's all a swindle. I believe the waters are 
 doctored." 
 
 " And so will you be when you get there — at least you ought to 
 be doctored, for you've got complaints enough," I retaliate, speak-
 
 112 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 ing in defence of the beauties of Nature, and doing it as pleasantly 
 as possible in the circumstances. My chirpiness, however, is only 
 feeble just now, for hunger and heat and fatigue are beginning to 
 tell on my naturally fine constitution ; and Chivers's complaints, 
 — I mean his persistent grumblings, — are really infectious. I am 
 positively beginning to disbelieve in La Bourboule. Where is it ? 
 Up in the mountains 1 I don't see it. There are no snow-moun- 
 tains, too, as there are at Aix-les-Bains, and I am yielding to a 
 strong feeling of disappointment. I was told that one of the 
 advantages possessed by La Bourboule over any other sulphurous 
 and arsenical watering-place was, that it was high up and bracing. 
 Well, I don't see any town on a hill, except something on our left, 
 which we are leaving behind us, and the Pny-de-D6me, kindly 
 pointed out to us by a fellow-traveller, in the distance. La 
 Bourboule at last ! 
 
 "And a nice unfriendly sort of place it looks," says Chivers, in a 
 hopelessly dissatisfied tone, as we descend a steep incline, and enter 
 die village — or hamlet — or whatever it is, but certainly not a town. 
 
 On we go, — the horses pull themselves together, taking us with 
 them, and canter down-hill, with reins anyhow, bells ringing, 
 whip cracking, and driver shouting ! Well may the driver be 
 triumphant ! Well may he be proud of his gallant team, which 
 looks like a "forlorn hope" of horses, whose arrival here at all is 
 little less than a miracle. Hotel after hotel we pass, — all, 
 apparently, of a very second-rate character, and each one, as it 
 appears at this swift glance, styling itself " Grand Hotel." We 
 are for stopping, but the Coachman and his wild horses won't hear 
 • >f it. They are all for urging on their wild career, and we can 
 »>uly puzzle ourselves as to which is the hotel we ought to have 
 alighted at, and how we shall select our particular Grand Hotel 
 from all the other Grand Hotels. 
 
 " I felt certain," says Chivers, sarcastically, " that your Grand 
 Hotel was only a fifth-rate auberge. All right ! Go on ! Wish to 
 goodness I hadn't come to the infernal hole ! And who's to unpack 
 
 for me 1 — who's to By the way," he suddenly exclaims, 
 
 • ' where is our luggage ? " 
 
 I tell him that at Laqueuille I saw a fourgon being laden with 
 luggage, and among it ours. That it would reach this place some
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 113 
 
 time after us, was, I say to him, a " fourgon conclusion." But 
 Olivers has no taste now for a specimen of what the Calembour 
 International Cie. (Limited) can do, and the Oriental despot, whose 
 name ivas Easy, can only unavailingly anathematise his own want 
 of forethought, which has caused him so frequently to bewail " the 
 man he left behind him." (Good notion for a song this. To be 
 suggested to Chivers, and even sung to him, in happier moments.) 
 
 " What's all this crowd ?" he asks. 
 
 He may well ask. From every hotel, inn, and pension in the 
 place, — and, apparently, it is a perfect rabbit-warren of hotels, 
 inns, and pensions, — has trooped oi;t a crowd of bare-headed gar- 
 cons in white aprons, commissio7inaires with labelled caps, chamber- 
 maids in costume, gamins of no occupation, touts, and porters. 
 They are running after the omnibus like the gipsies on a Derby- 
 Day after a drag, all chattering and shouting at once, and directly 
 we stop, they form a cordon round the vehicle, so as not to let one 
 of the voyageurs escape, if they can help it. A gendarme in uniform 
 stands by, — very much "posed" apparently, as he evidently has 
 only come there by the merest accident, and as far as keeping 
 order, or offering any assistance to the unlucky objects of this 
 mobbing, he is perfectly helpless. 
 
 We elbow our way through the crowd, the Eastern despot 
 carrying (much against his will) a heavy bag and an umbrella, 
 with the air of a man who, if he liked, could suddenly pull out a 
 warrant signed by all the Crowned Heads of Europe, and order off 
 every one who dared to get in his way to instant execution. His 
 autocratic manner is a little robbed of its impressiveness by his 
 having to stop suddenly, put down the bag, and swear that he 
 never xvill come out again without a servant ; at the same time 
 regarding me reproachfully, to whom he attributes all his 
 present misery, as much as to say that, as in his opinion I 
 have brought him to this pass, I really ought to come forward 
 and voluntarily relieve him of this intolerable burden. But 
 my hands are full with a light waterproof, and a simple hand-bag 
 that I can hang on one finger. My feeling is that Britons never 
 shoidd be slaves, unless somebody makes it very well worth their 
 while. 
 
 "Where is your confounded Hotel ? " asks the Easy One, queru- 
 
 i
 
 114 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 lously. I assure him that I don't know any more than he does, 
 but I have the name of the proprietor in writing. I pronounce it 
 aloud, and, as if by magic, a reply comes at once, " G'est moi, 
 Messieurs ! '" from a respectably dressed, good-looking man, with a 
 bronzed face, and a dai'k moustache, who is lifting his brown 
 straw hat in the air by way of salutation. " Yes, perfectly — he 
 has rooms for us in the Annexe. He will show them to us at once. 
 Will we follow him 1 " We do. 
 
 "Come, this isn't so bad, eh?" I say to Chivers, who has 
 assumed an air of gloomy power, quite out of sympathy with the 
 anxious, hospitable, and cheery manner of our host. 
 
 " Voilct / " cries the patron, with some little distrust of our pro 
 bable appreciation expressed in his countenance, as if he had 
 expected persons of quite a different type to what we had turned 
 cut to be, and it had suddenly flashed across him that a couple 
 of dark rooms in a back street, without any chance of a view, 
 were not exactly the sort of thing we should have chosen for 
 ourselves. We do not like them. Dudley Chivers won't give 
 another look at them : in his character of Oriental Despot he 
 refuses to listen to any explanation. " Allons done!" he says, 
 shortly and emphatically — " (Ja ne nous convient pas ! C'est 
 iriste, sombre, mat aere'e / faites-nous en voir encore d'autres. 
 Allez ! " 
 
 Our host looks appealingly at me, but I endorse The Despot's 
 verdict, and, finding that any attempt at compromise, in the way 
 of a suggestion for temporarily rearranging the furniture, is only a 
 waste of time, the landlord, rather disconcerted, takes us back to 
 the hotel, and shows us a couple of rooms on the ground-floor, the 
 only rooms at his disposition and ours. But they won't do ; 
 Chivers refuses them flatly ; and, dreading a scene, for our land- 
 lord is evidently a very excitable person, and the blood is already 
 rushing to his face, I try to soften matters, and to make the best 
 of a bad bargain. Personally, for the sake of peace and quietness, 
 I should yield ; but the Easy One, appearing alternately as the 
 stern, dogged English official, and then, as the Unspeakable 
 Oriental Despot, is too much for the landlord, who is staggered 
 into silence before his mysterious and impenetrable guest. 
 Chivers condemns the apartments as if the entire wing of the
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 115 
 
 hotel ought to be pulled down forthwith. "They're not healthy," 
 he says, severely ; " and, if you have nothing better than this, 
 we'll go elsewhere." 
 
 I thought the attack on the sanitary state of the apartments 
 would have aroused their proprietor, but it didn't ; he only pro- 
 tests, more in sorrow than in anger, and informs us that he has 
 nothing else to offer, but that if we will instal ourselves here, 
 provisoirement, he will take care that we have the best apartments 
 in a couple of days. No ; The Despot is not to be cajoled. I, 
 meanly I admit, follow his lead. No ! I am not to be cajoled 
 either. Seeing the innkeeper giving in, and that all chance of a 
 difficulty, with perhaps a case in the local County Court, has blown 
 over, I adopt Chivers's tone, and second all his resolutions with 
 the utmost heartiness. 
 
 All this time I have been, as it were, playing Jacques Strop to 
 Chivers's Robert Macaire. The landlord suddenly rouses himself, 
 and makes an allusion to his loss. Olivers is down on him at 
 once. "We can't take rooms that won't suit us," he replies, 
 severely. The chance of a legal difficulty (with Gendarmes, 
 A rocats, and Juges de Paix to follow) having again arisen, I go 
 ov^r, as it were, to the enemy, adopt the politest and most 
 diplomatic (Chivers subsequently stigmatises it as "cringing") 
 tone, and describe myself (omitting Chivers) as " desole" 
 adding "Jest demmage, mats e'est une perte enorme pour noun, 
 comme fai entendu parler tant de bonnes choses de voire admirable 
 cuisine." 
 
 This sentence, being rather a long one, takes me some time tc 
 arrange and produce ; but when the landlord has once grasped my 
 meaning, he is disarmed. He bows, and he addresses me per- 
 sonally henceforth. "Your friend," he says, "is all very well — I 
 do not care for him ; but to lose you, un Monsieur si distingue, as 
 a client, that is what distresses me so terribly." I am touched, 
 and we are nearly weeping in each other's arms, when The Despot, 
 at some paces off, and with a man to carry his bag, shouts out, 
 brusquely, " Here ! come on ! Let's go and see the Doctor, and 
 ask him what's the best hotel to go to," — this is rather hai-d on 
 the distressed proprietor, and I only hope he doesn't understand 
 English, — " or else we shall lose a whole day, and shan't begin our 
 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 traitement till to-morrow. We've got to have breakfast, too. Come 
 
 on 
 
 I obey. Having nothing further to say, I explain, in panto- 
 mime, to the landlord, that I am not my own master, and that I 
 am torn away from his agreeable society, much against my will. 
 I follow Chivers hurriedly, and am aware of the comj)assionate, 
 almost contemptuous air of the worthy hotel-keeper, as he shrugs 
 his shoulders, and turns to attend to his other customers, who are 
 now thronging the door-step. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 INTERVIEW WITH THE DOCTOR DIAGNOSIS — NEW HOTEL 
 
 JUST A-GOING TO BEGIN. 
 
 J^ COMMISSIONNAIRE 
 
 conducts us to the residence 
 of M. le Docteur Probite. 
 
 A pretty little house by the 
 roadside, up-hill. Both of us, 
 Chivers and myself, still un- 
 washed, still grimy and dusty, 
 fatigued, hungry, and thirsty, — 
 
 two 
 
 figures 
 
 representing our- 
 selves in disguise, — send in one 
 card, Chivers's, with my name, 
 in pencil, on it, and are then 
 shown into the waiting-room. It 
 is a quiet unpretentious apart- 
 ment, with two portraits of 
 medical men, signed by the 
 originals, and presented to their 
 "cher confrere, C. Probite," and 
 a huge map of France, including 
 a little bit of England, something of Germany, a morsel of Spain, 
 and a trifle of Italy. Red lines marking the course of the rail- 
 
 Etude de la langue Anglaise.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 117 
 
 ways to every part, convey the idea of Dr. Probite being sum- 
 moned at any moment to any part of Europe, and hastily running 
 his finger along the indications of rail on this map to see which is 
 the shortest and quickest (but not necessarily the cheapest) route. 
 drivers is glancing at the journals on the table, and is beginning 
 to be deeply interested in an article, when it suddenly occurs to 
 him that he has read something like the special news contained 
 in it before, and looking at the date, he finds it is Le Monde 
 Ilhistre for June, 1882. 
 
 "Why do Dentists and Doctors always have these stupid old 
 things on their tables ? " asks the Gentleman whose name is Easy, 
 and before I can provide a solution to his conundrum, the door is 
 opened, and Dr. Probite himself appears. 
 
 drivers, as the proprietor of the visiting-card, on which I had, 
 so to speak, only figured as the " Co.," takes the initiative, and 
 inti-oduces me. Then I, in my turn, introduce drivers. As an 
 impromptu ceremony, got up and performed without any collusion 
 whatever, the simple dignity of this presentation is most im- 
 pressive. 
 
 In the Doctor's hand is Dudley Chivei's's card, to which, after 
 glancing sharply at us as if we weren't either of us at all like what 
 he had expected — just the same idea as had evidently previously 
 struck the hotel-keeper — he refers with the perplexed air of a man 
 who has come upon two unnumbered figures in a Waxwork 
 Exhibition, and is puzzling through the catalogue to discover who 
 on earth they are. The unostentatious and effective ceremony 
 above mentioned has somehow failed in its primary object. I 
 should like to leave him alone, and see if he mistakes drivers for 
 me, and me for Chivers, but politesse forbids, and time is precious, 
 so the Honourable Dudley, reproducing his courtliest drawing- 
 room manner for the second time since we started, fifteen hours 
 ago, and becoming his own polished self, in spite of all the outward 
 grime and dust, and the inward pangs of hunger, steps forward, 
 and, bowing gracefully, once more introduces me to the Doctor, 
 whereupon I, following suit, smile sweetly, incline my back at an 
 angle of twenty-five, and " beg to have the honour of presenting " 
 — but before I have got it all well out in my stateliest French, the
 
 118 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Doctor, being a sharp man, with not much time to spare, has 
 divined the situation, and with a marvellous command of logic, 
 has deduced from the given premises, that, if I am not Dudley 
 Chivers, Dudley Chivers must be the other fellow, and addresses 
 him by his name accordingly. 
 
 Which will interview the Doctor first ? 
 
 As I don't want to give too serious an aspect to my own case 
 (for there's no knowing what a strange Doctor, and he a foreigner, 
 might prescribe), I reply — 
 
 " Permettez, — Je cede le pas a Monsieur Chivers." Somehow 
 "Monsieur" and " Chivers " do not seem to go well together, and 
 " Je cede le pas a Chivers " would have been trap court. Evidently 
 I ought to have said Monsieur Diidley Chivers, or Monsieur I' Hon- 
 orable Dudley Chivers — only, if the Doctor doesn't understand the 
 title " honourable," he will either think I am chaffing, or, with his 
 quick insight and logical French mind, he will deduce that we 
 English bestow titles according to moral worth, and that Dudley 
 Chivers is specially distinguished as a man of the most un- 
 blemished honour, sans peur et sans reproche, and that conse- 
 quently, as I am not "the honourable,'' I may probably be the 
 reverse. 
 
 However, the Doctor chooses Chivers as his partner, and, so to 
 speak, waltzes off with him, while I am left meditating on what 
 I should have said, and what I shall have to say when I have to 
 state my symptoms clearly and intelligibly in French. The 
 statement must be clear and intelligible, or the Doctor may treat 
 me for something quite different. A wrong accent, the slip of a 
 word, the substitution of a gender, might do it. After ten 
 minutes' reflection, I determine to leave it to chance, and, to pass 
 the time away, I resume my inspection of the Map of Dr. Probites 
 European Practice. By the way, I find one place in France — in 
 the Auvergne district, I fancy, or rather more South — called " Le 
 Gerbier de Jones." I inspect it quite closely, and read, it over 
 half-a-dozen times, so as to make no mistake about it. It is in 
 large type, and is evidently of importance, but whether as a 
 commune, or a district, or a departement, or other topographical 
 division, I cannot make out. Suffice it that in the very heart of 
 France the family of Jones has penetrated, and is commemorated
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 110 
 
 on the map as " Le Gerbier de Jones." "With a view to making 
 an antiquarian note, and publishing an interesting paper on the 
 subject of "Jones and Geography," I bestow on the name a yet 
 closer scrutiny, when I regret to find the " e " in what I thought 
 was " Jones " is only an imperfect impression of " c," and that, 
 therefore, the name is " Le Gerbier de Jones" which is quite 
 another matter altogether, and so the result of my striking 
 antiquarian research is lost to the world. 
 
 drivers takes a very long time to state his case. When a man 
 is talking about himself and his ailments, how the moments fly ! 
 and how apt one is to forget the other fellow who is waiting for 
 us to finish, that he may have his turn ! How patients (every 
 one, except ourselves) will talk and chatter about nothing when 
 they go and see their Doctor ! It is too bad ! Ha ! he returns, 
 drivers looks more cheerful : the interview has benefited him. A 
 mon tour maintenant : e'est a nous deux, Monsieur, as they say in a 
 Drama, an expi'ession which is generally the commencement of a 
 row, but not in this instance. 
 
 Dr. Probite's social manner is charming, chatty, genial, and 
 pleasant — a man to be popular with everybody ; but his pro- 
 fessional manner, when he once gets you inside his consulting- 
 room door, is something totally different. The geniality has 
 vanished ; he is the stern inquisitor, sharp, incisive, and decisive : 
 a manner that says plainly, " Dis done, jxis de blague! dltes-moi 
 nettement, sans phrase, tout ce que vous aves." 
 
 At first, I am inclined to reply, etant effraye, " S'il votis plait, 
 M'sieur le Docteur, jen'airienje vous assure, je n 'ai rien du tout" — 
 then bolt out of the place, and never be seen again. But one 
 second's reflection tells me that I haven't been sent by the Faculty 
 (three Doctors, all friends of mine), to La Bourboule, merely to 
 tell a French practitioner that I've nothing the matter with me, 
 and run away again. No ! So, collecting my best and most 
 intelligible French, and, without any attempt at exaggeration, 
 which, I feel, with him, would only be an utter failure, I describe 
 my symptoms ; and I am really astonished to find, when treated 
 slowly, and cautiously, in this manner, how very few, and how 
 slight, they are. He listens attentively. 
 
 " Bien 1 tres bien," he says, when I've come to the end of it
 
 120 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Avancez un pen a la fenelre — on y volt plus clair — et — tirez la 
 langue, s'il vons p>lati." 
 
 Now, though this operation is no novelty, yet somehow it is not 
 what I had expected. That an English Doctor should ask me to 
 show him my tongue, I should take as a matter of course. But, 
 to have to show it to a foreigner .... well, I never knew before 
 that my " insularity " was so strong, but I somehow feel that in 
 my obeying his word of command, — for it is given in a sharp 
 military tone, — I am lowering the British flag, surrendering my 
 national independence, and putting myself at his mercy. Is there 
 a more helpless spectacle than that of a man putting out his 
 tongue to a Doctor % No. And if the patient be a Briton and the 
 Doctor a Frenchman, then and there Waterloo is avenged, — 
 terribly avenged. It seems so absurd too to have travelled hun- 
 dreds of miles merely to put out my tongue. I could have put it 
 out just as well at home. However, I comply, and do it, under 
 silent protest. I open my mouth so wide, and he looks into it 
 with such intense fierceness, that it seems at one moment as if he 
 were going to put his hands together like a diver, jump right in, 
 and down my throat. 
 
 " Now," says he, still in French, which delights me much, as it 
 is excellent practice for me — (and, as a medical man, he knows 
 what "excellent practice " means, only I can't put this jeu-cle-mots 
 into comprehensible, much less idiomatic French) — and is, en ejfet, 
 a French lesson thrown in — compris in the consultation fee. 
 " Now," says he, " I'll tell you exactly what's the matter with 
 you." And he does so. No mincing the matter ; plainly, straight- 
 forwardly, honestly. When he has summed it all up, the old 
 once-popular nigger-phrase suddenly recurs to my mind, " Dat's 
 what's de matter ! " 
 
 I feel, from the expression on his face, that, through all my dust 
 and dirt, I have, so to speak, shown my tongue in its true colours. 
 II m'ayait fait peur, — and I tell him so. 
 
 " C'est absolument necessaire — il faut que je vous fasse peur," he 
 replies, and sits down to write out the traitement to which, with 
 such variations as he may choose from time to time to make, for 
 twenty-one days I am to submit mj-self. 
 
 While he is writing, I make up my mind that I won't volunteer
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 121 
 
 any further statements, that I am not bound to commit myself, 
 and that I -won't ask him any questions about diet and mode of 
 living generally, as I am afraid he takes narrow views, and leans 
 towards rigorous asceticism in his advice to patients. 
 
 He looks up from the paper, and says, brusquely, " Je sais que 
 rousfumez; il ne faut pas fumer." 
 
 " Xe fuuii r pas/" I exclaim, utterly taken aback. 
 
 " Point du tout : et le cafe et les liqueurs sont e'galement defendus." 
 
 " Mais " I commence, but I get no further than " voyons " 
 
 — " Mais, — dltes done " and T am staggered. 
 
 I cannot realise it. " What ! no smoke ! So he died, and she 
 very imprudently married the barber " — &c, for a new story of the 
 
 Great Panjandrum. " What ! no smoke ! So he died " No 
 
 coffee ! no Kiimmel ! What's the good of being abroad without 
 smoking and coffee ? And, hang it, if it's only to leave off 
 smoking and coffee that I've travelled hundreds of miles, why I 
 could have left them off just as well at home, — better in fact. 
 
 By the time he has finished writing out the traitement I have 
 rallied my forces, and determine on making one last, but gallant, 
 attempt. 
 
 " My dear Doctor," I say, still in French, and in the most dulcet 
 and winning tone I can command, " I am accustomed to smoke 
 every day, but very little — really very little — not three cigars " — 
 I watch his face, but he isn't yielding, so I draw it still milder — 
 " I may say, not two cigars " — he is still immovable, so I make 
 one last reduction in my offer, with which I sincerely hope he'll 
 close, — a reductio ad absurdum — " in feet, as a rule," — (ahem !) 
 " I may say," and on this occasion I do say it, looking him 
 straight in the face, with an air of the most inp;enuous candour 
 and open confidence, " I only smoke one cigar a day — after 
 dinner ; and that," — I put it humbly and plaintively — " it's not 
 much, is it ? " 
 
 " Better none at all," he replies, and for the moment I wonder 
 whether he has heard the song, "Not Much — but it's better 
 than nothing at all " — and has adapted it to his own sense of its 
 fitness for present application. 
 
 " I only tell you," he says ; " it's my duty to tell you." " Eng- 
 land expects every man to do his duty " I have been well aware
 
 122 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 ever since I first heard " The Death of Nelson " sung, but that 
 France was in the habit of making a similar demand of her 
 Doctors I was unaware till now. Then this Medical Martyr to 
 Duty concludes by giving me the encouraging example of the 
 miserable end of a patient who wouldn't do what he was bid, — 
 very much as, when I was a child, I used to be informed by my 
 nurse how Master Don't-Care, who refused obedience to all legiti- 
 mate authority, came to a bad end, and was eaten by bears, after 
 which I never gave any buns to the bears at the Zoological, and 
 always looked down into their yard, rather expecting to see some 
 of the remains of the unfortunate " Master Don't-Care," in the 
 shape of trouser buttons, or cap, lying about. 
 
 I am to a certain extent impressed by this story. I begin to 
 see the errors of my way : and yet, after all, 1 donlt think he under- 
 stands me. By which (on analysing the basis of this opinion) I 
 rather think I mean that I can't get him to treat me as I want to 
 be treated. I can't get him to say, " Oh, do as you like, voilcb ! 
 Drink the waters, take a bath a day, any time will do, — massage 
 one day, douche another, piscine another, p>ulverisation when you 
 like, drink what you fancy, eat what you like, et amusez vous, mon 
 enfant." And then to add, that, whatever may be the matter 
 with me, I shall leave the place cured of it entirely. 
 
 But though I give him the lead, though I offer a compromise of 
 one cigar and half a cup of coffee, and a quarter of a liqueur, he 
 won't tumble to it. He has nailed his prescription to the mast, 
 and he Avon't yield an inch. Stop . . . perhaps he treats every- 
 body like this — perhaps there is one treatment for all, and he only 
 looks on me as a body, and nothing more. My own medical men 
 would treat me as a composite being, and w r ould know my habits, 
 my style of life, the necessities of my work, and could take all 
 this into consideration when prescribing for me. But how can 
 Dr. Probitc know anything about me, the living, working, 
 energising " Me," except as a body that walks into his room, and 
 sa} r s, " I've got a pain in my jaw, in the left lobe of the ear, and 
 an occasional shooting season in my great toe " 1 Of course not : 
 and so, oughtn't I, — I mean wouldn't it be fair towards him, as a 
 Doctor, were I to take two chairs, and advancing towards the 
 footlights (so to speak), request him to take one, while I, seating
 
 LA BfiUBBOULE. 
 
 123 
 
 myself in the other, commence thus : " Doctor, I will tell yon the 
 story of my life. Tis now some twenty years ago, this very day, 
 when," etc. 
 
 Bnt, on second thoughts, I will defer this till my next visit, as, 
 after all, isn't it better that a Doctor, on only seeing yon once, 
 should tell yon everything that yon feel instinctively to be true 
 about yourself, should diagnose your case in two two's, and should 
 say to yon plainly, " Do this, and you're certain to be cured : don't 
 do it, if yon like, — only, in that case, why take all the trouble to 
 
 N c K 
 
 His name's Easy.' 
 
 Mine isn't. 
 
 come here and consult me 1 " than that he should follow suit to 
 your lead, return cigars when you lead tobacco, and give you 
 carte blanche to do as you please 1 
 
 The seance being over, we return to drivers, and both together 
 take leave of Dr. Probite. 
 
 Outside, the Oriental Despot, whose name is anything but 
 " Easy " at having been kept waiting, wants to know what the 
 deuce I've been so long about, and then we compare traitements, 
 and are annoyed to find that they are pretty much the same. 
 
 The Despot now proposes that we shall go to another hotel, 
 close at hand, and see what rooms we can get ; that then we 
 make ourselves tidy and clean, then breakfast, and that two hours
 
 124 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 after we take our first bath, and commence our " treatment " in 
 earnest. 
 
 This is a good programme, and I agree. " Whatever you like," 
 I say, " will suit me." 
 
 " My dear fellow," returns the Despot, pleasantly, " my name's 
 Easy." I notice that this is always the title he assumes when 
 nobody contradicts him, and when he gets everything entirely 
 his own way. On such occasions, I mean when The Despot 
 announces his appellation as " Easy," I know no more charming 
 and agreeable companion than Dudley Chivers. 
 
 We select a hotel, pleasantly situated, with the short title of 
 Hotel F. Sonnrtton et des Anguilles Mecaniques. The patron has 
 some difficulty in suiting us. There is a room a deux lits in front, 
 and a small bedroom round the corner. Both have good views. 
 
 The price of one is, of course, more than that of the other, but 
 this is unimportant where invalids are concerned. One thing va sans 
 dire, deeply as we are attached to each other, we won't share the 
 chambre a deux lits. I have had one experience of Chivers in the 
 train at night, and perhaps I have been asleep while he was awake, 
 which may account for .... but in any case emphatically " jXo / ' 
 
 " I have a lot of papers and books, and shall want to do some 
 work," I observe, looking round the big room, and noting its 
 capabilities. 
 
 " I like this room," says Chivers, going to the window, " it has 
 a nice view. But my name is Easy." 
 
 "The small room," I tell him, "is a capital one. In fact," I 
 add, " I am not sure if it isn't, really, better than this." 
 
 I have evidently overdone it by praise, and missed my mark, as 
 Chivers closes with what he chooses to interpret as my offer, and 
 replies, — " Well, you have the small room ; I don't mind. My 
 name's Easy. Here ! " — to Porter—" bring in my luggage." 
 
 And before I have time to reconsider, Chivers has got his lug- 
 gage deposited, has told the man to take my portmanteau to the 
 small room, and while I am consoling myself with the thought 
 that he will have to pay double for the accommodation, he has 
 bargained with the landlord, and obtained a moderate abatement. 
 
 We are now settled, and within three hours more we shall have 
 fairly commenced our serious traitement at La Bourboule.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 STARTING — CELLS — TREATMENT COSTUME —PULVERISATION 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 J-JAVING settled what is the matter, 
 we (Olivers and myself) commence 
 our traitement. 
 
 Olivers still doesn't entirely believe 
 in it. Hopes for the best. He is, how- 
 ever, far better inclined towards every- 
 thing than he was at first, and, while 
 standing on one of the bridges, and 
 surveying the scene, he goes so far as 
 to admit that " it seems to be a friendl v 
 little country ; " which, coming from 
 him, is a great tribute to the local 
 beauties of nature. 
 
 Dr. Probite has given me a letter of 
 introduction to the Director of the 
 Baths, who receives me with the utmost 
 politeness, and puts me au courant with all the ways of the place. 
 We take our ticket. Being offered my choice of hours, I have 
 to elect either 5'30 A.M. for my bath, or 9 - 30, or the afternoon 3 - 30. . 
 
 I take 9-30, and a "bain locale" consisting of "pulverisation" 
 at 9, to begin with. Olivers takes 3-30. But there being two 
 baths vacant at the present moment, we commence at once, as the 
 course is for twenty-one days, and we shall have saved a day by 
 beginning immediately ; " and then," says Olivers, astutely, " there 
 will only be twenty days to work out," Committed, with severe 
 treatment, for twenty-one days — that is our sentence. 
 
 The construction of the baths is quite different from that of the 
 baths of Aix-les-Bains and Aix-la-Chapelle, where they are of a 
 depth and size that you can stand upright in them, and very nearly 
 have room to swim. Here it is an ordinary cell (quite in keeping 
 with the twenty-one days' sentence), with a metal bath in it, 
 somewhat of the shape of a boat that a child makes out of a 
 newspaper, only without the peak in the middle. The accom- 
 
 " Gargarisme."
 
 126 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 panying sketch gives a fair idea of one of the Cellules de Bain cl la 
 Bourboule. 
 
 The Etablissement des Bains is a very fine place, with three 
 domes to it (ont of compliment to the department where it is 
 situated, the Puys de Dome), bearing a strong family resemblance 
 to those which are the crown and glory of the edifice in Trafalgar 
 Square. From a distance the Etablissement might be taken for a 
 Cathedral ; coming nearer, the traveller might possibly set it down 
 as a caserne, or, if he were of a sporting turn, he would come to the 
 
 AT THE ETABLISSEMENT. 
 
 Maitre de Service, or Clerk of the Course (traitement), entering 
 the names of the Starters. 
 
 conclusion that it was a pretty big training stable ; and, having 
 come quite close, he would feel certain that it must be an Inter- 
 national Exhibition of some sort, until he found himself inside, and 
 saw the industry practised there. No mistake as to what it is 
 when you're once within. Notices to Baigneurs and Baigneuses 
 everywhere ; people drinking at a fountain ; people waiting their 
 turn for a bath ; some coming, others going ; some in corners, 
 gargling • others disappearing into mysterious departments 
 labelled "Pulverisation" and "Massage." The Maltre de Service, 
 de'core, serious, but courtly, at a table, entering names, and
 
 LA BOUIIBOULE. 
 
 127 
 
 disposing of tickets. Everything done with military punctuality. 
 You must be there exactly to your time, or you're out of it for the 
 day, unless chance favours you. If you're a minute or so late, the 
 Mattre de Service shakes his head reprovingly at you ; if five 
 minutes late, he remonstrates with you on your laxity ; if later 
 than that, it is only by cringing and obsequious politeness that 
 you can obtain your ticket. One hour is allowed you for a bath, 
 undressing, drying, and redressing included. If you occupy more 
 
 Cell for the Bather at La Bourboule. 
 
 time than this, you must pay extra for it. A Baigneur can have 
 a Bain de luxe, which consists of dressing-room, a bath-room, and, 
 I believe, extra towels, and extra time. Some invalids are carried 
 in sedan chairs to and fro ; but these chaises aporteurs are not so 
 coquettes as at Aix-les-Bains ; for Aix is patronised largely by 
 triflers who go there pour s'amuser et pour se distraire : but there's 
 nothing of that sort here. La Bourboule is a Station Thermale 
 serieuse, and we are all very much in earnest. For amusements 
 and distractions you may at first yearn, but after a while the 
 patient succumbs to fate, and abandons all hope of amusing him- 
 self, content to take life listlessly so long as he takes his baths 
 and waters regularly. A lotos-eater is a joker to a drinker of the 
 waters of La Bourboule.
 
 128 
 
 VERY MUCH A BEG AD. 
 
 At La Bourboide. — Business is business here, and the Treatment 
 is everything. At 6 a.m. I rise, and take my chocolat co?7iplet. 
 Lovely air, fresh, coldish, and the mist disappearing over the tops 
 of the mountains. Then I write till just on nine, when it is Vheure 
 du bain etje me rends a PUJtablissemmt, when I respectfully salute 
 the Maitre de Service at his desk, obtain my ticket for " pulverisa- 
 tion," and off I go to be " pulverised." 
 
 To undergo this, you have to put on a white robe, a napkin 
 round your throat, as if you were going to be shaved, and then a 
 waterproof " burette," or baby's bib. Thus attired, you are shown 
 
 'PULVERISATION "—IS VEXATION. 
 Motto. — " Let us spray." 
 
 into a chamber fitted up with a series of little marble washing- 
 places, in front of which are seated several persons arrayed 
 similarly to yourself, all, apparently, waiting to be shampoo'd. It 
 looks at first sight like a haircutter's establishment full of 
 customers, but with no one to attend upon them. At the second 
 glance, however, you see that each little marble division, which 
 you had mistaken for shampooing places, but which you now see 
 more nearly resemble the compartments in marble, and in minia- 
 ture, of a telegraph-office, is fitted up with a small apparatus not 
 unlike a microscope, only that as the persons seated at each 
 marble desk is applying not his eye but his mouth to the apparatus, 
 it suddenly occurs to the stranger that he is in a room full of 
 lunatics who have gone mad about telephones, and they are being
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 129 
 
 kept quiet by pretending to send messages. They are not lunatics, 
 of course ; and the apparatus is not telephonic, but is a small 
 machine for shooting out a fine strong spray into the mouth and 
 down the throat, or wherever you have to attack the local suffering. 
 The sketches will convey some idea of the costume and the opera- 
 tion. Besides this, there is "inhalation," and there are "bains 
 locaux " for all parts. There is the nose-bath, the ear-bath, eye- 
 bath, thumb-bath, big-toe-bath, hand- 
 bath, &c, ifcc. So that you can give any 
 individual member of your corporation 
 a dose of it without inconveniencing the 
 others — which is a very just and proper 
 arrangement, and one that might be well 
 observed in various other corporate 
 bodies. 
 
 For the drinking vou go to the Foun- 
 tain. You purchase your own glass, 
 which is numbered and reserved for 
 your own private use, and you take half 
 a glass of the water of La Bourboule 
 just ten minutes before the two principal 
 meals. Those who do not believe in the 
 merits of the fontaine de La Bourboule 
 will consider all the accounts of the 
 cures effected by these waters as merely 
 new editions of La Fontaine's Fables. 
 The motto of La Bourboule is " DonH 
 leave Well alone." 
 
 For my part I hear so much, and 
 have such convincing proofs of their efficacy — though at the early 
 stage of the " traitement " I can't say I recognize any peculiar 
 benefit, other than would be the natural result of living in the 
 very purest air, rising early, going to bed early, getting sufficient 
 exercise and plenty of rest, changing diet and habits of living, and 
 giving up everything that would be likely to do one any harm — 
 that I am hoping for the most beneficial results. So is Chivers. 
 He eyes me suspiciously in the morning, when he comes down 
 to drink his glass of water, as if I had taken some unfair advantage 
 
 ic 
 
 This is not a Priest of some strange 
 Rite in sacrificial vestments, 
 but an invalid at La Bour- 
 boule, arrayed for 
 Pulverisation."
 
 130 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 of him in the night, and had got ahead of him in point of health. 
 He is not satisfied with himself until I have positively assured 
 him that I don't feel any better myself, rather the contrary. " I 
 don't know what the deuce the waters are doing to vie," says 
 Chivers, with the air of a man who has made an investment 
 about which he begins to be a little uncertain ; " I don't feel 
 so well. I'm languid, I'm weak." Then, turning to me reproach- 
 fully, he says, " You don't look weak ; you're not languid." 
 He seems to resent this apparent want of sympathy on my 
 part so much that I hasten to assure him that I do feel 
 languid, that I am weak, and that I too am not satisfied Avith 
 results so far. This pleases him, and for a time he is content. 
 Given this " traitement" and where do the waters come in 1 But 
 
 A Sweet Girl Gargler. 
 
 as we argue it out, Chivers and myself, if we hadn't come here 
 we couldn't in London have gone in for the traitement seriously, 
 and to the exclusion of every other consideration except that of 
 health. 
 
 The various books on the subject give the analysis of these 
 waters. I venture on giving my own idea of the Composition de 
 I'eau de La Bourhoide : et la void : —
 
 LA BOUliBOULE. 
 
 131 
 
 Analyse (tres) fcLE^iENTAiRE. 
 
 Gr. 
 
 5-678910 
 
 6-789 
 
 4-1234 
 
 L'eau fraiclie ...... 
 
 L'eau chaude 
 
 L'eau arsenique (quand raeme) ..... 
 L'eau medicamentee de potass, soude, magnesie, acide sili 
 cique, et beaucoup d'autres choses au choix . 
 
 Esperance 200-001 
 
 Foi .......... Indices forts 
 
 Confiance entiere ........ Traces 
 
 10-123 
 
 Total 
 
 La Guerison 
 
 I think, when considered carefully, the above will be admitted, 
 on all hands, to be a very fair analysis. Of course, it only applies 
 to a first visit. If this is a success, then the grains of " esperance " 
 are enormously increased, and "foi" and "confiance entiere" are 
 complemented to almost absolute certainty by "experience." 
 " Experientia dose it" — and then you have no doubt as to the 
 result of the treatment. 
 
 'Taking the Chair" at La Bourboule. 
 
 K 2
 
 332 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OUR DISTRACTIONS — THEATRE — GAMBLING — THE LEGITIMATE — GAIETY 
 
 AND GUIGNOL — CRITICISM — SUGGESTION AFTER THE PLAY — 
 
 MELANCHOLY SERIOUS WORK. 
 
 W 1 
 
 One of the Water Nymphs 
 of La Bourboule. 
 
 'E DINE at six, mixing our 
 ordinaire with eau de Vals, having 
 previously commenced with half a glass 
 of the native arsenical waters as a hors 
 d'oeuvre, though if there be anything in 
 the term, it is the dinner itself that is 
 the hors d'oeuvre, while the water-con- 
 suming is the oeuvre itself. Cigars, coffee, 
 and the comforting liqueur being intei'- 
 dicted during the treatment — I mean the 
 special treatment to which Dudley Chivers 
 and myself are patiently submitting, and 
 counting the days — we have nothing to 
 do but to stroll out, look at other people 
 smoking, and congratulate ourselves on 
 our almost superhuman perseverance in 
 not yielding to the temptation of tobacco, and mocha, and kiimmel, 
 or other liqueur, which have, up to now, been a necessity of life. 
 I protest that I haven't even brought my cigarette-case down from 
 my room, lest the fact of having it in my pocket should induce me 
 to give in just for once. 
 
 " Once can't matter," says Chivers, producing a silver cigarette- 
 case, and regarding it fondly. 
 
 " No," I reply, doubtfully, " I don't suppose it can matter 
 much." 
 
 " ' Not much,' " says Chivers, quoting the great Macdermott's 
 cong. Whereupon we both chant, — " But it's better than nothing 
 at all," and then laugh. Still laughing, and, in moment of 
 abstraction, Chivers opens the case, takes out a cigarette, and, 
 after a short pause, lights it. 
 
 After all, a small cigarette is not a cigar, and it's only just the
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 133 
 
 flavour of tobacco I want. If he hasn't got one to spare, so much 
 the better. He has, however, and in another minute I am smok- 
 ing and thoroughly enjoying it. Then we listen to the band 
 outside one of tbe Casinos. At eight this band is summoned by 
 a bell, to go inside the Theatre. We don't feel inclined for the 
 Theatre, having assisted at a performance on the previous night, 
 when, on a temporary stage, about the size of one that Mr. May or 
 Mr. Nathan would bring with him and set up in a smallish back 
 drawing-room, there we witnessed some indifferent acting, but 
 heard some very fair singing, under difficulties created by the 
 zealous, but slightly incorrect, musicians in the orchestra. On 
 this occasion, Chivers, who had insisted on going in because they 
 were playing some French Operetta that he had not heard since 
 he was seven years old, was so affected by the music, or the heat, 
 or the traitement, that, as soon as the piece had fairly started, and 
 he had nodded to me his approbation of the commencement, he 
 went fast asleep in his seat, and presently rivalled the violoncello 
 in accompanying the performers. On my nudging him sharply, he 
 awoke, with a start, looked round benignly, and forthwith began 
 to hum and keep time with his stick, until sleep once more over- 
 took him, and again his head fell on his breast, and again he 
 started a harmonic match in which his nasal organ competed 
 vigorously with the double bass, and won easily. When it was 
 all over, he awoke, applauded vehemently, and as we left the 
 house, declared that " it was really very well done," and that " he 
 wouldn't have missed it for anything." Then he yawned, said 
 " Good night," and went straight up to bed. This evening, there- 
 fore, not being inclined for the Theatre, we patronise the petits 
 chevaux, which is being played out-of-doors, under the verandah of 
 the CasiriG; and stake our money freely up to four francs, when, 
 finding luck against us, we retire. 
 
 It is just 8-15. " The night is yet young ! " we exclaim, gaily, 
 as we eye the rather solemn promenaders, who are dividing their 
 attention between les petits chevaux and another gambling table, 
 where La Mascotte attracts a considerable crowd, the business 
 done being chiefly in coppers. Here we watch the game, and see 
 one pale and haggard man go in a regular plumper with a whole 
 franc, which he throws down in a reckless manner on the table.
 
 134 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 and loses. He smiles defiantly, but returns to his former stake 
 of a penny, and I hope won his money. There is a cadaverous, 
 hungry-looking woman by his side, watching him eagerly ; she is 
 deeply interested in the fate of the sou he has just ventured, — 
 and at this we leave them. But if there had been thousands on 
 the turn of the machine ; and if it had been Trente-et-Quarante or 
 Roulette at Monaco, the excitement could not have been greater 
 than at this Penny Pandemonium. 
 
 It is just 8*30. There is nothing to do out-of-doors, as we don't 
 drink or smoke, and as walking is fatiguing. The nmsic has 
 retired, having been summoned by a bell to come inside the 
 Theatre and be the orchestra ; and so it suddenly occurs to me 
 that during the day I have seen " Guignol " advertised at the 
 other Casino, in the Pare Fenestre ; and it stated that at Guignol's 
 show, which he has set up under a tent, there would be performed 
 2k f eerie called Le Fils de Satan, and a "burlesque drama" entitled 
 Romeo et Juliette. This latter was to commence about 8 "30. 
 They had apparently taken a leaf out of the Gaiety programme 
 at Guignol's, and Mr. John Hollingshead's sacred lamp was to 
 illuminate the darkness of La Bourboule. Guignol set serious 
 critics at defiance when he selected Romeo and Juliet as his subject 
 for a Three-Act Burlesque. 
 
 We stroll up. We see the light from Guignol's tent. All else 
 is deserted, but here, within and without, there is a crowd, — a 
 dishonest crowd too outside, as they are trying to peep through 
 the curtains, and see what's going on, without paying for the 
 privilege. In this they are perpetually being baulked by a tall 
 young man, of quiet exterior, with a remarkably quick eye, who 
 is down upon them directly he sees the curtain of the tent moving 
 surreptitiously, which occurs about every ten minutes. We pay 
 our forty centimes a piece, and enter. It is full. We can only 
 get seats at the back, just against the curtain that separates us 
 from the troublesome amateurs outside, whose unprincipled 
 curiosity is giving the afore-mentioned sharp-eyed young man so 
 much trouble and anxiety. 
 
 There is a considerable delay, — perhaps the dolls are not di-essed, 
 or one of them has arrived late, — and considerable excitement 
 among the audience, — so much so, indeed, that Dudley Chivers
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 135 
 
 confides to me that he thinks " it must be a premiere" in which 
 opinion he is subsequently confirmed by the freshness of the dolls' 
 make-up, the smartness of their costumes, the occasional halts in 
 the dialogue, and the somewhat undecided " business " in which 
 the leading doll (Guignol himself, by the way, who is playing 
 Romeo) indulges. But Guignol, being the popular favourite, can 
 take liberties with his audience, and, as he has a very funny part, 
 they shout at all his jokes, and all his lines " go " wonderfully. 
 Olivers (whose "name is always Easy") is annoyed at the Curtain 
 being down too long, and commences a vigorous protest with his 
 stick on the banc in front of us. This process, — consisting of 
 three raps, given one after the other in strict time, is taken up 
 by the whole audience, who — the children being especially 
 enthusiastic- — take the measure at four in a bar, led always by 
 drivers — one, two, three, rest ; one, two, three, rest — with the 
 utmost precision. Then a bell rings, showing that Guignol has 
 yielded, whereupon there is loud " Oh "-ing from everybody, 
 led by drivers, and, on the bell ringing again, considerable 
 applause, — still " personally conducted " by drivers, — which is 
 increased when the Curtain rises, and discovers the exterior of 
 Capidet's house, with gardens. Whereupon drivers, the Eastern 
 Despot of the iron will, turns towards me, and smiles 
 triumphantly. 
 
 Judging the performance from a purely critical point of view, 
 T should say that Guignol gave, with spirit and effect, his peculiar 
 reading of Borneo. Even from a burlesque point of view, I should 
 be inclined to question the correctness of Guignol's costume, until 
 I have some unexceptionable authority tor Romeo being attired in 
 a square-cut plum-coloured coat — a sort of French avocat's cap, 
 and a brown wig with a long pig-tail. Such a dress was evidently 
 not intended as a caricature of anything in particular, and I 
 rather fancy, judging from subsequent visits, that, when no 
 special costume had been provided, Guignol, following Garrick's 
 example of playing Macbeth in a Court-suit of the period, appeared 
 in whatever costume he happened to be arrayed in at the moment. 
 This primitive simplicity, I confess, delighted me. Juliette dis- 
 played a grace which is rarely met with, specially in her curtseys 
 and her exits ; while the scene in which she is whacked by her
 
 136 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 father, and returns a box on the ear with interest, was worthy of 
 the best traditions of a Siddons or a Faucit. 
 
 The Nurse and the Friar were exceptionally good, showing an 
 intelligent appreciation of the text, which, by the way, is more 
 than I can say for myself, as, whenever Guignol apjjeared, he had 
 so many puns (his lines fell in pleasant places, and were stuffed 
 full of them), that, after a vain attempt to follow them seriously, 
 I gave up the calembours as a hopeless job, — but, to escape detec- 
 
 GUIGNOL'S THEATRE. NEW SCENE FROM 
 "ROMEO AND JULIET." 
 
 Guignol (as Romeo, addressing Juliet). " Ma Colombe 1 Je t'adore I " 
 
 tion, I hypocritically laughed rather louder than anybody else, and 
 only twice in the wrong place, — when, however, my lead was im- 
 mediately followed by several people, and I also noticed that the 
 Ladies on my right and left turned away and blushed. What had 
 I laughed at ? I asked Chivers, who had been laughing heartily, 
 what was the joke ; but as he pretended to be so deeply interested 
 in the performance as to be unable to answer my question, I con- 
 cluded that he knew just as much about it as I did. From this 
 moment I begin to distrust Chivers as a perfect master of the 
 Fx'ench language— that is, I doubt his being well up in calembours. 
 There is a Friar in the original piece, who comes in to tell his con-
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 137 
 
 frere, Laurence, the bad news about everything having gone wrong ; 
 in Guignol's burlesque version Friar Laurence loses his temper, 
 and belabours the unfortunate Friar all round the stage, and off 
 it, causing him to express himself feebly, but shrilly, in familiar 
 ecclesiastical Latin, finishing with " Amen ! " after which he was 
 immediately knocked on the head, and finally disposed of. As 
 Friar Laurence was in black, and Friar John in white, this scene 
 might be taken as an illustration of the traditional rivalry between 
 the Black and White Religious Orders. Anyhow, the " treatment " 
 
 FRIAR LAURENCE, ONE OF THE BLACK FRIARS, DISPOSES OF 
 FRIAR JOHN OF THE WHITE FRIARS. 
 
 Friar John {crying). " A men I A.amen!" 
 Friar Laurence (unfeelingly). " Ainsi soit-il I " 
 
 [Gives him one on the nob, and Friar John disappears. 
 
 that Friar Johi received at Guignol's was fovmd to be immensely 
 diverting by a crowded audience, whether historically or histrioni- 
 cally accurate being a matter of the very smallest importance. 
 
 Brilliantly and expensively as the piece at Guignol's was 
 " mounted," and excellent as was the general performance, yet 
 truthful criticism compels me to state that there Avere evident 
 signs of either insufficient rehearsal or indifferent stage-manage- 
 ment. No doubt in a night or two, I say to Chivers, they will be 
 more perfect. The piece, however, was well received, and rap- 
 turously applauded by an enthusiastic audience, who, at the end,
 
 ,138 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 joined Guignol and his Company in a chorus expressive of thorough 
 satisfaction. 
 
 What a cheerful finish ! How genial if universally adopted ! 
 Suppose Mi*. Henry Irving stepping forward at the end of Muck 
 Ado or Twelfth Night, or Hamlet, or anything, and singing or 
 chanting — 
 
 *e 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen, now we've done, 
 We hope we have pleased everyone ; 
 So give us your hands, and the moment seize 
 To start a chorus, if you please. 
 
 Ei tooral looral looral looral 
 Tiddy fol looral 
 Hi tol looral li-do ! 
 
 Actors and Audience (rising in their seats all over the house, and 
 beating time with their hands while singing heartily). Ri tooral 
 looral, tfcc. 
 
 Loud applause. Mr. Henry Irving botvs. Curtain. 
 
 Well — why not 1 Isn't Guignol's plan Shakspeare's, after all 1 
 How does Ttvelfth Night end 1 With a song by the Clown. Isn't 
 there to one of his plays an Epilogue " spoken by a dancer " 1 
 How about " Rumour painted full of tongues " ? The fact is, the 
 song at the close of every performance in Shakspeare's time was no 
 innovation ; and probably the audience, who were both on and off 
 the stage, joined in chorus as chez Guignol, and went away delighted 
 with themselves and the entertainment. For what puts a set of 
 people in better humour with themselves and everybody than join- 
 ing in a chorus, be it " Auld Lang Syne " or " He's a Jolly Good 
 Fellow I " or " With our tol de rol tooral looral/" or any other re- 
 cognized refrain of English minstrelsy ? Would there be so many 
 harsh criticisms next day if critics were only to join in a final 
 chorus with the rest of the audience on a first night ? Wouldn't 
 they all go away delighted 1 But, by the way, why doesn't 
 Mr. Cremer, or some other purveyor of dolls, start a series of these 
 Guignol Shows for Home amusement 1 What an admirable way 
 of inculcating Shakspeare in the nursery ! A Doll's Edition of the
 
 LA BOUBBOULK 139 
 
 most popular of Shakspeare's plays ; a condensed acting edition, a 
 sort of Punch Show, with the chief scenes painted to let down and 
 draw up like blinds, and to each set a box of dolls representing all 
 the characters of the play. Each child could work two or moi - e 
 dolls and learn their parts. Capital hint for a Crystal Palace Show 
 at Christmas. Vive Guignol ! 
 
 Guignol's show being over, Chivers and myself find that we have 
 reached the hour of 9"30. Que /aire? No smoking, no drinking. 
 Yet we are thirsty after Guignol, and, from ancient habit, we feel 
 we must have something in the way of refreshment, on returning 
 from the Theatre. 
 
 " Why can't we bathe now, and go on with the cure," grumbles 
 Chivers, " instead of wasting our time 1 " 
 
 I have no answer for him. I agree with him — I wish he could 
 always be progressing. But I am thirsty, and I propose convivi- 
 ally that, ere we go to bed, we should sit down in the hall of the 
 hotel, we two gay dogs, and crack a bottle of mineral waters 
 between us. 
 
 We agree to this — and do so. 
 
 It is a melancholy sight. We two — vivetcrs — in that hall alone, 
 at 9 "30 p.m., having just returned from witnessing a sort of Punch- 
 and-Judy Show, sitting at a table, with two tumblers, and a bottle 
 of Eau de Vals. We try to be jolly, but it won't do. . . . We 
 give it up . . . and, having "cracked the bottle," however, we 
 mournfully ascend the stairs together, and, as we part on the land- 
 ing for the night, we say, — 
 
 " Only nineteen more days of this, and then w r e go home." 
 
 We shake our heads dismally, and glide down the dark passages, 
 each going hopelessly, miserably, to his cheerless couch. 
 
 Thus ends one of our merry nights when we go in for the dis- 
 tractions provided by the public enterprise of La Bourboule.
 
 140 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TAKING PLEASURE SADLY CONTRIBUTION TO NEW FRENCH 
 
 GRAMMAR — OUR POLICE ARRIVAL OF THE SERPENT OUR 
 
 FIRST FALL. 
 
 ES, La Bourboule is de- 
 cidedly une Station Ther- 
 male tres serieuse. If you 
 come to be cured, La Bour- 
 boule must be endured. 
 But no one stops here for 
 pleasure. 
 
 M. Tirard, the French 
 Minister of Finance, is here. 
 He takes his waters seriously, 
 and rides with determined 
 regularity. Otherwise he is 
 never seen amusing himself, 
 though I fancy I once caught 
 a glimpse of him studying the 
 doctrine of chances at les 
 petits chevaux, but it was only 
 for a second, and as his face 
 was almost hidden entirely in a wrapper, I may have been 
 mistaken. 
 
 No — a La Bourhoule soyez Bourboulais — I should say 
 " quand on est a, La Bourboule, on bourboule." I do not know 
 whether there is a French verb " bourbouler" — but, if not, I here 
 invent it, patent it, say it, write it, and present it with my com- 
 pliments to the French Academy. It is not an irregular verb ; 
 nothing can be irregular that is connected with La Bourboule. 
 It is a verb active. 
 
 M. Tirard, the French Minister of Finance, 
 honouring a draught.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 141 
 
 INFINITIVE. 
 Present. Past. 
 
 Bourbouler — to go through the treat- Avoir bourboule — to have gone 
 ment, and do all that is to be through the treatment at I? 
 
 done at La Bourboule. Bourboule. 
 
 INDICATIVE. 
 
 Present. Past. 
 
 Je bourboule — I am going through J'ai bourboule — I have gone 
 the, &c, &c. through the, &c, &c. 
 
 And so on. 
 
 The " Conditional " must depend on the patient's health and 
 temper. The " Imperative " is the Professional or " Medical 
 Mood." 
 
 Subjunctive (Imperfect). — Que je bourboulasse — that I might go 
 through the treatment, &c. (Tim is the expression of a fervent hope ; 
 or the consideration of a Doctor's doubtful permission : il avait dit que 
 je bourboulasse). 
 
 On Sunday evening the place is quite en fete. But the Eastern 
 Despot, whose name is no longer Easy, and myself have no right to 
 be en fete. We feel that we are robbing the Casino by occupying 
 a table when we can neither drink nor smoke. 
 
 For us even La Afascotte, c'est-a-dire le jeu au Pandemonium a 
 un sou la mise, with its Baigneuse qui perds, its Chinois qui gagne, 
 offers us no enticement, and the proximity of les petits chevaux, 
 serie jaune ou verte, courses a un et d deux francs, does not make 
 our hearts beat one throb the faster, nor set the blood coursing 
 through our veins. 
 
 I hear of complaints being made, at other places, against the 
 patronage extended to the petits chevaux, and of indignant questions 
 (probably put by losers) as to why the police do not suppress the 
 game of the Little Horses. Here, at La Bourboule, not only does 
 the game attract everybody, but it is even regularly patronised by 
 our solitary representative of the police, a jovial-looking Gendarme, 
 who comes out on duty in full uniform, and is generally accom- 
 panied by his admiring wife and family, to the } r oungest of whom 
 (not the baby) he gives francs to play for him ; and I notice that
 
 U2 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 the lad, who can scarcely reach up to the table, is usually a winner, 
 and honestly hands back the gains to his papa, who smiles on his 
 spouse and pockets the francs with an air of considerable 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Suddenly the situation is changed. Our Evil Genius, in the form 
 of Tom Spicer, has arrived. Olivers and myself are obeying 
 the Doctor's orders steadily, but Tom Spicer only considers his 
 Doctor as a guide to the manners and customs of La Bourboule. 
 He breakfasts with us, and — confound him ! he takes everything 
 and anything ! So he does at dinner. Hitherto, on the appearance 
 of a beautiful melon, or a nice fresh salad, Olivers and myself 
 have regarded one another mournfully, but have felt that we 
 were doing our duty in ordering the waiter at once to enlever cette 
 chose, — pas de fa. But Spicer exclaims, " What ! not take melon 1 
 My dear boy, the finest thing in the world for you ! " And he con- 
 sumes two slices before we have got over our fit of astonishment. 
 We almost expect a sudden and awful punishment upou him 
 for his rashness. Not a bit of it ; he beams upon us cheer- 
 fully, pushes away his plate, and drinks off a bumper of the 
 generous vin rouge. Still nothing happens to him, and we breathe 
 again. 
 
 " But the Doctor ! " we commence. 
 
 "Doctor be " but here comes in a dish of fish, with butter 
 
 sauce, which puts us on common ground again. 
 
 Then there is a filet de bosuf, and again we are with him. Then 
 there i&jambon sauce japonaise, and we daren't. 
 
 " Comment ! " he exclaims, "pas de jambon ! " And before we 
 have time to shake our heads wearily, he has helped himself 
 freely, and is enjoying it. 
 
 Once more we watch him with painful interest, and again 
 nothing happens. A bowl of haricots verts au beurre appears, and 
 we are all "on in this scene." 
 
 Then the entremets. " Comment / " he again exclaims, as we 
 refuse slices of open jam-tart — "pas de patisserie ! It's the most 
 wholesome thing in the world, and a specialite here." 
 
 Chivers regards me curiously, and then he eyes the jam-tart 
 affectionately. 
 
 " Is it good 1 " he inquires, hesitatingly, of Spicer.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 143 
 
 " Tres bon — first-rate ! " replies Spicer, who likes mixing his 
 English — " ca ne vous fera mat a la tHe, et vous en avalez un 
 tonneau." 
 
 One cloud of mistrust crosses Chivers's face, — if his " name is 
 Easy " now, will it be afterwards 1 — one second of lingering con- 
 scientiousness, one brief thought of the past, one doubt of the 
 future, one wistful glance at the pastry, and then — all is over — 
 the toothsome slice is on his plate, and the next instant in his 
 mouth. Suddenly he has brightened up ; and with the air of a 
 man determined to be satisfied with the rash step he has taken 
 let the consequences be what they may, he exclaims, nodding 
 to Spicer, 
 
 " You are right. It is deuced good ! " 
 
 Then he turns to me, as Eve might have turned to Adam, and 
 says, persuasively, " Have a bit. Do ! " adding, d'une ga'iete folle, 
 which cannot deceive me, " La conserve est tire'e, mangez-la." 
 No. I refuse resolutely. 
 
 I am sorry for him. I regret his backsliding from the paths of 
 virtue. Spicer, of course, takes dessert, cheese, and pet its gdteaux. 
 Then Ave rise from table, and Spicer is again going to have his 
 cigar and coffee. 
 
 " En aurez-vous un ? " he says, tendering me his case. 
 " Merci non," I reply, in excellent French. 
 I cease to be Adamite, and am once more adamantine. 
 "Does your regular Doctor in Town forbid it?" asks Spicer, 
 carelessly, as he lights up. 
 
 "No," I answer. "None of my Doctors have ever forbidden it 
 in moderation." 
 
 Spicer makes no observation on this, but smiles sarcastically. At 
 once a light breaks in on me. Yes — I see his drift — of course — if 
 none of what he calls my " regular Doctors," who know me, have 
 ever forbidden it, why should I have such a great regard for the 
 ordonnance of a Doctor who doesn't know me, and who by com- 
 parison is only " an irregular Doctor " who has only seen me four 
 days ago, for the first time in his life ? Clearly absurd. Still, if 
 he should be right and the others wrong ? If they didn't like to 
 tell me, and sent me here to learn the truth? Oh, no ! that's 
 impossible.
 
 144 
 
 VEBY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 So. ... I'll .... well — I'll just smoke a little bit of 
 cigarette to-night, and to-morrow, perhaps, I'll try a cigar. 
 
 " I should take a cigar," says Spicer. " Cigarettes are 
 injurious." 
 
 Yes ; I have heard that cigarettes are injurious. Therefore, in 
 for a penny in for a pound — in for one cigar in for a pound of 'em — 
 and I smoke a cigar. 
 
 Chivers appears with a cigarette — a large one. 
 
 " Hallo ! " he exclaims. " What, you smoking ! Oh ! ! " 
 
 Our Local Gendarme on Duty.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MORE BACKSLIDING — THE SERPENT AT LA BOURBOULE — WE 
 
 don't 
 
 " DECLINE, 
 RESULTS. 
 
 AND DO 
 
 FALL 
 
 NERVOUS ANTICIPATIONS 
 
 T 
 
 HE Mephistophelian 
 Spicer has done it. He 
 is the Serpent who beguiles 
 us into making a detour into 
 flowery paths away from the 
 narrow way of obedience to 
 Doctor's orders. He insinu- 
 ates distrust of the traitement 
 while artfully extolling the 
 virtues of the waters of La 
 Bourboule. 
 
 His argument is, " It is 
 absurd to lower yourself." In 
 one sense we admit it is worse 
 than absurd, it is absolutely 
 wrong. But Spicer is serious 
 and he won't be put off. He says, " Take the waters by all means, 
 but don't suddenly give up everything. Look at the people who 
 are at the Casino here. They'll all be drinking coffee and liqueurs, 
 and smoking. Well, aren't they all invalids, and probably invalids 
 of some standing, who have been here before, and know the place?" 
 I venture to remark that I've seen very few taking coffee and 
 smoking. 
 
 His reply is, " That's because you've not been out at the 
 right time. Look here ! Chivers is low, very low," — this is true, 
 as the treatment has unaccountably told on Chivers, whose name 
 has now become " Uneasy," as he can't make out whether the 
 waters are doing him any good or not. 
 
 " Now," continues the insinuating and jovial Tom Spicer, "you" 
 (to Chivers) " have a bottle of good wine, and we'll help you. 
 Dis done, gargon, apportez-nous une boideille de Chateau Palmer."
 
 146 VERY MUCH A B BO AD. 
 
 C'en est fait de nous. Spicer's done it. The bottle is brought. 
 'Tis excellent wine, but it does not come from the hotel cellars, 
 having been presented to Chivers by a charitable friend who has 
 brought his own private supply with him (an excellent plan), and 
 who can spare us this bottle as he is off to Paris in the morning. 
 We enjoy it, that is Chivers and myself, as if we had been two 
 Crusoes found on a desert island by Spicer, the gay mariner, who had 
 brought us a bottle of rum from the ship's stores. It is excellent. 
 
 " Of course you feel better already," says Spicer heartily ; and 
 we swagger — or stagger — for a couple of glasses of Chateau Palmer 
 have already done their deadly work, and we are merry and ready 
 for anything. Doctor be blowed ! Gargon, du cafe / First-rate 
 cigar. Good music to-night, too. And, dear me, yes, the place 
 is crowded, and all the people taking coffee, liqueurs, and cigars. 
 Let us risk at the petits chevaux. Chivers does so, and at once 
 wins seven francs. 
 
 " Voila ! la bonne chance / " cries the Demon Spicer, more Me- 
 phistophelian than ever. " Le Chateau Palmer forte bonheur." 
 
 Capital game, les petits chevaux. I lose three times, and don't 
 think so much of it. Chivers proposes La Mascotte. We enter 
 the tent. We get seats. Spicer, however, prefers the theatre, 
 the admission to which is six francs to-night, because a M. Fusier 
 is giving an entertainment.' 
 
 On the La Mascotte board there are painted pictures of L'Ama- 
 sone, Le Chinois, he is called Le Coquin Chinois this evening — a 
 political allusion — La Baigneuse, La Princesse, and Le Petit Fran- 
 cois. I back Le Petit Francois and the white. There is imme- 
 diately a run on La Baigneuse, the Coquin Chinois turns up 
 occasionally, and the rouge about six times out of eight. Conse- 
 quently I am not a winner. Suddenly it is the turn of the Petit 
 Francois, the wand in the hand of the figure of an angel blowing 
 a trumpet stops at the picture of the Petit Francois, represented 
 as an effeminate youth in Watteau costume, and touches number 
 cinq. The colour on which my little friend's picture is painted is 
 white, and so, having backed blanc and le petit, I have a good 
 time of it, and receive five francs in all ; as, so strict are the 
 conditions of the game, your stake is counted in as part of the 
 winnings, c'est a dire "la. wise csmpte aujeu," — an excellent arrange-
 
 LA BOUEBOULE. 147 
 
 raent for the table, but hard on the joueurs. After this I pause 
 for a second. Fatal loss of time ! for while I am thinking on 
 what I shall stake my money, the croupier calls out, " Le jeu est 
 fait — rien de plus," — it is too late for me to back the little Watteau- 
 esque youth and white again — nay, it is any odds against their 
 winning twice running — when suddenly the wand of the winged 
 Fortune stops in precisely the same place, and ticks off exactly 
 the same number ! Ah ! mise'ricorde ! had I but .... Too 
 late ! I will encourage the Petit Francois. I will back him 
 through thick and thin. I do so, but the chance for to-night has 
 come and gone. The Angel of Fortune blowing the trumpet 
 favours Le Coquin Chinois (absit omen/) and the red, gives an 
 occasional turn to La Princesse, and something else, I forget what, 
 but the stupid little Francois passes by, turn after turn, cutting 
 me dead every time. I put my last half-franc on Le Petit 
 Francois, but he takes no notice of me, and the little man, in his 
 courtier-like attitude, his pearl-grey satin square-cut coat, and his 
 background of garden-landscape ct la Watteau, turn slowly away 
 from me, as I rise from my seat, and go out into the star-lit 
 night. Chivers has vanished : he lost on La Baigneuse, and retired 
 early. 
 
 It is half-past eight ! the night was yet young. I can go no- 
 where, for I have no money. What must the ruined gambler 
 feel 1 Yes, there is one place to go to, — bed. Entree libre. J'y suis. 
 
 If the Demon Spicer's traitement is better than the doctor's, va 
 pour le Demon Spicer ! If not — then back to asceticism et le 
 traitement du cttebre Docteur Probite. Nous verrons. 
 
 Le matin apres. — Levee ct six heures. Droit comme une tripled. 
 The Doctor comes in unexpectedly, when I am in my bath. He 
 takes me by surprise. I take him by surprise. I am so well. 
 Dr. Probite is so delighted with me up to this moment that I feel 
 bound to confess the enormity of last night. " Voyons ! " I say 
 cheerily. "Guess what I did last night !" He looks at me, and 
 through me — right to the other side of the bath, and he says, 
 sharply, " Smoked 1 " " Yes. Only one cigar." 
 
 " One too many," he replies ; but he cannot find it in his heart 
 or his head to say anything in the face of facts. 
 
 The traitement, then, a la Bourhoule comes, I think, to this : 
 
 h 2
 
 148 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Use the waters till they disagree with you ; then leave 'em off for 
 a day or so, and then recommence. This is not a bad rule any- 
 where. Bourboulez comme a la Bourboule : et ayez con fiance en votre 
 medecin. To adapt Monsieur J. L. Toole's phrase, " Tenez Vozil sur 
 votre Docteur et votre Docteur vous en tirera net." 
 
 drivers is better. Spicer is about the same, but delighted that 
 his traltement of us has succeeded so well. Taken altogether I 
 should say we arrive at the Probite-SpLcer philosophy, " If you 
 want to enjoy life, live by rule, and prove the truth of the rule by 
 the success of the exceptions." 
 
 Our Rosses at La Bourboule, and the Jolly Young Cocher who " ' drives ' 
 along thinking of nothing at all." 
 
 The horses and flys are all out on " the Place ; " and the flies, 
 swarms of 'em, are all there, too, you may be sure. I wish I 
 could draw a horse as well as a horse draws me, as these " moun- 
 tain ponies Anglais " are worth the trouble of mounting (on card- 
 board), but not the cost of a ride, about ten or twelve francs, 
 except as a dernier resso7-t pour se distraire. 
 
 This pretty well sums up the distractions of La Bourboule. 
 Outside La Bourboule, at seven kilos distance, there is Mont-Dore; 
 but in this place, which, because it is higher up in the mountains, 
 and of more ancient reputation, professes to look down upon La 
 Bourboule, I have no sort of interest. Its Etablissement looks
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 149 
 
 like a gaol, and its bathing-cabinets like condemned cells, — ex- 
 teriorly, at least. Mont-Dore is bigger, but not better even for its 
 own speciality — you see I am a partisan, — as La Bourboule is little 
 and good. But for La Bourboule, as for La Perichole — " die 
 grandira." And there will be bigger and grander hotels, more 
 lodging-houses, larger stakes at La Mascotte, fortunes lost and won 
 at les petits chevaux, splendid stables and equipages, and a magni 
 ficent church, of course. But the simplicity, the seriousness, the 
 tranquillity, and the piety of La Bourboule will have disappeared, 
 just as even now the peasant's Bourboule has disappeared, and 
 the oldest inhabitant no more recognizes the La Bourboule of his 
 childhood's days, than would a present Bourboulais, going up into 
 the mountains and returning, like Hip van Winkle, twenty years 
 hence, recognize the La Bourboule he had quitted in the Year of 
 Grace Eighteen-Eighty-four. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A RIDE — RESULT — LAID UP— SNATCHES— OPERATIC— A HISTORY — 
 ORIGIN — THE RECKLESS ONE ANOTHER REAL INVALID. 
 
 SPICE R and myself having nothing better to do, on a fine 
 afternoon after the rain, hire horses, ten francs the pair, for 
 two hours, the cheapest thing of the kind I've yet come across in 
 La Bourboule, where the simple Auvergnat does fleece the tourist 
 lamb to any extent in the matter of promenades en voiture et a 
 cheval. Mine is a wonderful pony ; and the saddle and the 
 stirrups were apparently originally intended for a rocking-horse. 
 However, both the beasts are " sulides," specially mine, and away 
 we go up a mountain-road, which serves as a water-course in 
 Winter, at full galop, without a stumble or a slip, until we find 
 ourselves in the high road, and close to a picturesquely-situated 
 village, en route for Saint Sauves. 
 
 There we descend : the view is beautiful, reminding Spicer of 
 Surrey considerably enlarged. It reminds me of Surrey and 
 Devonshire mixed, with a little bit of rocky Cornwall thrown in.
 
 150 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Quite a fancy-sketch. Chir horses descend with perfect ease and 
 safety. We are back by dinner-time ; and — we go to bed very early. 
 The next day I am laid up with a severe cold — the waters are 
 knocked off, and the traitement interrupted. Chivers looks in to 
 sympathise with me. I say that I could have caught this cold at 
 home — there was no necessity to come all this way to do it. 
 Chivers doesn't know what the waters are doing to him, but he is 
 of opinion that they're all humbug ; and he reminds me that it 
 was I who induced him to come here. " I'm getting worse instead 
 of better," says the Gentleman whose name is Easy, as he strokes 
 
 Open-air Livery Stables. Horses waiting to be hired at La Bourboule. 
 
 his nose reflectively ; " and if I had only got a servant here to 
 pack up, I'm hanged if I wouldn't go at once. But the packing up ! " 
 The prospect of this exertion, and the impossibility of getting 
 the work done by deputy, is too much for him. He sits and stares 
 blankly at the window. Then he hums snatches, — they are never 
 more than snatches, taken at haphazard, and violently torn away 
 in a maimed condition from the original melody, whatever it might 
 have been, — and marks what he conceives to be " the time " with 
 his stick on the floor. I try to stop him by inquiring where one 
 of the fragments comes from ? He doesn't exactly remember ; but, 
 to aid his memory, he repeats it over again, adding some other 
 "bits," which he says he thinks come from the same Opera. I
 
 LA BOUBBOULE. 151 
 
 devoutly wish lie had left them there, and not " brought them 
 away with him." 
 
 After this entertainment has lasted about twenty minutes he 
 rises, observing, as if pressed for time (the idea of being busy, or 
 pressed for time, at La Bourboule !) — that " he really must go," 
 and then he kindly asks if there is anything he can do for me ; 
 whereupon I request him " to go and see the Doctor for me," 
 which, including having his pulse felt for me, he at once under- 
 takes to do, and, with a snatch of melody still on his lips, he 
 leaves me. 
 
 Sleep, gentle sleep ! I am just dozing off when the Easy One 
 returns. 
 
 "I say," he says, tapping on the floor with his stick, "you 
 asked me what it was I was humming just now." I reply that I 
 did, and try to evince as much interest as circumstances will 
 permit. " Well, I've just remembered it — part of the march from 
 Fidelio — or else it's a bit from La Gazza Ladra — it goes like this " 
 — but, just as he is making a dash at the melody, he alights on 
 the wrong note, puts himself out, and, after several vain attempts 
 at recalling it, gives it up, and as he goes out he observes, " I'll 
 come back directly I've caught it, and tell you what it is. I 
 never forget a tune." Much annoyed with himself for the slip of 
 memory on this occasion, he once more leaves me, and I hear him. 
 his humming getting gradually fainter and fainter, trying to recall 
 the lost tune as he walks slowly down the passage to his own room. 
 
 While laid up with cold, I commence notes for a short history 
 of La Bourboule. The materials being scant, I apprehend that it 
 will be a very short history. 
 
 It was built by Balbus, who was always building walls by way 
 of taking Latin exercise. Hence the first origin of the name. 
 After the death of Balbus and Caius his partner, the place gradually 
 fell into disuse. It was not heard of again till, oddly enough, 
 tradition associates it with England and the name of Cromwell. 
 
 The Lord Protector has to go through the traitement at La 
 Bourboule in order to get rid of the wart on his nose, which was 
 always annoying him, as the Poet Milton would ask him pointedly 
 every morning, " Wart's the matter ? " 
 
 But as the traitement didn't do him any good, the Protector,
 
 152 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 being too impatient to stay out the twenty-one days, flew into a 
 passion, and, adapting his original and striking phrase, which had 
 made such an effect in the House, exclaimed — ■ 
 
 " Enlevez La Bourboule ! " and hoped to see the town razed to 
 the ground. It wasn't, however, as La Bourboule is gifted with 
 everlasting youth, or at least with a perpetual Spring. 
 
 I don't get any further at present with my short history. 
 
 The place is rapidly emptying. The Easy Eastern Despot, the 
 
 "Take away that Bourboule! 
 
 Reckless Spicer, and my miserable self are the only English 
 patients left. 
 
 Spicer thinks he will go out and make a sketch of La Bourboule. 
 He takes a small portfolio under his arm. Being the only stranger 
 visible, his movements attract attention. Nobody Is doing any- 
 thing at La Bourboule now, and the news soon spreads about that 
 an Englishman— an eccentric Englishman — is absolutely going 
 out to amuse himself. How he will set about it is a matter of the 
 intensest curiosity to the crowd, who for the first time in their 
 experience have ever heard of anyone attempting to amuse himself
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 153 
 
 at La Bourboule, which, as I have before remarked, is essentially 
 a serious place. 
 
 Later on the Reckless Spicer returns. Where has he been 1 
 He doesn't know, and he can't give any particulars, as he has been 
 taking a draught of mountain air, has caught a severe cold, and 
 entirely lost the use of his voice. In pantomime the Reckless One 
 expresses his determination to retire at once to bed. It has been 
 
 
 LATE IN THE SEASON. 
 
 The only remaining Visitor announces his Intention of "going out to amuse 
 
 himself." Curiosity of the Inhabitants of La Bourboule 
 
 to see how he will achieve his object. 
 
 glorious summer up to four o'clock ; now it is chill October, and, 
 interpreting Spicer's signals, we order logs to be brought, a good 
 fire to be made, tisane boiling to be followed by hot grogs every 
 half hour, and three blankets on the bed. Finally, we all have 
 fires, and all retire early. Such are the delights of La Bourboule 
 in the first week of September. This, as they say in novels, is 
 " The Beginning of the End ! "
 
 154 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 STILL WITH COLD — NO MORE WATERS — NOTES FOR FUTURE GUIDE. 
 
 M 
 
 "Y room in our hotel is situated mi 
 seconde over a murmuring stream and 
 a howling dog. I don't wonder at the 
 stream murmuring ; when the dog howls, 
 it's quite enough to make one murmur. 
 But when the dog is silent, the stream, 
 from some unexplained cause, murmurs 
 louder than ever, and, at first, the noise of 
 rushing water being continuous, it seems 
 to me as if I were trying to sleep with 
 my head against the cistern of a London house, in some district 
 where either the Turncock had gone mad, or the Water Company 
 had become recklessly prodiga . 
 
 La Bourboule is a great place, as I have already said, for infan- 
 tine maladies. It is, therefore, a great place for children ; I may 
 say, distinctly, a very great place for children. I never met so 
 many children with noisy toys as at La Bourboule. They have 
 cow-horns, tin-trumpets, imitation pistols and cannons, which go 
 off with a startling bang, un-musical carts, drums, and so forth. 
 But of all things, the little cow-horn is the worst. It is the curse 
 of the place, and the worst of it is you can never find out where 
 the deuce the little boy is who makes the noise. If you have a 
 headache, this invisible "Little Boy Blue," or " Little Boy Bloiv" 
 with the juvenile cow-horn, will worry you until you feel inclined 
 to out-Herod Herod, and run a-muck for all the children in the 
 place. 
 
 The dogs of La Bourboule are another nuisance ; they bark and 
 they howl as no other dogs do, and are evidently irritated by the 
 children and the trumpets. Sometimes at night the owners of the 
 howling dogs are aroused, and then the noise is redoubled. But, 
 if you are snugly tucked up in bed, it is some consolation to reflect 
 that the dog is punished for howling, and that the master, who is
 
 LA BOURBOULE. loo 
 
 beating it, is probably catching a severe cold. When the toy-cow- 
 horn is not in full blast, the real instrument of torture is being 
 blown by the eonducteurs of the omnibuses touting for customers 
 to Laqueuille, Mont-Dore, Tauves, and other neighbouring places. 
 This lasts for about an hour at a time, twice a day. A fourth 
 trouble is the bell-ringing at the various hotels, to announce the 
 preparation for the different meals, and then the hour of the meal 
 itself. 
 
 There are also bells to announce the cloture of the etablissement 
 twice a day. Bells are rung on every possible occasion. The rule 
 at La Bourboule appears to be, " When you've nothing else to do, 
 ring a bell." 
 
 The greatest nuisance of all, against which, as being a public 
 matter, affecting nervous invalids, I wonder the fourteen Doctors 
 forming the Medical Staff of La Bourboule don't protest, is the 
 firing off of some infernal machine several times a day, for no other 
 object that I have been able to ascertain than that of startling the 
 pigeons, and making them fly madly about. It is quite enough to 
 cause all the invalids to fly, and never return. On a nervous 
 individual (and there must be many here), specially if partially 
 confined to his room, and for whom perfect tranquillity is abso- 
 lutely necessary, this explosion, which is a perpetual surprise, is 
 quite enough to produce most serious results. The only time 1 
 witnessed this performance, the actual perpetrator was a dirty 
 little boy, who came down from the Casino with something under 
 his arm, which, at a distance, seemed to resemble an old-fashioned 
 hat-box. To this he applied a fusee, when it at once went off with 
 a tremendous detonation that sent the pigeons (which, one would 
 have thought, might have been accustomed to it by this time) 
 whirring up and circling about in the air, while several ladies 
 started up from their seats, and the young Dynamiter having 
 accomplished his fiendish purpose, retired giggling. Where was 
 our one Gendarme ? 
 
 Before the term of my sentence has expired, I find myself asking 
 if a great many of the cures with which the springs of La Bour- 
 boule are credited may not be classed among the Fables of La 
 Fontaine 1 
 
 A Conversation-book for La Bourboule would be useful. I shall
 
 156 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 here merely hint at it, reserving all my rights as the discoverer of 
 La Bourboule, comparatively little known to my suffering com- 
 patriots, for my forthcoming Guide a La Bourboule. 
 
 Morning Dialogue. — How is (comment se porte-t-il) your thumb 
 (pouce), Sir {Monsieur),- — your big-toe (orteil), your little-toe (petit 
 doigt du pied), your nose (nez), your right ear (oreille droite), your 
 left (gauche) ear, your knee (genou), this morning 1 
 
 Your nose (nez) is not so red (si rouge) this morning as usual 
 (comme ordinaire) — your nose is much redder (beaucoup plus rouge). 
 
 Morning. 
 
 Bathing Costume. 
 
 Flannel. With Wrapper. 
 
 Midday. 
 
 The Lightest Summer Suit. 
 
 95° in the Shade. 
 
 My thumb pains me — Oh! — (mal au pouce — Ah!) — I have shooting- 
 pains in my head. 
 
 I will not take any more of these beastly waters (eaux affreuses). 
 You must see the Doctor (il faut passez chez M. le Medecin). The 
 
 Doctor be (que le Medecin soit beni). I think I shall go away 
 
 (me sauver) to-morrow (demain). No — stay, and go through the 
 course (traitement). I am better. I like the place — I like the 
 waters. It is the tenth day I am here. I shall be so well when 
 I get back (quand je reviendrai chez moi). When I return I shall 
 go in for champagne, hooray ! (a Id, bonne heure), and smoking, 
 and coffee, and liqueurs.
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 157 
 
 With the Doctor. — I am better. I have a sore nose (nez dolour- 
 em;), a pimple (bouton) on my lower lip (levre inferieure). It is 
 nothing. What ! (comment) give up (renoncer) the waters ? Why, 
 I've come thousands of miles to take them ! Oh, for one day only 
 (ne que). Very good (tres Men), and put off (remettre) the spray 
 pulverisation), inhalation, gargle (gargarisme) till the day after 
 to-morrow. Good ! (tres bien). I will observe (obeir) all you tell 
 me. Eh ! No smoke, no liqueur, no coffee (pas cle cafe) ! Ah 
 well, then (eh bien alors), no fee ( pas cle recompense) ! 
 
 Dinner Suit, 
 
 known as 
 
 'The Compromise. 
 
 Evening from 7p.m. 
 
 Must be thoroughly 
 
 wrapped up. 
 
 To a Friend (a dejeuLner). — Look ! (regardez) — that nose — that 
 ear — that cheek — how red — it is less red (moins rouge) than 
 yesterday (quliier). Your nose looks beautiful (beau) this morn- 
 ing ; how does mine look 1 Will you have some eggs 1 I have 
 had two eggs — a bad egg and a good egg. Is this chop (cotelette) 
 cooked (cuite) with tallow candles (bougies de suif) or only with 
 bad butter ? I do not know. I will have some of the good red 
 wine (du bon vin rouge), while you have the nasty water. I 
 cannot get (trouver) any good red wine. The wine of the country 
 (vin du pays) must be made out of old boots (vieilles bottes). Then 
 (alors) the grapes (raisins) must grow on boot-trees. I shall
 
 158 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 have the red nose (le nez rougi), while you will have the beautiful 
 complexion {la peau claire). I will smoke the great and good 
 cigar, and drink the strong black coffee (cafe noir), while you will 
 have nothing to do (rien a faire). You who have just arrived 
 (yenez d'arriver) are thin and vigorous ; but I, who have been 
 through (2)asse par) the course (traitement) am fat (gros) and 
 feeble (faible). He is happy (henreux) because he is well. I am 
 unhappy (jnallieureux) because I am unwell. You will have the 
 big pimple (bouton) on your tongue (langue), and I shall be quite 
 well and happy. 
 
 Animated Appearance of La Bourboule.
 
 LA BOUBBOULE. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LAST CHAPTER (BUT ONE) THAT ENDS THIS STRANGELY 
 UNEVENTFUL HISTORY. 
 
 WE THREE, Chivers, Spicer, and myself, are almost the 
 last roses— or noses — (for, with all our other ailments, that 
 is a sore point with us) of Summer. " All our bloomin' companions," 
 as the song says, have packed up their traps and gone. Guignol still 
 plays Borneo et Juliette and Lucie de Lammermoor to crowded 
 audiences, but the Theatre is closed, the attendance at les petits 
 chevaux is meagre, and around the Mascotte are gathered quite a 
 little family party, with twenty sous each time on the table, the circle 
 diminishing as one after the other reaches his limit of five francs. 
 
 The Band still plays, but there is no heart in the performance, 
 and the Conductor is listless. A few adventurous spirits, w r ell 
 wrapped up, make a bold attempt at sitting out at the tables 
 under the verandah of the Cafe, and try to appear as if they were 
 enjoying their coffee and cigars. Some Ladies in thick mantles 
 lend their aid in this ghastly attempt at galvanising the moribund 
 season into a temporary life. It is useless. The Band shivers, 
 and retires. The Waiters regard their customers with compassion. 
 One after another the tables are left bare, and the chairs are 
 empty. Then the wind and the Waiters have the Cafe all to 
 themselves. The lights are gradually extinguished, and, the Waiters 
 having departed, only the wind remains whistling round the 
 corners, having all its amusement to itself, and enjoying it as 
 only the wind can. But the tables and chairs have been removed, 
 so even the wind, finding it has nothing to play with, drops off to 
 sleep, or goes somewhere else, — for which I, personally, am pro- 
 foundly thankful, as now my wood-fire will burn without filling 
 the room with smoke, and compelling me to open the window, and 
 risk another severe cold. 
 
 Cold ! Ah, it is a place to catch cold in is La Bourboule ! 
 Never was a climate so variable. 
 
 If you walk, you must take care not to walk too fast, and not
 
 1G0 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 to stop and sit down ; if you drive, you must have plenty of wraps ; 
 if you ride, you must keep on at an even pace. 
 
 Fortunate the invalid who at the end of ten days can walk or 
 ride, the effect of the waters of La Bourboule (as far as our experi- 
 ence goes — I mean that of Olivers, Spicer, and self) being to 
 make the patient fat and feeble, increased in weight, and indis- 
 posed to anything remotely resembling activity. 
 
 The invalid's appetite will be pretty good, but he is unable to 
 gratify it to any great extent, the food being of an inferior quality. 
 The speciality of the La Bourboule cuisine seems to me to be a pecu- 
 liar way of cooking everything with bad butter ; its chef d'ceuvre is 
 a dish of tough mutton cutlets, gently grilled over a fire, which, 
 judging from the flavour of the meat (when you can get one of the 
 chops to yield to the pressure of a strong knife, used with all the 
 muscular force of which an invalid is capable), must have been 
 mainly composed of tallow candles. 
 
 After nearly three weeks of constant companionship our conver- 
 sation is exhausted. Chivers makes a few attempts at repeating 
 some stories which were excellent when we first arrived, but which 
 have now lost their first freshness. On the third repetition of one 
 of his best, both Spicer and myself stop him. After this, as news- 
 papers are the only substitutes for conversation at breakfast, each 
 one brings his own journal or letters. We take no interest in any- 
 body or anything. We are Lotos-eaters. We should like to break 
 with La Bourboule, but haven't the energy. Spicer, who came 
 last, and was the blithest and gayest of the gay, is now the most 
 melancholy spectacle. He really ought not to be out of bed. The 
 fact is that we are now really ill. We are down. I am suddenly 
 aged ; Chivers has the Eastern Despotic temperament quite taken 
 out of him ; he is humble, meek, mild, and no longer bewails the 
 absence of a servant. His name is indeed Easy now. He is indifferent. 
 Only let him sleep, and don't talk to him, and he is happy. He 
 wakes up occasionally to discuss the politics of the day, but, as a 
 rule, news from the outer world has ceased to have any effect even 
 upon him. Only one thing has any real interest for him now, and 
 that is the left-hand side of the tip of his nose, which, considering 
 all he has done for it, is not behaving as it should. The lobe of 
 my right ear is causing me also some considerable trouble, and
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 1G1 
 
 fis to my nose, I am beginning to be thoroughly annoyed with 
 it. 
 
 We stand before the glass ; then we ask one another what each 
 thinks of the other's nose. This is a prelude to breakfast, and it 
 is the only semblance of conversation that remains. 
 
 Two mornings out of three I prefer Chivers's nose to mine. I 
 tell him I think his nose is getting on admirably. How's mine ? 
 I ask. Oh, he is enchanted with my nose ! he only wishes his nose 
 were doing anything like as well. But surely, he says, reproachfully, 
 I must be nattering when I tell him his nose is so much better. 
 
 I reply, rather indignantly, protesting that on such serious sub- 
 jects I am not given to flattery, and that the last thing I should 
 flatter would be anyone's nose, and I assert, honestly, that his 
 nose is making great progress, is in first-rate condition, and is just 
 the sort of nose that he, with his peculiar constitution, ought to 
 expect it to be after using the La Bourboule waters up to this 
 point. But, I add, whatever he may say to the contrary, I cannot 
 accept what he has told me as to the appearance of my own nose 
 in such satisfactory condition as being any index as to its real 
 state. 
 
 " But, my dear fellow," protests Chi vers, " your nose is — I give 
 you my word of honour — your nose is twenty per cent, better than 
 when you came." 
 
 Secretly, I am delighted to hear this, but I will not let my joy 
 be seen, lest the delight of the morning may be turned into the 
 grief of the afternoon. All I permit myself to reply is that, and I 
 say it in a sad tone, I am glad to hear what he says about my 
 nose, but he must allow me to know best about my own nose, not 
 as to how it looks, but as to how it feels. 
 
 That it looks well, I admit — fairly well, at all events, the sunset hue 
 having yielded to a delicate salmon pink — but that it feels better 
 is what I cannot allow any man to be a better judge of than myself. 
 
 Here Spicer, who has got no nose to speak about — I mean that 
 it is his throat and not his nose which is his weak point — throws 
 in the apt quotation of — ■ 
 
 " Says Aaron to Moses, 
 Let's cut off our noses. 
 Says Moses to Aaron " 
 
 M
 
 162 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Ohivers interrupts him with the air of a man inspired, and who 
 can't wait to be asked, as he'll lose his inspiration for ever, — 
 
 " Says Moses to Aaron, 
 Let's go to La Boiuboule." 
 
 And then it occurs to him that the inspiration has deceived him, 
 that a false voice has spoken to him, and that " La Bourboule " 
 does not rhyme with "Aaron." "But no matter," says Chivers — 
 " the idea's all there, and the rhyme will come afterwards. My 
 name's Easy." 
 
 Spicer has developed into a walking cold. His nose doesn't 
 trouble him — that is the exceptional thing in his cold. It is the 
 gigantic cold of a man without a nose, or of a man to whom the 
 medium of a nose affords no relief. He has become so hoarse as 
 to be almost unintelligible, and so husky as to suggest that he 
 must have been eating a pound of nuts during the night. What 
 an occupation ! Unfortunately Chivers has developed deafness ; 
 and so when Spicer, having addressed any remark to him, has 
 to repeat it, not once or twice, but three or four times, the last 
 time causes him a great effort. How Spicer keeps his temper 
 and loses his voice, is wonderful to me. For instance, Spicer asks, 
 huskily, something, which, to Chivers, sounds like nothing at all, 
 and to me sounds as unintelligible as this sentence, which will 
 carry some sort of idea of my meaning (but not of Spicer's) : — 
 "Havellrel Glallstulspee shesday?" 
 
 Chivers, aw r aking to the fact that an observation has been ad 
 dressed to him by Spicer, turns suddenly to him, and asks, 
 
 "Eh? What?" 
 
 Spicer, with an air of fatigue, repeats the above sentence, when 
 Chivers turns to me, as if asking me to interpret. 
 
 I can't. 
 
 " I'm very sorry," says Chivers, with the forced politeness of a 
 man who has been disturbed in the perusal of a deeply interesting 
 article, as he puts his hand up to his ear, " but I really don't 
 catch " 
 
 Spicer rolls in his chair, as if working up steam for the next 
 effort, leans over towards Chivers, and placing his hand to his 
 mouth as if he were hailing somebody a mile off, shouts, more
 
 LA BOURBOVLE. 
 
 103 
 
 hoarsely than ever — the voice coming up as if through a hubble- 
 bubble pipe when you blow down it instead of drawing — "Have 
 you read Gladstull's speech yesterday ? " 
 
 But Chivers is horribly deaf. "Eh?" he says, looking up at 
 Spicer as if to gather from his expression of face what he has been 
 saying, and so save him the trouble of repeating it. 
 
 Spicer is perspiring — he can't stand the exertion — he mops his 
 face, and is preparing for a supreme effort of bawling, when I 
 inform Chivers, in a mild undertone, that what Spicer wants to 
 
 -MM 
 
 Reflection at La Bourboule 
 
 The Last Nose of Summer. 
 
 know is whether he (Chivers) has read Gladstone's speech of 
 yesterday. 
 
 Chivers regards me with a puzzled expression, and says, " Eh 1 
 What 1 Gladstone ? " Then, when the question asked five minutes 
 ago suddenly dawns upon him, he becomes as radiant as if he had 
 guessed a difficult acrostic, and nodding pleasantly to Spicer, to 
 intimate that all's well that ends well, he repeats, " ' Read the 
 speech of Gladstone ? ' Oh, yes. Wonderful, wasn't it 1 Eh 1 " 
 
 And there the conversation ends, Spicer lying back in his chair, 
 
 M 2
 
 164 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 wiping his forehead, and too exhausted to utter another syllable 
 for the next quarter of an hour. 
 
 Then drivers takes up his Gil Bias, and I take up the Gaulois, 
 and so we merrily pass half of our breakfast-time. 
 
 I feel €hat there is no encouragement to get up a conversation 
 with two companions, of whom one is deaf, and the other very 
 nearly has a fit whenever he tries to speak plainly. 
 
 Thus it is that we are getting down, depressed, low, disappointed 
 with everything. The diet is not exhilarating. Of the vin du 
 pays, which we call "the Generous," the only thing to be said is, 
 that there's not a headache in a bucket of it — mind, I distinctly 
 emphasize head-ache. 
 
 We have no general conversation, for the reason above stated ; 
 and the only topic of interest is our health. Spicer hasn't even 
 got this, as his health seems to have completely broken down, and 
 the traitement with him is absolutely a failure. He has to give it 
 up, and directly his cold is better, and he can render himself 
 intelligible without too severe a strain, he will go away from La 
 "Bourboule " for ever ! "
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 1C5 
 
 THE LAST CHAPTER. 
 
 "off! off! said the stranger." 
 
 HE view wc individually take 
 of the traitement here is this, 
 that " it is good for the other 
 fellow." For example — Chivers 
 thinks that the waters suit me 
 perfectly, but that they don't suit 
 Mm. For my part I hold con- 
 scientiously that the waters don't 
 suit me, but are evidently bene- 
 fiting Chivers. Spicer is of opinion 
 that the traitement suits us both, 
 but that he ought never to have 
 been sent here. We tell him 
 that he is vastly better for the 
 course. 
 
 Chivers returns to his first 
 opinion, and exclaims, " I believe 
 it's all humbug. Look at my nose ! " 
 
 I do look at his nose, and affirm— -je constate— that it is dis- 
 tinctly better. It is a wiser and a better nose than when it came 
 here. 
 
 " So is yours," says Chivers, as if he were uttering a retort. 
 " But," we all three put it, " if the waters can be bottled and 
 sent to England, why not go through all this at home ? " 
 
 The only evident answer to this is, that there are fourteen 
 Doctors at La Bourboule. And the fourteen Doctors of La 
 Bourboule must live. At least, they think so; that is their 
 opinion, as Doctors. 
 
 This is in our minds and on our lips as we sit down to our 
 frugal dinner, when suddenly there enters Dr. Probite to see his 
 patients.
 
 ICG VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Now, a Doctor should never come, professionally, to see his 
 patients at meal-times. It is unfair. It is the Schoolmaster 
 paying a visit to his young friend during the holidays. If the 
 Doctor comes, it must be as a guest. He accepts, with pleasure. 
 " Lesbia hath a beaming eye" — but not so beaming as Dr. Probite's, 
 when he consents to join his three patients at dinner, and goes- 
 out to hang up his hat and coat in the outer hall. "While he is 
 away, we say, as by one inspiration, " Noiu we'll get out of him 
 the truth about La Bourboule." 
 
 In a moment d'egarement we expect to hear him laugh outright 
 under our very noses, to see him throw himself back in his chair 
 (after the tenth bottle of " the Generous "), and exclaim " La 
 Bourboule be blowed ! Entre nous, and not letting it go beyond 
 this table, La Bourboule is humbug, and the traitement bosh ! " 
 
 Then shall we pulverise him 1 No. He is our guest, and the 
 laws of hospitality will have to be respected. 
 
 We are looking forward to Frightful Bevelations about the La 
 Bourboule Swindle, when our Doctor enters, merrily rubbing his 
 hands. 
 
 But — shall I reveal the secrets of the dinner-table 1 Never ! 
 
 What if our Doctor gave us a dispensation for once and away ? 
 What if we availed ourselves of it to any extent under his able 
 advice and distinct encouragement 1 Is it for me to " split " on 
 my brave companions 1 Perish the thought ! And suppose I 
 cannot remember one quarter of the good things said — or what 
 time we retired to rest — or whether the Landlord looked in to say 
 that everyone had been in bed for hours, and that nothing more 
 could be had, not even Vals Waters 1 and suppose that even now, 
 in trying to recall the events of that night, I have some vague 
 recollection of how we all wanted to sally forth to find the real, 
 unadulterated, original spring of the La Bourboule waters ; how 
 we thought we saw before us a new Company to be started, which 
 should deal with this real spring, wherever it might be ; and how 
 we were for arguing the legal points as to who was the real owner 
 of the waters of La Bourboule, and whether, being a natural 
 product, and for the benefit of mankind, it ought to be in the 
 hands of anybody in particular, except ourselves; and whether 
 we could cut the La Bourboule water off and take it somewhere
 
 LA BOURBOULE. 
 
 107 
 
 else ; and how the Landlord reappeared, and said he must put out 
 the gas, and how he was dubious about trusting us with candles ; 
 and how he saw us safely to our rooms ; and how we didn't 
 know exactly when the Doctor had left us, — whether he had gone 
 out by the door or had disappeared under the table, — suppose, I 
 say, that all this were so, — what does it prove 1 
 
 I think it proves that we were very much better. 
 
 Chivers is dismayed at the prospect of having to pack up for 
 himself. " I'll never come out again without someone to pack up 
 
 The "Traitement; " or, Theory and Practice. 
 
 for me," he says. Spicer suggests that he should be accompanied 
 by Eastern slaves. Why not by " Packer's Band ? " His name 
 is Easy, but his task is difficult. 
 
 AVe all start for Paris. Charles, the faithful Chasseur, is at the 
 P. L. M. Station (we have returned by a different route, and have 
 seen Royat in passing, which is a charming place we all agree, as 
 far as we can judge of it from our carriage-window, and we regret 
 not having been there instead of at La Bourboule), and he has 
 taken my room for me at the Grand Hotel, which I reach at about 
 a quarter before midnight. At the last moment I catch sight of 
 the Gentleman whose name is Easy having a row with a porter
 
 1G8 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 and a cabman, while Spicer, whom the waters of La Bourboule 
 have quite deprived of his voice, is gesticulating to an amiable 
 coachman who, apparently, doesn't or won't understand him. 
 
 The next day — oh, the comfort of a good breakfast at the 
 Grand ! It is in the off-season, yet it is a breakfast worth eating, 
 and the dishes are not cooked cl la mode de La Bourboule with bad 
 butter or tallow-candle grease. 
 
 In the evening Chivers and myself appear, after our long ab- 
 sence, in the character of deux viveurs attables cliez Bignon, et apres 
 le diner, bnvant le cafe en fumant de bons cigares, hearing from the 
 head-waiter Henri how dull everything has been, and is ; and how 
 the foreigners have been scared away by the report of cholera, and 
 habitue's have departed for the chasse, or are still disporting them- 
 selves on the sea coast. We drink Dr. Probite's health (at a dis- 
 tance — bless him !) in a couple of bottles of Pontet-Canet, and, 
 for the first time for nearly a month, are able to enjoy what it is 
 just to Bignon's to call an extra good dinner — for which it is 
 equally just to Bignon's to add we pay an extra good price. A 
 couple of quails — excellent, I admit — cost us ten francs, and this 
 iu the first week of September. A peach,— Chivers said " any- 
 thing would do for him," and insisted on having a peach, — was 
 half-a-crown. Mais, que voidez-vous ? We don't escape from the 
 prison-fare of La Bourboule every day, — thank goodness ! After 
 this light entertainment we visit the Eden Theatre, where Excelsior 
 is still going on, but sadly shorn of its first glory. 
 
 There we meet Spicer, who has already partially recovered the 
 use of his voice. He is full of regrets ; his chief regret being that 
 he did not go to see Guignol at La Bourboule. He has half a 
 mind to retrace his steps. In this state of indecision we leave 
 him on a wet night at the corner of the Rue Scribe, and, wishing 
 one another farewell, we separate, each one taking his own way, 
 as he has done before the treatment of La Bourboule had brought 
 us together for three short weeks of our life. And so ends our 
 trip to La Bourboule, where, as far as I can say at present, it 
 seems to me I have been " very much abroad."
 
 ROYAT.
 
 SOME ACCOUNT OF 
 
 A VISIT TO ROYAT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW IT CAME ABOUT — WHO ADVISED IT — WHO AGREED TO IT- 
 WHO WENT WHO DIDN'T GO. 
 
 JT VERYBODY— that 
 
 is everybody to whose 
 friendly judgment I submit 
 my intention of going to 
 
 Royat-les-Bains 
 
 says, 
 
 "What on earth are you 
 going to Roy at for ?" Which 
 question only proves how 
 little they know of me, 
 physiologically, and of 
 Royat, medicinally. 
 
 I could write a philo- 
 sophical treatise on this in- 
 quiry of my friends. When 
 they say, " What on earth 
 do you go to Royat for?" 
 does it mean that they will 
 provide me with something better if I don't go ? Does it mean that 
 they are going to stop in town, and are so anxious for my society 
 that they can't spare me? A hundred similar queries suggest 
 themselves to be summed up in one very simple one, which is, 
 "Do they mean anything at all?" and, "Do they care one snap 
 
 J^>Vtf
 
 172 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 of the finger and thumb" (to put it classically) "where I go to, 
 as long as I don't bother them?" Friendship has its limits, and 
 its seasons. 
 
 The foregoing is merely a hint as to what variations I could play 
 on such a theme. 
 
 My immediate answer to my friends is that " T am ordered to go 
 there." This sounds better than "recommended," as implying 
 that my departure for Royat is a matter of vital importance to 
 myself and also to my friends. So I speak as if I were a soldier, 
 " ordered off at a moment's notice, to take the field," — a phrase 
 which is more suggestive of the betting man than the soldier — and 
 I expect my friends to accept this as sufficiently explaining why I 
 choose Royat in preference to Vichy, Aixdes-Bains, La Bourboule, 
 Mont-Dore, Homburg, Luchon, or any other watering-place. They 
 have, all of them, the air of resenting my choice of Royat as a 
 personal affront to them individually and collectively ; or if not 
 exactly as a personal affront, at least as showing on my part a want 
 of consideration for their feelings. If they do not mean this, 
 why does my old friend Holdum, lunching at his table by the Club 
 window, exclaim with an appearance of surprise, and in an injured 
 tone, " Why Royat ? " and turn away to look out of the window, 
 as if my conduct was too painful for him to trust himself even to 
 regard me one moment longer without weeping. 
 
 Why does Tom Underleep, whom I only see to speak to for a few 
 minutes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, when he is waiting furtively 
 in the Club hall to waylay the new number of the World or Truth, 
 and, so to speak, get the first cut at it before it has become as 
 stale as the caviare which was opened for some one a fortnight ago ; 
 why, I ask, does Tom Underleep, to whom it can matter nothing 
 where I go or what I do, suddenly take upon himself to look up 
 from his Truth or World, and growl in a discontented manner, 
 " Why do you go to Royat ? " as though he had already made up 
 his mind to go there himself, and was afraid there wouldn't be 
 room for both of us 1 That those of my medical acquaintance who 
 are interested in other health-resorts, should strongly advise their 
 particular fancies, was to be expected; but that my familiar 
 friends should be hurt by the announcement of my resolution of 
 visiting Royat, seems to call for some preliminary explanation of
 
 BOYAT. 173 
 
 my apparently, to them, strange conduct ; for they look askance 
 at me as if, when I am out of the room, they will tap their fore- 
 heads significantly, muttering, " Poor chap ! something wrong in 
 this quarter " (meaning my head)—" going to Royat ! Must be oft* 
 his nut ! " and so on. Well, this is my explanation : — 
 
 Happening one day to be having a scientific chat with my friend 
 Dr. Putteney — Hammond Putteney, M.D., the well-known author 
 of that brochure which created such a sensation in society about 
 three years ago, entitled How to get Fat in Tivo Minutes, and even 
 more celebrated in the medical and scientific world through bis 
 learned treatises on The Unnecessary Fabrication of Vital Tissue 
 (25th Thousand), On the Treatment of Vehicular Disease on the 
 Loiver Lugnosis (50th Thousand), On Vicarious Phiningitis of the 
 Assimilated Cuticles (with Diagrams in Colours — 8th Edition, 
 Revised and Corrected by the Author), and, I should add, famed 
 in the French, German, and Italian Schools of Medicine, for his 
 brilliant discovery of the Clignotic Movement of the Nervous Tegocular 
 Membrane, which has already revolutionised the treatment of this 
 mysterious mechanism in the human frame, which is now known 
 among the Faculty as " Putteney's Membrane " — happening to be 
 chatting with Dr. Putteney about his own state of health, which 
 was puzzling him considerably, and, incidentally, about my own, he 
 suddenly looked up, and said with an air of the deepest conviction, 
 " There's only one place for you, — Pioyat ! " 
 
 When Dr. Hammond Putteney, sitting easily on a garden-chair, 
 — that is, as easily as it is possible to sit on a garden-chair, — enjoy- 
 ing a big cigar, suddenly brings his knees sharply together, jerks 
 his body bolt upright, adjusts his spectacles with his left hand, 
 Avhile in his right he takes his cigar (which he thenceforth uses as 
 if it were a piece of chalk, and he were a lecturer drawing a 
 diagram on an invisible black-board, and emphasising his discourse 
 with it), he is immediately transformed from a round-visaged jolly- 
 looking person, a compromise between a young English Squire and 
 a superior German Student (after a series of soap-and-water baths) 
 avIio was wearing his Professor's gold-rimmed spectacles for a lark, 
 to the respectable English scientific, professional practitioner of 
 several years standing. — and, I am bound to say, the metamorphosis 
 is as astounding as it is complete and entire.
 
 174 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 His manner is earnest, his action energetic, and his speech 
 determined, a combination which would give a tone of severity to 
 any other man, but not to Dr. Putteney, whose hair, what there is 
 of it, is very light and thin, and whose features, guiltless of any 
 sign of moustache, beard, or whiskers, more nearly resemble those 
 of the conventional cherub than any other variety of the human 
 physiognomy with which I am acquainted. 
 
 There was " once upon a time," a learned person, a Doctor, not 
 of medicine, but of divinity, who was distinguished as "The 
 Angelic Doctor." I feel inclined to borrow a hint from this title, 
 and christen Dr. Putteney " The Cherubic Doctor." I would not 
 wish it to be thought that I adopt all the consequences of this 
 simile, as Cherubs are usually represented on tombstones as 
 blowing trumpets, presumably their own ; and I am bound to say 
 that this is a sort of thing Dr. Hammond Putteney never does. 
 If he blows trumpets at all, they are not his own instruments, but 
 those of his friends, and these he blows loudly. To-day, — the 
 day this dialogue takes place, — he sounds the Ptoyat trumpet, 
 and plays upon it a marvellously fascinating tune ; so much so 
 indeed, that my Cousin Jane at once agrees with him, that 
 Royat is the place for me, Dr. Putteney having long ago settled 
 that she, as his patient, was to go there before the London season 
 was over. 
 
 "You must go," cried Mrs. Dinderlin, enthusiastically. She is 
 also under Dr. Putteney 's orders. " It has done me such a lot of 
 good every year." She is a pale diaphanous lady with a rather 
 high-pitched voice, and quick incisive manner of speaking that will 
 not brook contradiction. 
 
 " It does everyone good," cuts in Dr. Putteney, authoritatively, 
 evidently not wishing to go into such useless details as to the 
 nature of the ailments from which his various patients, for whom 
 he has prescribed, or is prescribing, Royat, are suffering. "It 
 does everyone good, and," turning to me, "it'll do yoti good espe- 
 cially — and so you'll go — and I'll get your rooms, and see you all 
 through your treatment, and you'll start with your cousin, who 
 is off next Saturday, and I leave to-morrow. So that's settled ; " 
 and, dropping the character of the Cherubic Doctor, he proceeds 
 to throw himself back in his chair, kicks up his legs on to another
 
 ROY AT. 
 
 175 
 
 chair, lights a fresh cigar, and with his face wreathed in smiles, he 
 is once more transformed into the hearty, boyish young English 
 Squire, wdio has been spending a year among the German Students, 
 and is wearing, always for a lark, his Professor's gold-rimmed 
 spectacles. 
 
 I have one short interview on our way home from the Richmond 
 Club ; it is in that garden the memorable conversation takes place 
 
 -< ~\ 
 
 The Cherubic Doctor. 
 
 which decides me. To Royat I go. And so I sing with Cousin 
 Jane the duet from Manon, which I adapt to the occasion — 
 
 " A Royat 
 
 Nous irons, 
 Tous les deux, tous les deux ! " 
 
 The second line is, curiously enough, very suggestive of the waters 
 of Royat, if "irons "were pronounced as in English. There is 
 plenty of " irons," not " in the fire," but in the water of Royat. 
 For the rest of the week we have " Waters on the brain," and we 
 cannot quote the line as applicable to our case (mine and Jane's) 
 if Eaux/ no, we never mention them ! " for we are perpetually
 
 17G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 talking about them. Either Cousin Jane is calling on me, or 
 I on Jane. Her husband can't go with her, but he holds 
 out some hopes of his just looking in, that is if, as I under- 
 stand him, he finds Royat is on his way to Scotland, where 
 he has to go on particular business, not unconnected (I fancy, 
 though I wouldn't make mischief for the world) with a 
 fishing-rod and gun. But no matter. I am to take care of Jane 
 (who, between ourselves, is of an age to be perfectly able to take 
 care of herself), and her husband has only to see her off at the 
 Station, confide her to my care (why can't he come himself? he 
 had said he would, and then changed his mind) and that of Dr. 
 Putteney as medical attendant at Royat, and pay the bills. So 
 Dr. Putteney precedes us with some other patients, including 
 the diaphanous Mrs. Dinderlin, giving himself a week's start in 
 order (it is very kind of him) to have everything ready for our 
 reception.
 
 ROYAT. 
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PRIVATE REASONS FOR GOING TO ROYAT START WHAT IS IT ' 
 
 MY PRETTY JANE THE BAGGAGE — A FRIGHT — NO INDICATEUR 
 
 — WHERE? — GREENGAGE — QUALIFYING FOR ROYAT— PARIS — OFF 
 
 — NO INDICATEUR ON THE LINE CLERMONT - FERRAND 
 
 ARRIVAL REJOICINGS PRIVE — ON THE ROOF IN OUR ROOMS 
 
 A DOUBT. 
 
 W 
 
 E START. Cousin Jane's hus- 
 band sees us off by train, and then 
 leaves her to me and the Doctor who has 
 charge of her health at Royat. 
 
 Never in the long water-course of my 
 unhealthy experience have I ever visited 
 a station tJtermale under such favourable 
 circumstances as the present. For to be 
 in company with an English Doctor who 
 has several patients under his care, and 
 who is on the spot to appeal to at any 
 hour of the day, and in your own lan- 
 guage too, whatever sudden change may 
 happen to you, is not this to be under 
 the eye, as it were, of a Special Provi- 
 dence ? And then Dr. Putteney is a 
 personal friend ; he will not look upon 
 me as a strange Doctor would, as a mere 
 body, which means a no-body, but as a 
 somebody. At the present moment I am 
 bound to say that I feel, and look, uncommonly well. 
 
 Jane is rather poitrinaire-ish. and what she calls "rheu- 
 matic," but Pm sure that her symptoms are simply gouty. How- 
 ever she'll soon know the truth at Royat. She won't believe 
 me, though I've told her over and over again that she has incipient 
 gout. 
 
 N 
 
 The Colonel.
 
 178 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Certainly, as far as I am concerned, there are symptoms — but 
 surely these may be rheumatism or overworkism, but quite impos- 
 sible that a shooting pain down my foot, and a red-hot twinge in 
 my right toe, can be gout ! Absurd ! 
 
 I admit that, in any other person, such symptoms would be 
 decidedly and unequivocally demonstrative of gout. But in myself 
 — oh dear no — perish the thought ! Still I should like to know 
 exactly what it is ; only let my doctors thoroughly understand 
 this beforehand, that whatever it may be, it isn't gout. 
 
 Dr. Putteney has said, " We will find out what it is when 
 we get you to Roy at." So to Roy at I go on a sort of voyage of 
 discovery. 
 
 " We fly by night." Lovely weather. Bad crossing for many 
 people, including Jane, for the sea is decidedly rough, though the 
 Heavens above are clear, and the moon and stars shining brightly. 
 I am well ; yet I feel that any injudicious movement on my part, 
 or two extra careless lurches finishing with a going-any-how sort 
 of roll on the part of the steamer, would destroy the balance of 
 comfort and number me among the victims of sea-sickness. The 
 sensation caused by this dubious sort of all-rightness, the reason 
 of which I can't understand, is so peculiar that there are minutes 
 when I almost envy the sufferers. 
 
 We arrive at Calais : Jane a mere wreck, myself still in an 
 abnormal state of all-rightness. Not being famished at the 
 moment, we purchase a little refreshment to take with us. I find 
 time hanging rather heavily on my hands ; the train is pretty full, 
 but we have secured our seats. Our companions are three grubby- 
 looking Englishmen, who would not be useful as advertisements 
 for any soap. 
 
 I wonder (to Jane) why we do not start. Jane wonders too ; 
 but being sleepy, she is indifferent to all that is going on, 
 and to all that is not going on, including our train. A bell 
 rings: "En voiture — pour Paris — en voiture ! '" Jane from her 
 dim and distant corner faintly inquires, " I suppose our 
 luggage is all right ? " This is her fixed idea : that in travelling 
 abroad, your luggage must go wrong. I reply of course it's all 
 right, and am explaining that when once it is registered through, 
 you need not trouble yourself about it till you reach your
 
 ROYAT. 179 
 
 destination " — when it suddenly flashes across me that I had been 
 strictly charged, on starting, to remember that all luggage for 
 Royat would be examined at Calais, and not at Paris. Heavens, 
 there are two minutes ! As if struck by an electric shock, I jump 
 up, safely accomplish the difficult feat of letting myself clown from 
 the carriage — which is as if I were escaping from an attic-window 
 — (why are all these French compartments such a height from the 
 ground ?) rush across the line, on to the platform, and excitedly 
 demand the douane. 
 
 In a tone of utter indifference two officials pause in their 
 conversation to ask me what I said, to which, when repeated 
 with an adjuration for pity's sake to stop the train, they reply 
 by pointing out the office " au bout, — la-bas" — and I run to the 
 extremity of the station, burst in among the douaniers, claim 
 our bagages (there are no others), swearing by everything I hold 
 sacred that there is nothing contraband in any one of my pieces, 
 pointing out that if they stop to examine any of them I shall lose 
 my train, — the train that is going to Royat, — that it is not a 
 matter of smuggling, but that it is ma sante qui est enjeu, that on 
 them will be the responsibility if . . . when the chef (bless him !) 
 accepting my assurances, goodnaturedly passes them, tells off a 
 couple of porters to place them in the train, and grateful beyond 
 expression, except in bows which are rapid but profuse — for never 
 did man make so many obeisances or do such wonderful things 
 with a hat in one second, as I do on this occasion, — I return the 
 way I came, and forgetting to remunerate the porters, rush back 
 to our carriage — there is no difficulty in finding it, as Jane's head 
 and shoulders are leaning out of the door, and her looks are as 
 distracted as Sister Anne's must have been when she didn't see 
 anyone coining — scale the dizzy height, not without injury to my 
 trousers, and once more take my seat, telling her that it is all 
 right. 
 
 Scarcely are the words out of my mcuth, when up come two 
 guards and address me brusquely, as if obeying such a word of 
 command as " Up, Guards, and at 'em !" " What do they say?" 
 asks Jane. That we are not in the right carriage for Royat/ No, 
 I know we are not ; but we intend, I inform them with the air of 
 a traveller who knows his way about, and has done this sort of
 
 130 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 thing before, to drive across Paris, and not go by the Ceinture ; 
 and so, Misters, yon see we are in the right carriage for that any- 
 how. " Guards," baffled, retire. Then suddenly Jane produces a 
 paper-bag full of greengages. She has bought them at the station, 
 liecause it was better than getting anything to drink. Well, it's 
 not a bad idea. 
 
 Fruit is always wholesome. I try one. Only one is possible : 
 all the others are as hard as their own stones, and have to be 
 thrown away scarcely indented. Indented ! — Ah ! that greengage 
 .... I bit it. I partially ate it .... it was sweetish .... 
 it was sourish .... it was bitter .... and " this indenture 
 
 witnesseth." But never again, a greengage ripe or unripe, 
 
 when travelling. The next thing (which I do not attribute to the 
 greengage) is that I sneeze three times, and find that I have caught 
 cold. Already I am qualifying for Royat. 
 
 Whenever I go abroad again (I made this Mem. mentally home 
 time ago) I will on arrival buy an Indlcateur des Chemins de 
 Fer, which is the French Bradshaiv, and most useful not only 
 for tho time one is away, but also, as they do not alter the 
 hours of their trains very much, whenever one wants to sit down 
 comfortably at home and map out a trip from place to place in 
 France. 
 
 At Calais there is no bookstall open. Cannot procure the 
 Indlcateur. Perhaps at Boulogne. Boulogne no stoppage to 
 speak of. All very dark. No sign of bookstall. Consequently no 
 Indlcateur. Can procure one somewhere along the line. Book- 
 stall at Amiens ; no Indlcateur. Never mind ; sure to get one at 
 the Nord or at the Paris- Lyon Station. 
 
 Journey as usual. Alternately sleepy and wakeful. The Three 
 Dirty Men fast asleep, and breathing heavily, but not snoring. 
 Two of them become quite disjointed, and tumble up against 
 cr.ch other like badly-packed sacks. I envy their deep sleep. 
 Whenever I wake up and look at them they seem each 
 time to have become hotter and dirtier, but faster asleep 
 than ever. 
 
 At Paris, my trusty friend, George Layzo, has sent the invaluable 
 Commissionnaire David, in full uniform, at 5 - 50 a.m., to take 
 charge of us, see us across Paris, secure rooms where we can get
 
 ROYAT. 181 
 
 " a wash and brush-up," then breakfast, when David produces to- 
 day's Matin, and gives me all the latest, or earliest, news of Paris. 
 With nearly another hour to spare, we saunter about, buying 
 books and papers, while David secures for us a coupe a recoulons, 
 in which we place our small impedimenta, and then we see the 
 carriages, which have taken all this time getting round Paris by 
 the Ceinture line from the Nord station to that of the Paris- Lyon, 
 where we are now, coming in slowly, and being joined on to our 
 part of the train. 
 
 Just as we are leaving I remember that I haven't bought an 
 Indicateur. We are actually moving. Through the noise of bells 
 and steam-whistles I call out to David, " Indicateur — il me faut 
 tin Indicateur ! Vite I vite ! " David nods amiably towards me, 
 smiles, takes off his cap, salutes me, and evidently hasn't an idea 
 of what I have been shrieking out to him. Never mind. Some- 
 where along the line I can get one. Certainly at Nevers. Nevers 
 for Ever ! Not a bit. 
 
 Owing to a break- down on the part of the engine — very 
 volatile conduct of an engine doing a "break-down," but 
 perhaps it is its way of letting off a little of the superfluous 
 steam — our stoppages at the stations are so uncertain, that it is 
 very risky to leave our carriage at all. In some places, where an 
 official tells us we are to stop two minutes, Ave remain very nearly 
 ten, though it is impossible to foresee this, and as far as appear- 
 ances go, — Guards in their places, doors shut, man ready with 
 flag, telegraph bell ceased — we are ready to start at any moment 
 (and here is the danger to the unfortunate voyageur), and at the 
 shortest possible notice. At other stations, where they profess to 
 stay ten minutes, they give us scarcely two, and I am actually on 
 my way to a bookstall to purchase an Indicateur, when I hear " En 
 voiture, s'il vous plait ! " and I hurry back again just in time to 
 climb up into the carriage, grazing my knees in the effort, and to 
 throw myself at the feet of Cousin Jane, who is almost in a state 
 of collapse at the idea of my being left behind with the tickets, 
 and the luggage ticket too, in my pocket. 
 
 So I give up my search for an Indicateur until I shall arrive at 
 Clermont-Ferrand. 
 
 Cousin Jane's anxietv is still about the luggage. She does not
 
 182 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 believe that it can get on by itself, but is of opinion that it ought 
 to be somewhere within reach of the eye, at least. This disturbs 
 her equanimity, — what disturbs mine is that early greengage. As 
 the time goes on, and as we go on along that apparently inter- 
 minable journey, I am becoming more and more the invalid at 
 every station, until we arrive at Clermont-Ferrand, when I am 
 prostrate. What I feel fit for is to be carried to a dark room, to 
 be laid on a sofa, to be covered up, and to moan and groan till 
 I'm better. At all events, to suffer alone, and keep my misery to 
 myself. 
 
 As it happens I am compelled to keep my misery to myself, for 
 here, on the platform, is Dr. Putteney, looking the picture of 
 health, and more jovially cherubic than ever, lifting his white 
 hat on a stick with one hand, and waving a white and yellow 
 handkerchief furiously with the other, as if he were a bookmaker 
 on a race-course anxious to indicate the precise spot where 
 he is to be found. It really expresses his delight at our safe 
 arrival. 
 
 Near him is Mrs. Dinderlin, telegraphing to us with her sun- 
 shade, while a stoutish, elderly gentleman, of decidedly foreign ap- 
 pearance, in straw T hat, coloured shirt, big white tie, knee-breeches, 
 and riding boots, and carrying under one arm a very small toy Skye- 
 terrier, is moving towards me (I say " me," for I have lost sight 
 of Cousin Jane in the crowd), gesticulating with a whip, his face 
 (which I seem to recognize, but without being able to associate it 
 with a name or a place) beaming with smiles as he cries, — " Alio ! 
 Alio ! Here they are ! Kom tis way — I show you. Here — ter 
 Arnspektur, he will take your teekets," — and before I have time 
 to ask anything, or to explain quietly how unw T ell I feel, to Dr. 
 Putteney, who will insist on still continuing a kind of savage war- 
 dance while waving his hat and stick — much to the astonishment 
 of the natives, who set him down as an eccentric Englishman, but 
 of course haven't a notion that he is a medical man — fortunately 
 his practice is in London and not here, or such conduct would ruin 
 his chances — I say before I have time or opportunity to say" a 
 word to Dr. Putteney privately, the excited foreign gentleman in 
 sporting costume has snatched the tickets out of my hand, handed 
 them to the collector, and is lugging me through the crowd,
 
 ROYAT. 183 
 
 saying, "Eet is all-right. Tis man here, the Commissionnaire, 
 will see to all your baggage." It is booked for Royat, I say, and 
 this station is Clermont-Ferrand. (Ja ne fail rien, — meme chose. 
 You go by road — drive more quick as the train, and we will be at 
 ter Otel before the baggage. Allons I 
 
 We have come at such a pace, by the force of my foreign friend's 
 energy, through the station and out into the road, that I have been 
 unable to look round. Now I see before me a landau with two 
 horses, and a driver in a blouse (this reminds me of La Bourboule), 
 and in the carriage is seated Cousin Jane (how on earth did she 
 get there 1), Mrs. Dinderlin (who, a minute ago, was on the plat- 
 form), and another lady, petite, handsome, dark, with very bright 
 eyes and a lovely complexion, while Dr. Hammond Putteney, 
 white hat in hand, and still in the highest possible spirits, is 
 holding the door open for me to step up, and addressing me with 
 great glee as "Altesse." He says, " Montez, Altesse/" in the 
 hearing of the crowd of porters and omnibus-conductors, travellers, 
 idlers, and railway officials. 
 
 The Commissionnaire of the Hotel grins from ear to ear. 
 He knows that it isn't an Altesse; and even the idlers in 
 the crowd are too busy to trouble their heads about anyone's 
 affairs but their own. So Dr. Putteney's joke falls a little flat 
 except as regards himself, with whom it is a great success and 
 "goes" enormously. 
 
 The bright-eyed lady is Madame Leverriez, to whom I am at 
 once introduced by Mrs. Dinderlin, and I am preparing a few 
 casual observations in my best French, when, addressing Cousin 
 Jane and myself, our new acquaintance says, in excellent English, 
 "You must be very tired after your journey, but really you both 
 look quite fresh." 
 
 It is disappointing, when you expect French, to be addressed in 
 English. For a moment my command over my own native tongue 
 seems to have left me, so completely had I made up my mind to 
 reply in a foreign tongue. 
 
 Colonel Leverriez puts the very small dog which he has been 
 carrying on his wife's lap, and says, " My dear, take Lili back wit 
 you. She will be lost in ter crowd, and tere are so many leetei 
 dogs and poppies about. Ter Docteur and myself, we will go
 
 184 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 witter baggage ; it is registered for Royat, and we will be at ter 
 Otel as soon as you. Allons ! Docteur ! " 
 
 The Cherubic Doctor has been standing by, gaily beaming on 
 everything and everybody through his gold-rimmed spectacles, 
 with the air of a man who has done his duty with the happiest 
 possible results. He is awoke from his ecstatic day-dream by a 
 smack on the back from Colonel Leverriez, who, in spite of his 
 slightly grey moustache, has more the air of a big boy out for a 
 holiday than of a dignified warrior. However, as everything 
 seems for the best in this best of all possible watering-places, the 
 Cherubic Doctor only utters a gentle remonstrance, expressed in 
 the words, " Oh come, I say," when the Colonel, taking him quite 
 affectionately by the elbow, and bending his head over him 
 as if he were imparting to him some amusing information of 
 a strictly private and personal character, walks him off, and 
 they disappear in the crowd which is still swarming about the 
 station. 
 
 Through Clermont-Ferrand. Even at a first visit, and coming 
 from the train as we are, tired and dirty, and more inclined to 
 shut our eyes than open them, it strikes me as a very remarkable 
 old town. As we leave it, I see the beautiful towers of the 
 Cathedral, which, like the Crystal Palace, are visible from every- 
 where ; and they have certain advantages over their lofty rival the 
 Puy-de-D6me, which is some ten miles or so higher up in the air, 
 perpendicularly, inasmuch as they can be seen in pretty nearly 
 all weathers, while the Puy is frequently in difficulties, that is, 
 "under a cloud;" they can also be mounted by the curious 
 traveller in search of a view for considerably less than it costs 
 to ascend the competing mountain ; and the city being situated 
 in a plain, the Cathedral towers are, so to speak, within 
 everybody's reach. 
 
 I look forward to revisiting Clermont-Ferrand, where there are, 
 the ladies inform Cousin Jane, excellent shops, and a really very 
 good dress-maker (only away twenty-one days for a water-cure, 
 and they can't do without a dress-maker !) and I see at once 
 that Royat, which is to Clermont-Ferrand what Kensington is to 
 London, is far superior in the resources of civilisation to my old 
 friend La Bourboule.
 
 ROY AT. 185 
 
 When we are well on our way to Royat I suddenly give a start 
 — I can't help it — and Mrs. Dinderlin anxiously asks me if there's 
 anything the matter. 
 
 "I've quite forgot " I say. 
 
 " The luggage ! " cries Jane. " I knew it ! I felt certain " 
 
 " No, no," I hasten to reassure her. " The luggage is all 
 right. You'll see it at Royat. But — I've quite forgotten the 
 Indicateur ! " 
 
 "Oh, well," soys Jane, who always likes to offer consolation, 
 " you can easily get one here, or on our road back." 
 
 Yes ; I will. I must get one here, in case we want to return 
 by some other route. But it is curious that during so many 
 hundred miles from London to Clermont-Ferrand, I have not been 
 able to purchase an Indicateur des Chemins de Fer. So strongly 
 am I bent on procuring an Indicateur, that for the moment all 
 other considerations of health seem to have been put aside, and 
 my one object in coming to Royat appears to have been (un- 
 consciously to myself up till now) the purchase of a French Rail- 
 way Guide, price seventy-five centimes. 
 
 Up-hill all the way, under a viaduct, past some gardens and a 
 stand of voitures on our left, past hotels, shops, and booths, post- 
 office, more hotels, round a corner, up-hill again, and into a sort of 
 tea-garden, where there are tables and seats under the trees, which 
 is the court-yard of our hotel, the Hotel Continental. This court- 
 yard adjoins a terrace, which I ascertain by walking to the balus- 
 trade at the edge and looking over, is actually the leads of the 
 Premier and Splendid Hotels, commanding one of the finest 
 views in Royat of the park below and of the distant country. 
 In point of fact we have driven upstairs, and alighted on the 
 roof of the hotel where we are going to stop. This is astonishing, 
 but true. 
 
 A sharp-eyed, pleasant-faced young man steps forward. This, 
 says Madame Leverriez, is Monsieur Baehl the Manager. Once 
 more I am preparing my best, or second-best, French for Monsieur 
 Baehl, and once more I am disappointed. 
 
 " Your rooms are ready, Madam," he says politely to Cousin 
 Jane, in English which scarcely betrays the accent of any
 
 ISO 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 nationality. " You would like to see them ? This way, I will 
 show you." 
 
 And so he bows us pleasantly off the roof, and we find that we 
 have only one short flight of stairs to descend in order to reach 
 our rooms on the top floor of the hotel below. And so here we 
 are at Royat ! Charming rooms ! 
 
 " And the luggage 1 " exclaims Jane, looking blankly at me. 
 
 " It must have arrived," says M. Baehl, reassuringly, and so he 
 conducts us back again to the court-yard on the roof.
 
 R YA T. 
 
 1ST 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 One of the gracious Nymphs 
 of the Eugenie Fountain. 
 
 ARRIVAL COMPLETED — REMARKS ON SITE — DINNER COMPANY 
 
 RESTRICTIONS CASINO— LITTLE HORSES- — RISKS AN INTRO- 
 DUCTION" RETIREMENT — NIGHT — MORNING THE FIRST GLASS. 
 
 THE luggage has arrived. The 
 Cherubic Doctor and the Colonel 
 have been carried up with it by the 
 omnibus, and the whole lot, consisting 
 of the two men and the four boxes, 
 have been safely deposited on to the 
 roof of our hotel. 
 
 " To what addi'ess shall we have our 
 letters sent 1 " I ask M. Baehl. 
 
 " Oh," replies our obliging Manager, 
 " it is all the same. We are five 
 hotels, one on the top of another, the 
 Premier, the Splendid, the Conti- 
 nental, the Chabassiere, and the 
 Annexe. Address which you like, Sir : the letters are sure to 
 come safe." 
 
 " Pairfaitly," says the Colonel. " Terc ees er man who cannot 
 read : he sort all ter letters, and tey arc delivered all right. 
 Vonterful ! " And he smiles encouragingly on M. Baehl, as if he 
 had been bestowing the highest praise on the method adopted. 
 
 Three of the above-mentioned hotels seem to have been built in 
 the lower part, and the two others are built against the upper 
 part of a rocky mountain side, an advantageous site, probably the 
 result of a prehistoric volcanic eruption — (which could not of 
 itself have thrown up a whole collection of hotels from the dejiths 
 of its own inner volcanic consciousness) — and from the garden- 
 court-yard, where the salle a manger is situated, and which there- 
 fore is the centre of attraction to all the visitors, are various flights 
 of steps leading down to mysterious-looking door-ways and passages, 
 so that this garden resembles the feeding ground of a human 
 rabbit-warren, and we are the bunnies who at stated times come
 
 188 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 out of our holes, run up to feed, and, having finished our meal, we 
 pop back into our holes, not to be seen all together again till next 
 feeding-time. 
 
 "Now," says Dr. Hammond Putteney, "we give you twenty 
 minutes to prepare for dinner. We are already late," and his face 
 actually assumes a look of severity, which is probably not entirely 
 unconnected with an interior appreciation of the emptiness of most 
 human organisations at a certain fixed hour. 
 
 None of us require any further hint, the Colonel and Madame 
 Leverriez are already disappearing down into a hole on the left of 
 the warren, Ave catch a glimpse of the last of Mrs. Dinderlin's 
 skirt as she vanishes into another hole opposite, Mr. Baehl retires 
 into his bureau hole, the waiters, who have come out to take 
 stock of the new arrivals, are scampering back into their salle d, 
 manger hole. Dr. Hammond Putteney runs down an incline, and 
 apparently goes head-first into his own particular hole. The 
 Concierge, in blue and silver livery, appears out of a sort of game- 
 keeper's hut on the premises (and perhaps it is at the sight of him 
 that all the rabbits have scuttled away frightened), the Chamber- 
 maid and Boots belonging to our e'tage appear on the steps leading 
 to our rooms, and following their lead, we also vanish to our holes 
 under the roof — which sounds more like starlings, or mice, than 
 rabbits — and I find myself overlooking a most beautiful view which 
 tempts me away from my sumptuary preparations for dinner. 
 When I emerge and come out into the upper air, there is no one 
 on the garden-roof. The Concierge (who most annoyiugly will 
 insist on speaking English, but whom I persist in answering in 
 French, — his nationality being Swiss and his native tongue princi- 
 pally German,) informs me that they have all gone in to dinner ; 
 and at an oval table, private, and out of reach of the noise and 
 rattle of the table-cVhOte, from which we are divided by a temporary 
 screen, I find seated Madame Leverriez, Dr. Hammond Putteney, 
 the Colonel, Mrs. Dinderlin, Cousin Jane, and next to her a lady 
 with whom Cousin Jane seems already on terms of the closest 
 intimacy, and to whom she immediately presents me. She is a 
 Mrs. Toflam, a sparkling- eyed American, speaking with just 
 enough accent to give her remarks a certain piquancy which 
 arrests attention. T have often remarked that a commonplace
 
 ROYAT. 
 
 189 
 
 observation about the weather, a request to pass the salt, or an 
 inquiry as to the state of your health, if given with the least 
 American intonation, will be received by an ordinary English 
 audience with a broad grin ; and an obvious repartee, similarly 
 delivered, will be the signal for almost inextinguishable mirth. 
 
 Dr. Hammond Putteney at meal-times is moro cherubic than 
 ever, as, metaphorically of course, he " sits up aloft to keep watch 
 for the life of poor Jack " — poor Jack representing in this case the 
 
 PERFORMANCE OF DRINK" AT ROYAT. Act First. 
 
 Early Spring-time at the Fontaine Eugenie. 
 
 patients generally, who, while feeding, are under the lynx-eye of 
 Dr. Putteney. 
 
 Never have I seen the proverb that what is one man's meat is 
 another's poison, so perfectly illustrated, as in this dining-room, 
 and at our particular table, where Dr. Putteney, with his watchful 
 eye, not only on us, but on the diners at many other tables, par- 
 takes heartily of everything, as he is out for a holiday, and 
 " treating himself handsomely " — and I must say he treats him- 
 self very handsomely. On the table, with the costly wine of the
 
 190 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 country, of which, as at La Bourboule, the Hotel is so lavish that 
 as much as each person can drink of this rare stuff (thank good- 
 ness, very rare !) is included in the price of the dinner, and so we 
 call it " the generous," — a name by which it is henceforth known 
 to the waiter who serves our table, — there are all sorts of the 
 waters of the place, Cesar, St. Mart, and Fonteix, which, as the 
 Irishman said of the whiskey, " take the cruelty out of the water," 
 — only, in this case, it is the water which takes the cruelty out of 
 the wine. 
 
 As everyone at our table is taking baths and waters, we have 
 plenty to talk about, the main subject at every repast being our 
 progress, our symptoms, and ourselves generally since we were last 
 together round the festive board. 
 
 None of us ever meet without comparing notes of new pains and 
 fresh symptoms. When undergoing a treatment, the knowledge 
 that others are having, or have had, all the pains which have so 
 taken oneself by surprise on their first appearance, is a great 
 solace and encouragement to persevere. It is comforting to be 
 assured that your particular pain in your particular toe is not the 
 onlv pain in the world ; that others are suffering equally in 
 corresponding toes, and that others have suffered it, and have got 
 rid of it — " it may be for years, it may be for ever." And let me 
 add, with all my heart and toe, another question, " If for ever, 
 then for ever fare thee well ! " 
 
 The night is lovely. We take our coffee and cigars — Dr. Putte- 
 ney permits coffee, cigars, and liqueurs, and I hope Dr. Rem, to 
 whose care he will resign me to-morrow, will be of the same 
 opinion — out in the garden of the Casino Sarnie, and once more, 
 after an interval of two years, I see my old friends, the petits 
 chevaux, with their petits jockeys, going round and round with the 
 same provoking uncertainty ; and, as if they, too, were glad to 
 welcome me back again, they allow me to back the winner twice 
 out of three times. Cousin Jane, becoming rash, ventures two 
 francs, and retires discomfited. She says she was not made for a 
 gambler, and thinks that as early hours are to be our rule, the 
 sooner we go to our rooms and " couch ourselves " the better foi 
 health. 
 
 Just as we are leaving, Dr. Rem enters the grounds, and Cousin
 
 B YA T. 
 
 191 
 
 Jane and myself are introduced to him. Slight, above the middle 
 height, is Dr. Rem, with a countenance expressive of the utmost 
 benevolence, and clear bright eyes which regard you straight in 
 the face, as much as to say, "Yes, I am benevolent and kind, 
 but don't you attempt to presume on these qualities, or you'll find 
 yourself considerably out in your calculations, my friend." Dr. 
 Rem, like Sir Pen Oliver, Grand Master of the Knights of the 
 Octave Table, is not only a distinguished physician, but a man of 
 letters, an enthusiast in every department of science, something of 
 an artist (as indeed his name indicates), and as devoted to music 
 
 as is Sir Pen to etching and painting. He is an Englishman, 
 though his name is foreign, and, if there were another syllable to 
 it, he would have been able to claim descent from one of the 
 greatest of the Old Masters. I am to begin by taking one glass 
 at the Eugenie Spring to-morrow morning, and then I am to call 
 on the Doctor, when my real serious Water-Course, under his 
 orders and the personal supervision of the Cherubic Doctor, is to 
 commence in earnest. 
 
 My window is open all night. I look out on to the park, where 
 the lights are glittering among the trees, and where the little 
 horses are still playing, a deux francs the course, and then I look 
 up at the woods, the vineyards, the near hills and distant moun-
 
 192 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 tains. The entire country is volcanic ; in ages gone by it has 
 been in a frightful state of eruption ; then suddenly the mysterious 
 arsenical, ferruginous, and potassian waters sprang up and cured 
 the eczema on Dame Nature's face. This is my history of Royat. 
 Balmy air ; no flies ; no mosquitoes, but no sleep — to speak of. 
 Very restless. Up betimes next morning. Air balmier than ever. 
 Room faces nearly due North — perfectly cool. Dr. Putteney, 
 looking even more cherubic than usual, and finishing a cigar after 
 his first petit dejeuner, calls to take me to Dr. Rem's room, where 
 we are to hold a consultation, and decide on what is to be done 
 with me. On our way we make a slight detour and call at the 
 Eugenie Source, where at the hands of an elderly buxom nymph 
 with a huge pink bow above her cap, I receive my first glass of 
 the Waters of Royat. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CONSULTATION A BODY THE PRISONER — BODY AGAIN — ANXIOUS 
 
 MOMENT DECISION — REHEARSAL — LAUNCHED. 
 
 of conv 
 manner 
 
 ^HENEVER I call 
 upon a Doctor pro- 
 fessionally, with a view to 
 consulting him about my 
 own health, I am invariably 
 diverted from what ought to 
 be the all-absorbing subject 
 of my visit by an overpower- 
 ing interest in his health. 
 It seems, — that is, so it 
 strikes me at the moment, — 
 so dreadfully selfish and 
 egotistical when two men 
 are together for one of them 
 to have no other subject 
 ersation but himself, his history in the past and his 
 of life in the present, and so I cannot avoid discarding 
 
 Dr. Rem.
 
 B YA T. 193 
 
 my own health, putting that topic aside as one which we can take 
 up at any moment when we've exhausted others of more pressing 
 importance ; and the Doctor, specially if he be one whom I am 
 consulting for the first time, becomes at once the object of my 
 sympathetic curiosity. I want to know all about himself, first ; and 
 when we've done that, then we will take myself up as a secondary 
 consideration. If the medical man is an old friend, we have so 
 much of common interest between us that it is a long time before 
 we get at the special object of my visit. On this occasion, how- 
 ever, I am taken by the Cherubic Dr. Hammond Putteney to see 
 Dr. Rem of Hoy at ; and as they have to discuss me as a " case," 
 it is for me to listen, and, if necessary, answer questions. Once 
 in Dr. Rein's professional sanctum, Dr. Hammond Putteney ceases 
 to be cherubic, puts on his gold spectacles (both doctors wear gold- 
 rimmed spectacles) in a way that gives him a grave and anxiously 
 scientific air, and seats himself at such a distance from me, as con- 
 veys the idea that from this moment until the close of the inter- 
 view we are no longer on our ordinary equal and friendly footing, 
 and his entire manner gives me cleaidy to understand that for the 
 time being I must look upon himself and Dr. Rem as two super- 
 human intelligences, and myself as a mere passive body, conscious, 
 but in a state of suspended animation. Then, as Dr. Rem seats 
 himself at his desk, with pen and paper before him, the scene seems 
 to undergo a change, and it occurs to me that he looks like a 
 benevolent country Magistrate hearing a charge in his own private 
 room, and that Dr. Hammond Putteney figures in the scene as the 
 constable who brings the charge, keeping an eye on me, who am, 
 as it were, the prisoner. 
 
 " Now ! " says Dr. Rem, taking up his pen, and looking in the 
 direction of Dr. Putteney. Whereupon Dr. Putteney, in his 
 character of constable, commences his charge against me, giving 
 his evidence "from information received," i.e., from myself. I 
 listen calmly, and, as he is stating the case fairly and succinctly, 
 I see no reason for interrupting or contradicting him. Occasionallv 
 I nod affirmatively, or put in an adverb intended to qualify, or 
 intensify some of his statements. 
 
 His whole testimony he delivers with an air of deference due to 
 the presence of the elder Doctor, and yet with something of the 
 
 O
 
 194 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 pride of a discoverer. It is in this latter vein, that having finished 
 his evidence, he ceases to appear as the constable, and resuming 
 his original character of scientific Doctor, gives his own opinion 
 on the case, which he announces as something that will take Dr. 
 Rem by surprise, and ultimately astonish the faculty generally. 
 
 " You examine him yourself," says the Cherubic One, nodding in 
 the .direction where I am seated, but not otherwise recognising 
 my existence as a body ; " you'll see he's anseinic." 
 
 Dr. Rem professes himself sceptical, but at once puts the 
 assertion to the test. 
 
 " Well," he exclaims, drawing a long breath, after having 
 satisfied himself by a thorough examination, during which I simply 
 remain a body, offering no resistance, making no remarks. 
 " Well, I own I am astonished. Yes," he adds, emphatically, and 
 yet with a slight indication of unwillingness at being compelled 
 by truth to corroborate Dr. Putteney's assertion, "he is 
 wisemic." 
 
 They do not talk to me, but of me, and an expression of surprise 
 escaping me, which is an attempt on my part at joining in the 
 consultation, passes as entirely unheeded as does the clock striking 
 the quarter. 
 
 Mentally I say to myself, " So I'm an anemique, am I ! I see — 
 no man's anemie but my own. Good ! What next 1 Go it, 
 Gentlemen ! " 
 
 But Dr. Putteney having already scored, has nothing more to 
 observe, and waits with a self-satisfied and critical air to hear his 
 senior's verdict. 
 
 Dr. Rem asks me a few questions, but as my answers only con- 
 firm Dr. Putteney's previous account of me, they fail to throw any 
 fresh light on the subject, and Dr. Rem enters the whole case in 
 his notebook, considers it carefully, closes it, pushes it away as 
 though its presence bothered him, sits back in his chair, and, after 
 (in awful silence of at least half a minute, during which I begin to 
 wonder, rather nervously, whether he has hit upon something so 
 fatal in my case as to render any treatment whatever utterly use- 
 less, and whether he is only meditating how best to break this un- 
 welcome intelligence to me, he turns to Dr. Putteney, and, to my 
 infinite relief, observes that he has every hope of putting me all
 
 ROYAT. 
 
 195 
 
 right — ultimately, and states what his plan is to be. Dr. Puttency 
 ventures to suggest some alterations, but as he has had his turn, 
 and played his part, Dr. Rem only courteously considers his pro- 
 positions in order to as courteously dismiss them, preferring his 
 own " tr.aitem.ent" the particulars of which he will let me have a 
 little later this morning, when he will introduce me to the Director 
 of the Bath Establishment, and put me au courant with everything 
 necessary. 
 
 Rehearsing the Douche Nasale. 
 
 We are on the point of being bowed out, when Dr. Putteney 
 smoothing his hat in a nervous manner, asks diffidently, " Don't 
 you think he may take the douche nasale ? " 
 
 Dr. Rem hesitates, and regards me dubiously. This part of the 
 interview reminds me of the time when a relation used to come 
 for me at school, and ask the Head Master, if, always supposing 
 I had been a good boy, I mightn't have a half-holiday. How 
 anxiously I used to await the master's answer, and how tremblingly 
 I noted his hesitation, as he looked in my face inquiringly, as much 
 as to say, " Shall I recall the fact that you were not a good boy 
 
 o 2
 
 196 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 yesterday — that yem were punished the day before — that you put 
 jam in another boy's hat last Thursday — and for these courtesies, 
 am I to grant you a half-holiday 1 " 
 
 That I am to take an ordinary bath every day, and to drink so 
 much water regularly, seems to me to be so monotonous an affair 
 that I shall really be glad if the Doctor will vary it with a douche 
 nasale. From my former experiences at Aix-les-Bains, Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, and La Barboule, there is nothing so wearying as the 
 mechanical order of the treatment, and it is therefore quite a 
 little holiday for the patient to be prescribed a gargarisme, or a 
 douche, or a vapeur, or a massage. So when Dr. Rem's eyes meet 
 mine, I am conscious of a beseeching look in my own, as if im- 
 ploring him not to condemn me to a terrible unbroken monotony. 
 With joy I recognise a gleam of pity in his glance as, with a 
 benevolent smile, he turns towards Dr. Putteney, and says, " Yes, 
 he may take the nasal douche.'''' 
 
 " And," inquires Dr. Putteney, with increasing diffidence, as if 
 he feared the result of his temerity in asking too much all at once, 
 but he'll risk it, — just as my relation coming to fetch me at school 
 having gained a half-holiday, would request the Master to stretch 
 one point more of discipline in my favour, and allow me to return 
 after the hour of "lock-up," — "Mightn't he take the pulverisation 
 later on 1 " 
 
 Dr. Rem regards me thoughtfully. He evidently considers we 
 are presuming on his previous concession : besides, if he agrees to 
 this addition to his original prescription, it is no longer his treat- 
 ment, but his in collaboration with Dr. Putteney. He is on the 
 point of refusing (I am sure of it) and the Cherubic Doctor is 
 already beginning to be sensible of having gone a little too far, 
 when a brilliant idea of a compromise strikes Dr. Rem, who quite 
 brightens up as he says to the Medical Cherub, " I'll tell you what 
 he shall do ! He shall take the douche nasale and the pidverisation 
 alternately," and thereupon he sits clown triumphantly, and makes 
 a note of this in his book. The Cherubic Doctor beams on me 
 through his spectacles, as much as to say, " There ! you wouldn't 
 have got all these luxuries if it hadn't been for me ! " I feel 
 immensely relieved and satisfied with the prospect of a pleasing 
 variety in the treatment, and Dr. Rem who has several patients
 
 ROYAT. 
 
 197 
 
 waiting in the ante-room, bows us out so courteously, and says 
 "An revoir" so reassuringly, that I already feel more than half 
 cured of whatever is the matter with me. I differ from him as to 
 the symptoms being at all gouty, but I keep this opinion, being 
 an unprofessional one, and not asked for at the consultation, to 
 myself. 
 
 The Cherubic Doctor, who outside Dr. Rem's, and away froni- 
 business, becomes at once the gay young Anglo-German student 
 
 M. Le Regisseur I'Exploitation des etablissements thermaux (or " Commander 
 of the Bath ") de Royat, receives us Royat-ly. 
 
 out for a holiday, is in ecstacies of delight at the permission 
 granted me to take a douche nasale and a pulverisation. 
 
 " Do you know how to manage them V he asks. 
 
 Yes, 1 am on friendly terms with " pulverisation" but to the 
 douche nasale I am a stranger. 
 
 " Come along, then, I'll show you," he exclaims joyfully, and, 
 as if he were off for a real good lark, away he hurries me to the 
 Etablissement. 
 
 We enter a room, the aspect of which is familiar to me, as it is
 
 193 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 fitted up like the pulverisation department at La Bourboule, and 
 he introduces me to the attendant nose-doucher, who fits me with 
 a small glass tube all to myself (I thought he was going to 
 measure my nose for it, but he guesses the size, and has one ready 
 to hand), ties on a waterproof bib, and I take my seat at a tap. 
 
 " Can you play on this pipe ? " asks the Cherubic Doctor, in the 
 character of Hamlet. 
 
 "My liege, I can," I reply, rashly presuming on my acquain- 
 tance with the pulverisation process. In another minute I have 
 douched my eyes, sent the water with four-horse engine power up 
 my sleeve, into my mouth, and everywhere but up my nose, and 
 in fact made a nice mess of it. The Cherubic Doctor watching 
 me, now steps forward. " This is the way," he says, and guides 
 my hand with the glass tube in it, " and don't forget," he 
 adds, " to keep your left hand on the tap, so as to regulate the 
 force." 
 
 For awhile I remember the injunction ; I turn it on full ; it 
 operates wonderfully, and I feel as if I had filled my head with 
 water, and would have water on the brain in another second, but 
 for its running out as quickly as it has come in. Dr. Putteney, 
 being near-sighted, has put his head down over my shoulder to see 
 that I am carrying out his directions exactly, and at this moment 
 pausing in the operation to tell him my sensations, I remove the 
 pipe, but forgetting to turn the tap, the water goes without the 
 slightest warning with full force right at the Cherubic Doctor's 
 spectacles, and gives him such a startlingly unexpected douche as 
 knocks him back into the arms of the attendant. There is no 
 harm done, however, and here ends the first lesson on the douche 
 nasale pipe. 
 
 Coming out on our road to breakfast we meet Dr. Hem, who 
 introduces me to a most courteous gentleman, M. Chassan, the 
 Acting Director of the place, or Commander of the Bath, who 
 welcomes me to the Baths, and presents me with the freedom of 
 the Casino. Now I am fairly launched on my Water-Course.
 
 E YA T. 
 
 11)9 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHIEFLY OX THE DIFFICULTY OF BEING " UP TO THE TIME OF DAY " 
 
 AT ROYAT. 
 
 iN RETURNING, I 
 
 find that Cousin Jane haa 
 been ordered Cesar Water and 
 Cesar Baths. 
 
 " Doesn't he say your symp- 
 toms are gouty and not rheu- 
 matic % " I ask. 
 
 *' No," she replies, : ' he only 
 says I'm anamiic." 
 
 This is rather provoking. If 
 Jane is anremic, and has to 
 drink Cesar Water and take 
 Cesar Baths, why do I, being 
 also anaemic, not have the 
 same treatment % No ; it is 
 clear to me that, judging from 
 the difference of treatment, Cousin Jane is gouty, as I have always 
 told her she was, only a polite Doctor doesn't like to say it out 
 point-blank. 
 
 It is so odd to me how some people will flatter themselves they 
 haven't got gout, when every symptom proclaims most plainly 
 to their friends what their real complaint is. 
 
 Happy-Thought Proverb- — Lookers-on see most of the gout. 
 
 The day goes wonderfully here. Rising early, drink from 
 Eugenie or sources, then bath, then buvette again, then short 
 walk, buy French papers and sometimes an amusing illustrated 
 local journal called the Royat Bijou, in which the pictures of 
 the place are really excellent. After this, first breakfast and 
 rest in room, listen to band, write letter, or part of one feebly, 
 and, at 1 1 - 30, second breakfast, i.e. early lunch. 
 
 As everything is done methodically here, to ascertain the correct 
 
 At the Fontaine Cesar. Miss Cesar 
 giving instructions to Pumpey.
 
 200 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 time, and to set your watch by it, is a matter of the first import- 
 ance. But the Royat clocks, like the Rule of Three in the old 
 schoolboy rhyme, <; they bother me." The timepieces, or the out- 
 of-time pieces, cannot agree upon a decided policy ; they cannot be 
 unanimous — no, not for an hour. The visitors are implored by 
 the Hotel proprietors to be punctual in their attendance at the 
 lable-d'hdte. A prayer to this effect meets the eye on every 
 landing, on every staircase, in every passage, until the visitor gets 
 it impressed upon his brain ; and if he be of a truly sympathetic 
 nature, he will put himself to any temporary inconvenience rather 
 than that his unpunctuality at the table-d'hdle should in the 
 slightest degree distress the humble and beseeching proprietor. 
 He "will do so once or twice, not more ; and only this during the 
 time of his inexperience, which will not last beyond a couple of 
 days. At the EtahlUsemmt the tone taken is quite different. 
 Here the bather is peremptcrity informed by printed cards which 
 he cannot possibly avoid seeing at every turn, and on the wall of 
 every cabinet, as well as by his bath-attendant — I am in the care 
 of the doyen of them — that, if having once fixed his own time, he 
 doesn't stick to it, he runs the chance of not getting a bath at all ; 
 and if, being once in, he doesn't come out to the very minute, the 
 Administration will, to put it colloquially, know the reason why. 
 Consequently, what strikes you forcibl}', at first sight, is the strict 
 punctuality of Royat. So you at once look about for the exact 
 time. Where are you to get it? The Church Clock? There is the 
 parish church — a marvellous old castellated church — up a hill, a 
 good, or, rather, a very bad quarter of an hour's toil, on a Royatly 
 hot day, and, when you reach it, well worth seeing in itself, but 
 no clock. Yon decide on setting your watch by the clock at the 
 Etablissement. You do so, and on returning to the hotel, you find 
 that either your watch has gained a quarter of an hour in less than 
 five minutes, or that the Hotel time is not in accord with the 
 Bathing-house time, and so you make a calculation, and take the 
 Hotel time. 
 
 At eleven, by Hotel time, you, as a novice, present yourself at 
 the tahle-d'hote. It is the hour fixed by the Proprietor. The 
 tables are laid, but — personnel Not a soul ! From behind diffe- 
 rent screens in various parts of the very long room a few waiters
 
 ROYAT. 
 
 201 
 
 appear, coming out as if they were playing a game of hide-and- 
 seek, or rehearsing an entertainment. They 
 
 give some finishing 
 
 touches to the tables, and whisk off a fly or two with their napkins, 
 as is the custom with waiters when they have an idle moment. 
 The punctual visitor asks one of them, if it is not the hour 01 
 breakfast. Perfectly. Will Monsieur be seated ? He can be 
 served at once. No, thank you ; Monsieur would rather not 
 begin until there are some few to keep him company, as it looks 
 
 Mr. Baehl, of the Five Hotels 
 at Royat, and a few more 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Day Companion of the Bath. The 
 Doyen of the Ministers, or Dean 
 of Bath and Wells at Royat. 
 
 so greedy in a tahle-cVhote of one hundred and twenty to be the 
 only one feeding when the other hundred and nineteen guests 
 arrive. They will be here soon. They come in gradually, and by 
 1 1 -20 the room is full, and the breakfast has seriously commenced. 
 From this the novice deduces that " eleven" punctually means a 
 quarter to half-past eleven. But by which time ? The clock on 
 the stairs, the clock, in the passage, the clock over the Post-office, 
 or the clock at the Baths ? There are other clocks in the village 
 of a perfectly free and independent turn, and one on the basement 
 of the Splendid Hotel of so feeble a character that it has given up
 
 202 VERY MUCH ABIiOAD. 
 
 the struggle altogether, and stopped dead with its two hands help- 
 lessly pointing to eleven, as if it had been within five minutes of 
 finishing the clay, but hadn't strength left to struggle up to twelve. 
 
 The force of all this bad example on my watch is that one 
 morning it suddenly stops, and for one quarter of an hour with 
 mule-like obstinacy refuses to go on. Now whether this course of 
 conduct was adopted by my watch out of a mistaken sense of 
 politeness towards the other clocks, in oi'der to let them come up 
 with it — it had been fifteen minutes in advance of most of them — 
 or whether it thought it ought to start fair, or whether it was 
 from sheer cusseclness, or the effect upon its works of Royat tem- 
 perature, has ever since remained a mystery to me, which Time 
 may or may not explain. Just as I was on the point of taking it 
 to a watch-maker's, its state of suspended animation came to an 
 end (which looks uncommonly as if it had been attempting some 
 deception, and was afraid of professional investigation), and not 
 only did it go on again as briskly as ever, but, as if to make up 
 for lost time, it shot ahead of them all, and kept the lead by 
 twenty minutes in front of the fastest of them, up to the end of 
 my stay at Royat. 
 
 True there are bells to summon you ; but if you attempt to 
 check the time by the bells you will be " quite at sea." There 
 are all sorts of breakfasts everywhere about, for all sorts and 
 conditions of men. And there are bells to each meal ; the first to 
 inquire " Are you ready 1 " and then after waiting some twenty 
 minutes for an answer, the second bell says "Off! " The Band is 
 advertised to play from 9-30 to 10 30. But personally I have 
 never been able to fix it to a particular time. I can say it will 
 play about 9*30 and leave off about 1O30, but this is the nearest 
 approach to certainty at which I can arrive. When it does start, 
 the Band, which is excellent, keeps admirable time, though it never 
 indulges its audience in any selection lasting more than two 
 minutes, and the duration of its entr'actes is quite out of proportion 
 to that of the morceaux it performs. The exception is when they 
 play as a finale the Overture to William Tell, or when a clever 
 fiageoletist — an artistic Whistler — gives us his peculiar views of 
 how the "Carnival de Ve'nise" ought to be played if he could 
 always have his way.
 
 BOY AT. 
 
 203 
 
 My conclusion is that a well-regulated healthy appetite is the 
 best clock. I charitably allow for the difference of clocks, which 
 are of all shades of opinion, and my advice to the visitor is, that 
 he should daily regulate his own watch by the Bath-house clock. 
 This is the only thing necessary, the appetite will do the rest. 
 
 Anyhow the day goes very quickly here, and, as the lively little 
 
 ■ ■ 
 
 The Clockless Parish Church. "Time no object." 
 
 gentleman who has his shop next door, and acts as our Universal 
 Provider — there is nothing he is not ready to get for you — 
 observes, " All times are good at Royat," and he refuses to believe 
 that an Englishman, coming here from his own land of fog, can 
 possibly have any complaint to make. Does he not come here to 
 get rid of his complaints ? — and of his money too ? The visitor is 
 good for Royat, and Royat's good for him. "Allans done! what 
 matters the difference of clocks? You are hungry— good! — you 
 go to breakfast. Nothing more to purchase this morning 1 Hair 
 cut to-morrow? Perfectly — a demain alors." And he laughs and 
 nods as he re-enters his shop, aud goes to his own dejeuner, after
 
 204 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 which he will reappear in his shirt-sleeves, enjoying a briar-root 
 pipe. 
 
 Dr. Hem has hinted that the most useful guide for his treat- 
 ment is a record of health kept by the patient himself. The 
 " Treatment " is going on. So I am noting all pains and penalties. 
 I am watching myself with a most vigilant eye. Not a twinge 
 escapes me. If there's a sudden shoot in my knee, I spot it at 
 once, and down it goes in my diai-y. If, on seating myself, there's 
 a pain in my left shoulder, up I get again, out comes the diary, 
 and time, place, and duration of pain are accurately written down. 
 If I am out walking, and my foot hurts me, out comes note-book 
 and I put my foot in it. If I am comfortably in bed, and feel 
 sort of cramp all along my left side, out I roll (not jump), seize 
 diary, record the fact, and back again to bed. By the end of four 
 clays — if I am only able to read what I have written — my diary of 
 sensations will be by that time quite a sensational work. 
 
 Our "Lively Neighbour.
 
 II YA T. 205 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BAD PATIENT'S DIARY — JANE'S PROGRESS OYSTERS — THEORY 
 
 FACT — AT DOCTOR'S THE STRANGE CASE — HALVES CON- 
 SULTATION — NOVELTY SENSATIONS RESULT PUZZLED. 
 
 WHEN you once get into the swim, so to speak, in a water 
 course such as this, then, whether it be at Royat, or Aix-les- 
 Bains, or Vichy, or Homburg, or even at La Bourboule and Le Mont 
 Dore, the stream is very strong, and you are carried on rapidly to the 
 end of your stay. The first week is exciting, if the place is itself 
 a novelty ; if not, it is only less exciting ; we walk up into the 
 pine woods, — " when," as Dr. Putteney says, " we pine for air " — 
 (this is the effect of the place on him), and we take the week to 
 settle down. The second week is generally dull, yet at the end 
 of it the time seems to have flown. Third week begins slowly ; 
 but as the climax of the twenty-first day approaches, when the 
 course will be over, then the time and money go with startling 
 rapidity. 
 
 By my Diary of Pains and Penalties I find I am at the end of 
 the first week. What is the result 1 Well 1 No, decidedly not 
 well ; that is, according to my Diary, which records a variety of 
 alarming symptoms — sleepless nights, sleepy days, troubles in toes 
 —where the shooting season has commenced before the Twelfth — 
 pains in the nose, limp legs, wrestlings with sciatica, and what the 
 meteorological reports term "Disturbances" generally, resulting in 
 "Depression." 
 
 An annoying c : rcumstance is, that Cousin Jane, who has not 
 been strictly ordered here, as I was, but only "recommended" to 
 the waters, is becoming better and better every day. I cannot 
 help remarking it. The improvement in her health is so marked 
 that it forces itself on general observation. She takes a bath of 
 Cesar water every day, into which she goes like cold lamb, and 
 cut of which she comes like boiled lobster, and is all the better for it. 
 She is able to walk about briskly ; she doesn't hesitate as to taking 
 a liqueur with her cup of coffee after dinner ; she insists on ven- 
 turing at least four francs on the petits chevaux, and in her manner
 
 206 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 there suddenly appears something of the effervescent and spark- 
 ling character which is, she informs me, the peculiarity of the 
 Source Cesar. The Romans discovered these baths, and this par- 
 ticular spring may have been the source of Csesar's greatness. 
 The question — 
 
 " Upon what meat does this our Caesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great 1 " 
 
 is, as it is termed in theatrical slang, " a little bit of fat " that 
 would never have been put into the mouth of Cassius, " lean and 
 hungry" as he was, had Shakspeare only known of the waters at 
 Royat, which Csesar used to drink, and in which he used to bathe ; 
 and out of which, after a few dozen oysters, — for they find heaps 
 of oyster-shells here among the Roman remains, — he used to come 
 out re-invigorated. 
 
 By the way, although I am considering Cousin Jane's case, and 
 have so got back to Caesar, to whom historically she owes her rapid 
 improvement in health, I cannot help diverging on the subject of 
 Oysters, to note down, for some future work of my own on Chris- 
 tianity in Britain, the theory, which is strongly supported by 
 facts, that Britons, who never would be slaves (except when they 
 couldn't help it), owed their conversion entirely to Oysters. I 
 am not going to discuss this further or to commence the first 
 chapter of my history now, but before the thoughtful reader 
 I place facts and theory : — 1st. It is undeniable that the Romans 
 loved oysters: 2nd. That directly they heard of oyster-beds 
 they went to them: 3rd. They found the beds ready-made 
 for them, and originated the old riddle (which occurs in the 
 works of Josephus Millerius) about taking the oysters out of 
 their beds and tucking in themselves : 4thly. The Romans 
 became Christians without ceasing to be oyster-eaters, — in fact it 
 is probable that they practised oysterities — and consequently 
 the British oyster-openers, and oyster-bed-makers, were the first 
 to encounter the Christianised Romans, who lost no time in 
 converting the natives, and thus the British became Christians by 
 the dozen. 
 
 From the oysters, a nos moutons ; second course. To resume. 
 
 Naturally Jane's progress is annoying to me, but politely and
 
 BOY AT. 207 
 
 cousinly, I am delighted. I complimented her, she is looking so 
 well. But I cannot compliment myself. Do / look well? Jane 
 says I do. But I don't believe it, and I'm sure I don't. A high 
 colour isn't health : it may be "the picture of health," but health 
 isn't a question of the picture, but of the frame. 
 
 Whatever was the matter with me before coming to Royat, I 
 am quite sure as to there being plenty the matter with me, and 
 to spare, now, after just a week of the treatment. 
 
 My Sensational Diary is assuming formidable proportions. If I 
 neglect it for half a day, the next morning I set myself to work to 
 remember all the sufferings of yesterday afternoon. If you do not 
 jot down pains at the moment, as they occur, when you can really 
 feel what you are describing — the secret of all truly graphic writ- 
 ing — you are apt to describe the twinges, the smarts, and the 
 aches coldly, as if you were writing the history of somebody else. 
 You are likely to take a very different view of a pain you suffered 
 several hours ago, from what you will take of the pain which 
 afflicts you at the time of writing, and which itself is the imme- 
 diate cause of your putting pen to paper. In a retrospect of pain 
 you are inclined to philosophise and probably attempt to trace its 
 cause. In a description of a pain, making its presence felt as you 
 write, you do not stop to pick and choose your words, but your 
 style is short, sharp, jerky, powerfully graphic, and minutely 
 accurate. 
 
 I determine not to disturb Dr. Hammond Putteney, who, not 
 taking the waters in any form, eating and drinking everything, 
 and smoking all day, is in the enjoyment of most perfect health, 
 and apparently of a thorough holiday, but to go quietly to Dr. 
 Rem, show him my Diary, and astonish him. 
 
 I call upon him. He is within. I wait : at last I usher myself 
 into his sanctum. Will I be seated. I will. So will he, at his 
 desk, and once more he pulls out his note-book and refers to my 
 particular case. 
 
 Before he can ask any questions, I produce, with quite a 
 professional air, my analytical summary of my own state of 
 health. I am very glad I have noted it all down so carefully, 
 because, as this is a peculiarly fine morning and I am feeling 
 uncommonly well, my view of the past few days, had I left my
 
 208 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 pains to verbal description from memory onh', would have been 
 necessarily coloured by my healthy, happy, and perfectly satis- 
 factory state at the present moment, and Dr. Rem might, under a 
 false impression, write down "cured in five days' treatment," or 
 order me to go on as I had begun, a treatment that might be 
 exactly contrary to what I ought to do. As it is there is my 
 plain written statement which I can neither explain away nor 
 contradict. Litem scripta manet, and this diary is produced 
 by myself as evidence against myself. It is a precis of my pains 
 and penalties, and, considering that after all it is the work 
 of an amateur, I really am quite proud of it as a scientific 
 treatise written by myself, Dr. One-Half, as an impartial 
 observer, on myself, Mister Other-Half, or patient, merely taken 
 as a body. 
 
 Everyone has read the Strange Case of Dr. Hyde and Mr. Jekyll. 
 (By the way it may be Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but that's of no 
 consequence, and I haven't the book by me.) Well, here is the 
 story very simply exemplified in Me. I am compounded of two 
 halves : Dr. Hyde one half, the scientific medical man ; Mr. 
 Jekyll, other half, the patient. As Dr. Hyde I call on Dr. 
 Rem, to inform him how poor Mr. Jekyll has been getting on 
 with his treatment. Mr. Jekyll the patient sits in the chair : 
 Dr. Hyde is represented by the diary containing the scientific 
 analysis of the " strange case," which Dr. Rem has now under his 
 eyes. 
 
 Dr. Rem is reading Dr. Hyde's, i.e., my, scientific analysis, most 
 attentively. I, Mr. Jekyll the patient, am watching him anxiously. 
 I expect him to raise his eyebrows at certain points, and exhibit 
 surprise. I expect him to purse up his lips, and mutter to him- 
 self " Dear me ! " or " Bless my soul, is it possible ! " I expect him to 
 rise in an agitated manner from his desk, go to his book-case, and 
 bring out big volumes, over which he will pore, from time to time 
 comparing what he is reading with my strange narrative of the 
 past week. I expect him after this to sit down and rest his aching 
 head on his hand thoughtfully, as if this extraordinary case had 
 fairly perplexed him, had upset all his principles, all his practice, 
 and had compelled him to own himself beaten. Should he dis- 
 appoint me in exhibiting any of the above-mentioned emotions, I
 
 11 YA T. 
 
 209 
 
 certainly look forward to his throwing himself back in his chair, 
 drawing a long breath and regarding me with an air of mixed 
 wonder and admiration, when he comes to that touching, but 
 forcible passage (which I have underlined) about the perfectly 
 unaccountable pain in my left leg. 
 
 But he does none of these things : he reads on calmly and quietly, 
 as if my remarkable statement were a conventional letter from a 
 
 Peu de Cheveux aux Petits Chevaux. 
 
 distant relative, or an ordinary leading article in an English news- 
 paper during the recess. Sometimes he nods towards the diary, 
 either as if he were agreeing with it, or going to sleep over it, and 
 occasionally, he smiles slightly ; but what he can find to smile at 
 in an analytical account of pains during the past week, I cannot for 
 the life of me make out. Evidently I have been too considerate 
 for his feelings, and in recounting my sufferings I have not been 
 sufficiently harrowing. However, he turns over the second page, 
 and reads on. I watch him closely as he comes to the point about 
 a sudden and excruciating twinge in my left knee, and in my ancle. 
 He doesn't move a muscle of his countenance, I know / did when 
 
 r
 
 210 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 I felt it. Clearly, I couldn't have put it strongly enough. He 
 turns over to the fourth page : again I watch him narrowly. 
 Surely the recital of crackling pains in every joint, and a kind of 
 catherine-wheel in both great toes, ending in a coruscation of fire- 
 works of pain all over my body, ought at least to make him gravely 
 shake his head. But it doesn't. 
 
 He has reached the end of my piteous narrative, he has 
 read the exhaustive analysis, he sees sitting before him, 
 "the subject of the present memoir," feverishly awaiting his 
 verdict, and after folding up the paper and handing it back to 
 me, he adjusts his spectacles so as to focus me thoroughly, and 
 take me in, as it were, all at once, and then with a smile, — 
 actually with a smile, and of the utmost benevolence too, — he says, 
 " Capital ! " 
 
 I am so astonished, I can only ejaculate gaspingly, " Eh ? " as if 
 I hadn't heard aright. 
 
 " Capital ! " he repeats, smiling more radiantly and more bene- 
 volently than before. Then tapping his hands gently one against 
 the other, as if he were playing "pat-a-cake Baker's man," with an 
 infant, he adds, " Just exactly what I had expected." 
 
 1 am so utterly knocked over that I can only stare at him 
 vacantly, as if wondering which of us two had temporarily 
 taken leave of his senses. Coming to the conclusion that I am 
 still in possession of mine, I rouse myself for an emphatic 
 protest. 
 
 " But," I say with animation, so that he may understand that I 
 am really in earnest, " surely it isn't right for me to have a pain 
 in my knee every night," here I rub my knee, where there is no 
 pain at present, " so that I can hardly sleep." 
 
 "Perfectly right," he says with composure. 
 
 " And the day before yesterday," here I refer to my notes for 
 corroboration, " I had such a pain all down my left leg, I couldn't 
 move for ten minutes." 
 
 " That's just what it ought to be," he replies, nodding compla- 
 cently. 
 
 " But that pain in my elbow," I point to a passage in the diary 
 where it is graphically described, "I never had that before I came 
 here. It was really— most — most — " I am drying up for want
 
 BOY AT. 
 
 211 
 
 of words, — all my epithets are in the diary, and it seems weak to 
 repeat them — "it was most aggravating." 
 
 "Oh yes — no doubt," returns Dr. Rem, still nodding at me 
 encouragingly, " but it couldn't be better. Indeed I should have 
 been sorry if you hadn't had it. I should have been afraid the 
 waters weren't doing you any good." 
 
 " What 1 " I exclaim. Then, as if I were trying to bring him to 
 reason, I expostulate calmly with him, and, adopting a conciliatory 
 
 Source au Toe-martyr. 
 
 tone, I attempt to demonstrate to him that at all events a pain 
 right across the forehead can't be a good sign. 
 
 " On the contrary," he replies. " Excellent." 
 
 "And my sleeplessness?" I ask. 
 
 " Perfect," he answers, briskly. 
 
 " The pains in my ancles 1 " I go on. 
 
 " First-rate," he says, rubbing his hands gleefully. 
 
 "And in my toes?" 
 
 " Just where it ought to be," he returns, highly pleased. 
 
 r t
 
 212 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 "And in my back, and wrists, and — so that I can't walk — and 
 over my knees, and such a cramp at night that I have to jump out 
 of bed and stamp in agony ? " I ask, piling up all the symptoms 
 together in my despair. 
 
 " It's splendid ! " says Dr. Rem, perfectly beaming with rapture 
 at what he immediately explains to me are certain and unmistak- 
 able signs that the Waters of Royat are really doing their work on 
 me in the most satisfactory manner possible. "You will continue," 
 says Dr. Hem, dipping his pen in the ink preparatory to entering 
 the ordonnance in his own note-book, " you will continue as you 
 have begun, only varying it with an increasing dose." And then 
 he amplifies his former instructions. 
 
 While he is writing them out, I am meditating on the unexpected 
 turn events have taken. I shall give up keeping my Diary of 
 Pains and Penalties. If I am to go on suffering them, where's the 
 use of mentioning my sufferings? If, on the contrary, I am entirely 
 free from any pain, then I should have nothing to write down, but 
 the sooner I saw the Doctor the better. As Dr. Rem hands me 
 the prescription I say, dubiously, " Then, in fact, the worse I am, 
 the better I am. Is that so ? " 
 
 " Quite so. You're going on admirably. Come and see me 
 again in four or five days." 
 
 On the threshold I pause for a last question — " But if within the 
 next two days I am absolutely free from any pain, shall I come to 
 see you at once 1 " 
 
 "Yes, certainly. Do so by all means. Good morning. Au 
 revoir ! " And still nodding and smiling encouragingly, Dr. Rem 
 bows me out, and, having concluded my visit, I find that Cousin. 
 Jane is waiting for me to take her into breakfast. 
 
 " You feel quite well, and have no pains 1 " I say to her. 
 
 " No ; none. Why ? " 
 
 "Well " Then I tell her the result of my interview, and 
 
 deduce therefrom that she must be in a parlous state to feel so 
 perfectly well, and that the sooner she consults Dr. Rem the 
 better. 
 
 But she only laughs, and says she shall "leave Well alone, and 
 continue the Waters." 
 
 And the Waters have made her quite sprightly. I've never
 
 B YA T. 
 
 213 
 
 heard her make anything resembling a joke before, and this is 
 uncommonly like one. But if everyone acted on the principle 
 "let Well alone," ■who -would go to Eoyat or Aix or anywhere 
 where the Springs of life are ? Somehow I am depressed. The 
 Colonel will cheer me up. To breakfast ! 
 
 'Whene'er we take our walks abroad "
 
 214 VERY MUCH ABROAD 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COLONEL AT OUR TABLE. 
 
 THE life and soul, or, at least, as the excellent 
 Sambornius hath it " one of the lifes and 
 souls," of our breakfast-table is the Colonel. 
 He is a remarkable man, certainly over forty, slightly 
 bald, clean shaved, except for a moustache tinged 
 with grey, tallish, stoutish, attired in an easy-going 
 flannel costume, seldom quiet for a moment, and 
 full of schemes and plans for passing the day. He 
 has been here barely four days, and he knows more 
 about the capabilities of Royat as a place of amuse- 
 ment, than its oldest and most influential inhabi- 
 tant. He has travelled all over the world, and 
 made himself at home everywhere and in every 
 "I'm not an Eton language. 
 
 His nationality, I believe, is Dutch ; he speaks 
 German thoroughly, French well, English fluently, having, as I 
 understand, obtained his military rank in the American army. He 
 possesses a smattering of Italian, in which country he met a young 
 English lady, who having made a successful debut on the operatic 
 stage, consented to become his wife on condition that she should 
 not abandon her profession for at least five years. As her en- 
 gagements soon compelled her to travel all over Europe and 
 America, nothing could have better suited the Colonel's roving taste: 
 but besides this, he was devoted to music, for which he possesses 
 a quick but inaccurate ear, and a memory wherein is stored up 
 any amount of plots of Operas, their titles, the names of their 
 composers, of the singers, and the points of the leading dramatic 
 situations, — only all so mixed up that, when he wants any one 
 scene, air, name, or situation in particular, he has to rummage 
 about in his memory -box, whence he produces a medley, from 
 which, after a considerable time spent in sorting, he extracts the 
 required material, whatever it may happen to be. 
 
 With a special liking for artistes and artistic life, he has dabbled 
 in journalism, and has on two or three occasions acted, in an
 
 ROY AT. 215 
 
 amateur way, as " Our Own Correspondent Abroad.'' Nothing 
 gives him so much pleasure as composing newspaper paragraphs, 
 except subsequently seeing his compositions in print, when he ia 
 in a state of the most gleeful excitement. These paragraphs are 
 a matter of considerable expense to him, as on the appearance of 
 any one of them he at once purchases an extensive number of 
 copies, which he posts to friends all over the world. 
 
 He is already on the friendliest terms with the journalists of 
 Royat, and on the second morning of our arrival he comes into 
 breakfast flourishing one of the local papers, and exclaiming, 
 " Look ! see ! what tey say in ter paper," and then he reads out 
 a flaming paragraph, in which after introducing all our names 
 among the " distinguished arrivals," a graceful compliment is paid 
 to the eminent Dr. Hammond Putteney, on his great wisdom in 
 selecting Royat, above all other Stations Thermales, for the 
 sojourn of his patients. 
 
 "Who on earth put this in V I ask, innocently. 
 
 The Colonel chuckles with delight, but shrugs his shoulders and 
 pi'ofesses to be absolutely ignorant on the subject. As, however, 
 his thorough acquaintance with phrases in the paragraphs is re- 
 markable, and as he knows so precisely where to put his finger 
 on the passages which, as he considers, constitute the beauty of the 
 work, I cannot help expressing my opinion that their inspirer, if not 
 their actual author, is not two hundred yards from our breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 " Ah ! " cries the Colonel, in a perfect ecstasy of shrugs and 
 winks fraught with unutterable meaning, " I cannot tell ! I do not 
 ask. But tey get tese things in somehow. See ! " he cries out to 
 his wife, who just then enters the room, " See, my dear, what they 
 say about you ! It is nice ! Very nice ! I must send it to some 
 friends." 
 
 Though his English is generally delivered with only the 
 slightest possible accent, our " th," being an occasional difficulty, 
 yet on the whole thei'e are peculiarities of manner', intonation and 
 emphasis, which are evidence of his foreign origin. 
 
 Then the Colonel has a few more papers to show, journals from 
 other localities, with longer accounts of Madame Rosetta's (her 
 professional name) triumphant career, and a sonnet add:*essed to
 
 216 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 her, not only as a genuine trilmte of admiration for her talents, 
 but even more for the use to which she so frequently puts them, 
 singing for local charities which benefit largely by her unvarying 
 good-nature. The Colonel is radiant, as he draws our attention 
 to the first verse : — 
 
 " Quand vous chantez, Madame, on accourt, on s'empresse, 
 Fut-ce meme a l'eglise, on vous ainie, on vons suit, 
 Vous forcez le sceptique k se rendre a la messe, 
 A defaut de la foi, le charme l'y conduit." 
 
 " Regardez ! the heading ! " says the Colonel, and then we notice 
 chat most of this information contained in the journal of another 
 water-cure place not Royat, comes under the title of " Le High- 
 Life." But this is of the past, and just now the Colonel's chief 
 delight is in our own local paper, where the writer of the para- 
 graph felicitating Royat on our arrival, finishes with " Et remer- 
 cions encore une fois," — "You see, tey've done it before," says the 
 Colonel, who, in the exuberance of his enjoyment, is nodding and 
 winking at everybody round the table and at friends seated at a 
 distance, for Avhose benefit he waves aloft the journal and goes 
 through a variety of pantomimic action — " le Hocteur Hammond 
 
 Putteney de nous avoir amene de si charmantes clients," the 
 
 " charmantes clients " are Cousin Jane, Mrs. Dinderlin, the American 
 lady (also under Cherubic care) and myself, who have all of us 
 arrived within the last week. It is a great morning for the 
 Colonel. 
 
 He professes extreme devotion to the fair sex, which he expresses 
 in phrases and in action — specially in action — of a most exaggerated 
 character. On the entrance of the ladies of our party into the 
 salle-cl-manger, he rises from his seat, bows at an angle of ninety, 
 places his hand on his heart, at the same time shaking his head, 
 as if disavowing all individual importance on his own account, and 
 in a general way going through the sort of performance to which 
 Harry Payne, at Christmas time, is accustomed to treat us in the 
 comic Bed-room Scene, when exhibiting the effect of a suddenly- 
 conceived passion for a truculent-looking landlady in long black 
 corkscrew curls, whom, so fickle is man's attachment, he will, 
 within the next two minutes, send flying out of the room with a 
 few delicate strokes from the warming-pan ; though, of course, this
 
 it! YA T. 211 
 
 particular portion of the entertainment does not form part of the 
 Colonel's programme. 
 
 To Cousin Jane — who has led a country life, and whose know- 
 ledge of pantomimic politeness is not extensive — the Colonel's 
 movements, performed with the utmost gravity, are at first con- 
 siderably embarrassing. But she sets it down to foreign manners, 
 and accepts his homage with an air of serious courtesy that 
 would do honour to the most stately Duchess. Mrs. Toffam, the 
 American lady, puts out her hand, which he immediately kisses in 
 the most respectful manner possible. At this she looks across at 
 Madame, as if expecting some interference from her, which, how- 
 ever, Madame being perfectly accustomed to these eccentricities 
 on her husband's part, only occurs when the Colonel's humour is 
 of a more exuberantly rollicking character than usual, when she 
 says, in a warning tone, and equally emphasising both syllables, 
 " Al — fred ! " whereupon he immediately abbreviates the perform- 
 ance, whatever it may happen to be at the moment, and coming 
 round to his wife's chair, insists upon taking her hand, and kissing 
 it in the most respectful, and at the same time the most pro- 
 foundly apologetic manner ; then, after Madame has given him a 
 playful tap on the head with her fan, saying, " Alfred, you are a 
 great big boy — do sit down, and behave yourself properly," he 
 returns to his seat, and for a short time, during which he employs 
 himself with his breakfast, he is comparatively cpiiet. 
 
 He has a quick eye for ladies' costume. 
 
 " Ah, permit me to say it — you do not mind ? " — he says, address- 
 ing Mrs. Toffam, " but what a beautiful lace you have ! " 
 
 " You think so," returns Mrs. Toffam pleased. 
 
 " It is — is it not, my dear 1 "—this to his wife, who also expresses 
 her admiration of it, and smiles on Mrs. Toffam. " It ees pretty ! 
 But— you permit me 1 — you do not mind 1 " — 
 
 " No, certainly not — what is it 1 " asks Mrs. Toffam. 
 
 " Well — I notice you have always a lit-tel pin sticking out where 
 it should not — permit me " 
 
 And then he suggests to Mrs. Toffam, first, and afterwards to 
 the other ladies, such improvements as would revolutionise their 
 entire costume. He directs their attention, too, to the 
 visitors.
 
 218 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " That one is new — she has just arrived yesterday. She is an 
 Actress at the Gymnase. That lady there, with the gray hair, is 
 her mother — How do you do, Madame 1 " He rises, and bows to 
 her acio^s three or four tables, causing every one to turn in that 
 direction, which confuses the unfortunate Madame Chose con- 
 siderably. But this is of no consequence to the Colonel, who has 
 discovered other celebrities, whom he is now pointing out to us. 
 " That old man there, de'core, like Napoleon Third, he is a rich 
 banker ; that is his daughter, the Countess — I forget her name. 
 How do you do, both? — and those who are just taking their seats 
 are a Spanish family. There is a Prince somewhere — of Portugal 
 — but he breakfasts in his apartment — ah ! look at that little fat 
 man with moustache and green riband — he is his secretary "— he 
 salutes him with a friendly nod. 
 
 " Ah, I must not forget my family ! I must feed my family ! ' 
 cries the volatile Colonel. Cousin Jane who doats on children, looks 
 immensely pleased, expecting to welcome the Colonel's children. 
 
 Madame observes this, and smilingly explains, " Alfred is so 
 silly. You see that box 1 " the Colonel is now putting bread and 
 bits of meat, and vegetables into a small silver box, on the table 
 by his plate. We reply that we do see that box, and I remark 
 that I had thought it was a snuff-box, which amuses the Colonel 
 immensely. "Well," continues Madame, "that carries the food 
 for his ' family,' as he calls it. His ' family ' consists of his Parrot 
 Lili, and his little dog Mimi, which he carries about with him 
 everywhere." 
 
 " There ! " says the Colonel, " there is the family's breakfast, and 
 ah ! " he cannot be quiet for a second, but as he turns round, he 
 sees a bright-looking little French boy, in very wide collars, who 
 has paused in his walk up the room to where his parents are 
 breakfasting, in order to watch the Colonel filling the box. " Ah ! 
 here is a dear little Eton boy ! " Any small boy less like an 
 Etonian I never saw. "How are you, my little Eton boy ? " says 
 the Colonel, assuming an expression of fatherly benevolence. 
 " How are you ; and tell me which beat this year, was it Harrow 
 or Eton 1 " 
 
 For a second the little boy is quite taken a-back. 
 
 " Alfred ! " remonstrates Madam, sympathising with the situa-
 
 li O YA T. 
 
 21a 
 
 tion of the little French boy, and fearing lest his father and 
 mother, who are a few tables off watching the proceedings, should 
 rise up in wrath, and object to the Colonel taking such an un- 
 warrantable liberty with their offspring. 
 
 " Ah ! The dear little Eton boy, he does not unterstant ! He 
 does not know what ' Eton boy ' means, eh, mon petit ? " 
 
 But the petit having quite recovered himself, replies briskly and 
 with complete self-possession, "Yes, I 
 do. I'm not an Eton boy. I'm not 
 old enough to go to Eton yet. Eton 
 beat Harrow this year. Were you at 
 Eton 1 " 
 
 " No, I was not," answers the 
 Colonel, for once utterly taken a-back 
 and striking his flag before the little 
 gun-boat. 
 
 " I thought not," the sharp little 
 chap continues, speaking English 
 perfectly, "because you would have 
 known that Eton boys don't dress like 
 this. This is French, not English 
 stvle. I must ero to breakfast. My 
 papa is there. Good morning." With 
 perfect manners, he salutes our party 
 collectively, and leaves the Colonel 
 utterly discomfited. 
 
 " That will teach you, Alfred, not 
 to be always chaffing everybody as 
 you do," says Madame. " It is the 
 
 biter bit ; " and we rise and leave, for once, without the Colonel's 
 usual pantomimic performance of bowing to the ladies, fetching 
 their sunshades, and kissing the tips of their fingers as they retire 
 from the scene. The interview with the little Eton boy, who 
 delivered his sentences as if he were repeating off by heart an Ollen- 
 dorffian exercise, has made him thoughtful, and, with his silver box 
 in his hand, he disappears to solace himself by feeding his family, 
 and having an interview with the parrot, who will cheer him up 
 by joining in the air of " Coming through the Rye" of which the 
 
 The Colonel keeping the 
 Ball a-rolling.
 
 220 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Colonel sings the five first words, and the parrot the last one. " If 
 a body meet a — " sings the Colonel. " Body," sings the parrot, 
 
 through his beak. " Coming through the " sings the Colonel. 
 
 " Rye ! " sings the parrot, — and so on until the verse is concluded, 
 when the bird, having sung for his breakfast, duly receives it. 
 
 Within ten days the Colonel knows everybody in the Hotel. At 
 the end of the first week he has got up a dance, which is patron- 
 ised by Dr. Rem, without whose presence, as imparting a sort of 
 benison on a form of entertainment that is certainly not included 
 in the ordinary traitement, the patients, when indulging in the 
 delightful dance and the dangerous draught afterwards, might feel 
 somewhat guilty. The Colonel, on this occasion as self-appointed 
 Master of the Ceremonies, is all in his glory ; and those ladies who 
 have brought ball-dresses are so grateful to him for giving them a 
 chance of wearing them, that the next day a petticoated deputa- 
 tion formally thanks him on the roof — everything takes place on 
 the roof — for his exertions on their behalf, and he is thenceforward 
 the most popular man in the five hotels. Afterwards, when, some- 
 how' or other, in the local journal there appears an account of the 
 "soiree darisante" — "exquise" — " ravissante " — with a full descrip- 
 tion of Madame Rosetta's charming costume, and so forth, the 
 Colonel, Avho, like the immortal Mr. Crummies, " cannot imagine 
 how these things get into the papers," is radiant, and spends his 
 entire afternoon in sending copies to his friends. 
 
 Cousin Jane and myself only literally " look in " at this gay 
 affair, which begins at an hour that we religiously consecrate to 
 retiring to rest. " What is the use," says Cousin Jane, very 
 sensibly, " of being here for health, and then sitting up and going 
 to parties, and taking supper, just as if we were in London for the 
 Season 1 " 
 
 I quite agree with her. She is absolutely right. "Besides," I 
 add, " I haven't brought any evening dress with me." 
 
 " And," says Jane, as she takes her candle, and opens her door, 
 "I haven't got anything I could go in. I wish I had. Good 
 night."
 
 B YA T. 
 
 221 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EQUESTRIAN EXERCISE — MY FIRST RIDE ON UNTAIRE. 
 
 P 
 
 First appearance of Untaire. 
 
 EMEMBERING 
 
 that the Colonel was 
 in full equestrian costume 
 the day of our arrival, I 
 ask him if the riding is 
 good about here. 
 
 " Eh ? " he exclaims, 
 putting his hand heartily 
 on my shoulder, "Eh, dear 
 boy, you ride 1 We 
 will go together. The 
 country is superb. I will take you. To-morrow ? Soit : good. 
 I will order the horses of M. Detache. Two, good, dear boy, not 
 much to look at, but to go — eh — first-rate, all right, dear boy ! 
 I will order Ilisette for me, and Hunter — they pronounce him 
 Untaire — for you. I'll take ter tickets of M. Detache, and you 
 can buy them of me — joost what you want." 
 
 As I do not quite seize the plan, he explains to me that M. 
 Detachers method is to sell so many tickets at eight francs a-piece, 
 representing so many rides, and you return a ticket after each ride. 
 I see : perfectly. I take two tickets for Untaire, as if he were an 
 entertainment. 
 
 In the afternoon they arrive. No, they are not much to look 
 at. Risctte is the better in appearance, a bay of about fifteen 
 hands, and Hunter, or " Untaire," is about fourteen one, with a 
 weary expression in his eye, a drooping head, an unkempt dirty 
 mane hanging raggedly about a neck so curiously indented as to 
 suggest the idea of his having been, at one time or other, decapi- 
 tated and imperfectly refitted. His bones are everywhere visible ; 
 he is rather down in his shoulders, as apparently he is on his luck, 
 but his hind-quarters are peculiarly strong. His feet are broad, 
 and his legs certainly warrant his owner's description of him. 
 
 " II est Men solide," says M. Detache, the proud proprietor of 
 Untaire.
 
 222 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 So on the solid Untaire I mount. Until T am on his back I am 
 convinced that Untaire is fast asleep. He wakes up however on 
 his girths being tightened, and looks round with a shrug of his 
 thin shoulders, as much as to say, " Hallo ! Another two hours ! 
 Ah well ! Risette's going, so that's company at all events." By 
 the way, this affection for Risette is most remarkable. Untaire 
 at first refuses to turn round to the left in order to go out of the 
 gate, because the movement involves losing sight of Risette for an 
 instant. I am determined that the affectionate Untaire shall go 
 
 the way I want him. He sulkily 
 yields to a sharp touch of the spur 
 and a tug of the left rein, and, catch- 
 ing sight of Risette's tail, he decides 
 that for once my way shall be his, and 
 consequently comes round to my way 
 of thinking. 
 
 From this experience of Untaire I 
 draw two conclusions ; first, that the 
 characteristic of his temper is obstinacy ; 
 secondly, that he possesses a mouth 
 about as impressionable as a flint wall. 
 My stirrups, which are small and 
 slight, strike me as having been origi- 
 nally made for a rocking-horse : so do 
 the reins. The saddle, also made for 
 a rocking-horse, is fairly comfortable. 
 We are starting at half-past three, 
 and the heat is tropical. I am 
 waging a continuous war against the persistent horse-flies that 
 fasten on to the solid Untaire like so many leeches. Any other 
 horse would have been driven mad long ago, but Untaire seems 
 accustomed to it. Sometimes he shakes his head as if gently 
 remonstrating and saying to some flies more pertinacious than the 
 rest, " Oh, really now this is too bad ! You might leave me alone, 
 some of you ! " 
 
 The high roads are hard as granite, with a soft powdery dust on 
 •each side. The short cuts, originally used only by pedestrians, but 
 which the Colonel, as guide, selects in order to show his thorough 
 
 The Proprietor of Untaire.
 
 R YA T. 223 
 
 knowledge of the country, are rocky, stony, and uneven, having 
 been formed during many winters by the mountain torrents. 
 
 " Look here, dear boy," says the Colonel, with all the enthusiasm 
 of an explorer, or an Indian Pathfinder, " you follow me. I find a 
 lovely road. We must ride pretty quick at first, because it is all 
 up-hill, but, after, it is all down, and we shall have to walk 
 much. A lions ! Tckkf" and, without waiting for a reply, he 
 dashes off up the road, and is suddenly lost to sight round a sharp 
 corner. 
 
 I follow at the same pace : that is when I say / follow at the 
 same pace, I mean that Untaire does. For, immediately Untaire 
 sees Risette go off at a gallop, he pulls himself together and starts 
 after her at such a pace, and in so blind and reckless a manner, 
 that I am brought within measurable distance of a collision with 
 a bullock-cart which is advancing towards us, and then, after 
 scattering a crowd of terrified pedestrians, and so startling an old 
 gentleman, who is reading, that he clasps the book to his breast 
 and makes precipitately for a heap of stones, Untaire skirts an 
 open drain and dashes round the corner where the Colonel has 
 just disappeared. Then catching sight of Risette in the distance, 
 where I can just see the upper half of the Colonel — above a low 
 wa ll — careering at full gallop, Untaire redoubles all his efforts to 
 come up with Risette. Heavens ! What a ride ! Rocks, actual 
 boulders, sticking up in the middle of what they call a road — loose 
 stones as big as your head — ruts — gutters — I shall pidl up, — that 
 is, if I can. " Hi ! Stop ! " I shout to the Colonel. " Let's go 
 quietly over this nasty bit " 
 
 No use my shouting, he is half a mile off, and if I lose sight of 
 him I shall have to go back again, that is, if Untaire will consent 
 to return, and give up my ride. Untaire hasn't fallen on his nose 
 yet — perhaps he is accustomed to rocks, and knows how to get 
 over them without falling . . . it's up-hill, that's one good thing, 
 and it's no use pulling at him, I might as well tug at a milestone. 
 . . . Now between two vineyards and a mountain-side covered 
 with pine-trees on my left — I wish the Colonel would stop to 
 admire the view, instead of galloping on at this Headless Horse- 
 man sort of pace — hah ! a big rock in front of us — and the end 
 •of the road 1 — no — it's a high bank and a sharp tuning to the
 
 224 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 right — I pull Untaire's left with all my might to steer him well 
 away from the wall — I just manage it— we are round it sideways 
 like Mr. Batt} r , at full speed on his hare-backed steed in the Circus, 
 and on we go again. Alazepjm isn't in it with me, mounted on 
 Untaire the wild horse of Royat. Up a mountain. ... At the 
 top. . . . Colonel already nearly half-way down on the other 
 side. . . . More rocks, more stones, more boulders — and then a 
 small mountain-stream and two roads. Here the Colonel ha3 
 pulled up — thank Heaven ! — and is considering which way he'll 
 take. 
 
 When I have recovered my breath sufficiently to make an obser- 
 vation, I say, sarcastically, " This is a nice sort of a country." 
 
 "Isn't it?" returns the Colonel, delighted at my approval, and 
 in the highest possible spirits. " We must get to Charrade — that's 
 at the top somewhere — and then to a place called Bouzy, or some- 
 thing like that. This road," he says, pointing to a narrow walk 
 which can only by the utmost courtesy be even called a bridle- 
 path, " leads up to the pine-forest, but," he adds, indicating another 
 on the right, " I fancy from what I recollect of the route — that 
 this is the shortest." 
 
 "It looks more likely," I reply, by which I mean that, for my 
 own personal comfort on Untaire, it seems to be less rocky and 
 about two inches wider. 
 
 " All right ! " cries the Colonel. " Iloup-la ! " and he is off 
 again, up rocky mountain-path at full gallop. In another second, 
 so am I, that is, so is Untaire. I can't be left behind and lost in 
 a pine-forest on the mountains, so I give Untaire his head, — this 
 is merely a matter of form so far as Untaire is concerned, — and 
 away we go. In less than five minutes I have ascended half a 
 mile, have gone breathlessly round some sharp angles, fought with 
 stiff bushes, avoided whacks on the head from sturdy branches by 
 lying along Untaire's neck, and am at last thoroughly rejoiced to 
 see the Colonel and Risette actually walking along a fairish path 
 between the trees. 
 
 The situation is magnificent : a perfect aisle of stately pine-trees 
 on each hand — but the road is on the side of the mountain, and if 
 Untaire doesn't overcome his partiality for leaning to the right, 
 dowu he'll roll sideways, and be knocked from tree to tree, just as.
 
 11 YA T. 
 
 225 
 
 the marble is knocked from pin to pin — only this would be from 
 pine to pine — at Chinese billiards, or in the old race game. But 
 I don't want to play at any game of this sort, so am glad we are 
 going quietly. I come up with the Colonel and hope, by engaging 
 him in conversation, to keep him walking at his present easy pace. 
 "Is this the right road for Charrade?" I ask. 
 
 " Here we go up, up, up ; 
 Here we go down, down, down O ! ' 
 
 " Yes ! This is right ! This is good going here ! Whoop ! ' ; 
 r.nd before I can utter another word away he gallops, Untaire, 
 breathing hard, but game to the last, after him. I wish to good- 
 ness that Untaire would not show such a decided predilection for 
 leaning sideways, even when galloping, to the right. Either my 
 knee will be severely injured by a tree, or with the slightest 
 additional bias to the right down we go among the pines, and 
 there's an end of one of us at all events, for I don't suppose that 
 anything short of a sheer fall of a hundred feet on to sharp rocks 
 would affect Untaire. I try to remember all the stories I've ever 
 
 Q
 
 226 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 heard about slipping your foot out of the stirrup in time and 
 throwing yourself off, and I only hope the occasion won't arise 
 which will compel my attempting any of these wild-horse-of-the- 
 prairie feats. 
 
 Light at last ! . . . . End of the pine-forest — we are going 
 always at a gallop, along a rocky road — and are approaching a 
 little bit of open heath — we cross it — Untaire slithers (he is not 
 so good on turf, as he is on rocks) but with his gaze fixed on 
 Risette, he follows her without caring much where he puts his 
 feet, — over the turf, more slithering, — down an incline of slippery 
 grass, where we are prevented from coming down by a welcome 
 bit of rock, which, in the ordinary course of things, would have 
 damaged any civilised horses, whether in London or Leicestershire, 
 for life, — and at last we are on a comparatively good road, where 
 on a post is written " Charrade," and an arrow indicates the 
 direction. 
 
 " What a view ! " the Colonel calls out, pointing towards the 
 plain below lis — and the mountains far far away. We see towns 
 spread out like toys with red-roofed houses — old church towers — 
 those of Clermont-Ferrand Cathedral, standing out in the clear 
 atmosphere — it is evidently a baking day in the valley, — 
 and here we are being refreshed after our exertions by the 
 most lovely air that comes to us over refrigerating mountain- 
 streams, and filtered through the scented pines. Yes, the view 
 alone is worth something, — and for the present the danger is 
 forgotten. 
 
 " Ah," cries the Colonel, " when my wife drive up here and back 
 she take two hours to come and one to return. The guide-book 
 say eet is an affair of three hours, and here we are up to the top 
 at Charrade in tirty-five minutes, and I do not know which way 
 we come. I had forgot." And he beams upon me as if conscious 
 of having done something extraordinarily clever. " We will write 
 a guide-book for horseback. Now — allons ! — eet ees all new to 
 me." 
 
 A chill wind has arisen : I draw his attention to a black cloud 
 obscuring the observatory on the Puy-de-Dome. 
 
 " It will be nutting," he says, setting off at a trot along the 
 road, whereupon Untaire sets off too at the same pace, but before
 
 BOY AT. 227 
 
 we have gone half a mile heavy drops begin to fall, and we take 
 refuge among some bushes and young oak-trees. 
 
 I dismount. We are in a sort of natural arbour. Untaire 
 exhibits a remarkable liking for acorns. What other animal is 
 devoted to acorns ? The pig. Has Untaire in the course of ages 
 been evolved from an antediluvian pig ? If so, that accounts for 
 the obstinacy he displays under an assumed affection for Eisette. 
 The Colonel feeling inaction for five minutes somewhat irksome, 
 observes that in this part of the world the storms are partial and 
 local. I reply that I would rather they did not show a partiality 
 for us. I have not taken an eight-franc ticket for Untaire in order 
 to sit under a bush, while Untaire stuffs himself with acorns. The 
 Colonel volunteers to reconnoitre. " Often it happens," he ex- 
 plains, " that while it is pouring just over your head, it is quite 
 dry and fine a hundred yard further on." He will ride out and 
 see : and he does so. 
 
 Untaire, intent on his acorn treat, does not notice the departure 
 of Risette. After ten minutes or more, there being no signs of the 
 Colonel's return, I determine to come out of my ambush and ride 
 after him. This decision involves the summary interruption of 
 Untaire's feast, and he reluctantly tears himself away from a young 
 oak-tree, with his mouth full of green sprigs, which he suffers me 
 to remove. I mount, and urge him into the open road. It is 
 still raining : but only slightly. The Colonel having ridden off to 
 the left, I pull Untaire's head in that direction. But Untaire 
 having evidently formed his own theory on the subject, positively 
 refuses to move towards the left, and sidles in a foolish sort of 
 manner towards the right. I spur him with my right heel : I 
 catch him a nasty one with my whip on the right shoulder : all to 
 no purpose, the more I spur, and the more I whip, the more 
 olunderingly and foolishly — it is a really foolish and crab-like 
 movement — he sidles towards the edge of the road. The acorns 
 must have got into his head. I never met with such an idiotic 
 animal. As to his taking any notice of my tugging at the left 
 rein, I might as well pull at a broken door-bell and expect an 
 answer. 
 
 He is curving his body, and moving sideways towards the edge 
 of the road, which being entirely unprotected by hedge or fence, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 discovers a precipice below. A precipice — simply a precipice. 
 Untaire's piggish obstinacy will be his destruction and mine. I 
 make one last desperate effort with whip and spur, to which 
 Untaire only responds by intensifying his imitation of a crab. 
 There's only one thing to be done — if Untaire is determined on 
 suicide, he can go over by himself. I roll off somehow, and alight 
 on my back, expecting to see the last of Untaire as he disappears 
 into the abyss beneath. Nothing of the sort. Untaire pauses, 
 his purpose is shaken, — so am I by the way, considerably ;— just 
 at this minute the sound of hoofs is heard, and the Colonel on 
 
 Untaire backing himself for a place. 
 
 Risette comes galloping back. Immediately a better spirit takes 
 possession of Untaire. He consents to be led into the middle of 
 the road, where he stands quiet as a lamb, and looking so gentle 
 that you would think a child might guide him. 
 
 " It is lucky you were off," says the Colonel. " You are not 'urt ! 
 No ? Good. Then come along ! Ter rain is over. I have a 
 short cut." And away he goes at a gallop down the road, then 
 turns a corner and disappears. He is always turning corners and 
 disappearing. I am compelled to follow. But my nerve is shaken, 
 which, by the way, is a matter of not the slightest consideration to 
 Untaire, who now seems to have made up his mind never again to
 
 BOYAT. 
 
 229 
 
 lose sight of Risette. It is all down-hill. The path comes 
 abruptly to an end at a meadow, 
 
 " Come along ! ; ' cries the Colonel, waving his whip as if it were 
 a sword with which he were leading a charge of cavalry, and then 
 he urges Risette down a steep mossy slope, which will lead us into 
 a morass — I feel it will — where we shall stick in the mud, the 
 horses will be up to their knees, and then what on earth shall we 
 do ? Besides it suddenly occurs to me, aren't we trespassing 1 
 And in a foreign country, too ! Untaire slithers ; he is not good 
 on moss and damp meadow land. This place — this short cut the 
 Colonel has chosen — is about as steep as the Devil's Dyke. Eveiy 
 
 We part company. Untaire remains undecided. 
 
 minute I expect we shall roll over. Still, as the Colonel and 
 Risette are now at the bottom of the meadow, Untaire and myself 
 may be able to arrive there also. We should arrive thei-e with 
 sufficient rapidity if Untaire made one false step. Luckily he 
 doesn't, and once landed on something like terra Jirma, I breathe 
 
 again. 
 
 " There's the road home ! " shouts the Colonel, pointing to a road 
 up in the hills far above us, and more than a mile off, across fields 
 and apparently through plantations where I am sure we have no 
 right to ride. However we can't return ; we must advance, and 
 we must go together, or one of us will be lost, and that will be 
 myself.
 
 230 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Hallo ! Exactly what I had feared. A peasant, -with a fierce 
 dog, halloaing to us. Another peasant : more signalling and 
 halloaing. They are running. We are galloping. The Colonel 
 is making more cavalry chai'ges, and waving his whip above his 
 head frantically. We fly across a meadow. We hear shouts 
 behind us. Before us is a running brook, rocky banks, and 
 boulders. Can we jump it? The Colonel is off in a second. He 
 takes Risette by the bridle, and jumps from rock to rock. I give 
 Risette one sharp cut and she bounds over the brook like a stag, 
 knocking down the Colonel. He is up again, quite pleased, and 
 entirely unhurt. I adopt the same plan, without allowing Untaire 
 a second for reflection, and he follows Risette, landing safely on the 
 opposite rock. We mount and away, like a couple of Dick Turpins. 
 Peasants and dogs in field halloaing : we ride full gallop up the 
 next field. Peasants stopped by brook : perhaps the next field, 
 where we are, isn't their property. Colonel sees a bank topped by 
 a thick edge. He gesticulates to me, indicating that that is our 
 short cut to the road and safety. We charge it, take it with a 
 rush, and pull up desperately on the edge of a precipitous drop. 
 No help for it ; we have to dismount and climb down on foot the 
 same way we came up ; peasants below running round to circum- 
 vent us, dogs barking savagely. Luckily the Colonel strikes the 
 right path, Risette breasts it gallantly ; Untaire's powers are 
 failing. He breathes hard, he blows, he heaves up and down . . . 
 Now then, my gallant steed ! think of Black Bess ! only ten yards 
 more of perpendicular rock, and we are saved ! — Come up ! He 
 comes up — he makes a grand effort . . . and at last — we are safe 
 and sound on the homeward road. We trot on quickly ; the 
 peasants and dogs are lost to view. " Colonel," I say, " let us ride 
 the rest of the way quietly." For once the Colonel acquiesces, and 
 it is only at the last, down-hill into Royat, that he cannot resist 
 breaking into a canter. 
 
 "We will have another ride," he says, as we dismount. "Eet 
 was first-rate. And I think I know a better road still." We 
 shall see.
 
 BOY A T. 
 
 231 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ONE MORE ON UNTAIRE. 
 
 J^- 
 
 Result of Untaire's Exploit- 
 Separation of the body of 
 the Boot from the Sole. 
 
 IF THE waters of Royat hadn't put 
 plenty of iron into me, I don't think 
 my nerves could have stood a second 
 ride on Untaire. But the Colonel 
 persuades me, and after a day's rest I 
 am ready for the effort. 
 
 " It is the only way to know the 
 country," says the Colonel, whose theory 
 I admit is sound, but whose method of 
 giving it practical effect is somewhat 
 rough. 
 
 We start, and if the Colonel on Risette 
 
 will only stick to road and rocks, I can 
 
 follow him ; but if he ventures on turf 
 
 I feel that it is tempting the special 
 
 Providence that has hitherto watched over Untaire. Every 
 
 moment on grass with Untaire I expect to be off, and Untaire 
 
 on me or on his back. And then 1 
 
 Luckily the Colonel agrees with me, and prefers the rocky path. 
 We descend through very wet bushes, the branches slapping our 
 faces for our impudence. At last we are in a better road, a steep 
 ascent, rather good going, and consequently any attempt at holding 
 in Untaire being useless, away we go, I breathless, Untaire breath- 
 less too, but his head well forward, and his hoofs knocking the 
 rocks like steel hammers. How his shoes stay on is a marvel ! 
 I catch a glimpse of the Colonel as he darts round a sharp corner, 
 and I only devoutly trust that I may make no mistake as to the 
 exact turning, or I shall be lost in the wood. Round to the right 
 we go, at such an acute angle, and at such a tremendous pace, 
 that the sudden change in the direction nearly upsets us both, and 
 Untaire, who has been galloping right foot foremost, now suddenly 
 substitutes the left, in order apparently to save himself from 
 coming down on his side; but he executes the movement with
 
 232 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 such a jerk, followed by such a heavy stumping action, that I 
 begin to fear he must have dislocated his shoulder, or otherwise 
 severely injured some portion of his frame. He recovers himself, 
 however, and I become accustomed to the stumping movement, 
 which is just as if he had got a wooden foreleg. No sign of the 
 Colonel. Just as we reach the top I see the phantom Colonel 
 vanishing rouni another corner half-way down the descent. 
 
 THE START. 
 
 ' From rock to rock. 
 With many a shock. 
 And bump ami thump." 
 
 " The Cuntrabandtita." Act I. 
 (Song in the Key of " Gee.") 
 
 Untaire has caught sight of Pisette's tail, and hastens to rejoin 
 her. 
 
 Full pelt down hill, Pisette kicking up the mud, and suddenly 
 stopping, reined in with a jerk by the Colonel, as Untaire, whom 
 I am unable to curb in his bold career, cannons against her. No 
 injury done to men or beasts. What's the matter ? 
 
 " Vict ! " shouts the colonel, roaring with laughtei*, as he points 
 to a notice-board. " Eet ees La Pepiniere. We are trespassing. 
 In another moment will the gardener see us. No dogs, no horses 
 allowed. Come back, or it will be an amende if they catch us.
 
 BOY AT. 
 
 233 
 
 Houp la ! " And without further parley he turns Risette and flies 
 at a Dick-Turpin-to-York pace back again. Untaire doesn't wait 
 to be guided, but goes round suddenly, as if on a pivot, and bolts 
 after his favourite Risette. Sharp to the left, over some stumps 
 of trees, across a small stream, over some rocks — up, up, up, until 
 we find ourselves galloping on the hill above the beautifully-kept 
 grounds of La Pepiniere, where the gardeners and a garde chavi- 
 petre are now keeping a vigilant eye on our movements. 
 
 "Ah! we will take first road to right," cries the Colonel. 
 " There must be a way down." 
 
 There is. Such a way ! I don't believe any horses have ever 
 
 (JAW* 
 
 JJ 
 
 
 
 Untaire tries to see through a Stone Wall. 
 
 been on this trackless path before. It is all rock, and so steep, 
 that even the Colonel is compelled to proceed at a careful walking- 
 pace. He has a plan for crossing by a wood below, and making 
 for a village which he sees some way off, then round to Royat by 
 a short cut, — always a short cut, as if we were in a desperate 
 hurry on some matter of life and death, instead of being out for a 
 quiet ride at four francs an hour. 
 
 After effecting our rocky descent, we have a treacherous bit of 
 mossy grass, but, thank goodness, not much of it, and we issue on 
 to a road which leads us by orchards and fruit trees, through a 
 picturesque village, which is not the one the Colonel meant, but 
 with which, as it is a village, he is equally delighted. Then we
 
 234 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 find ourselves on a high road, very white, very hot, and very 
 hard. 
 
 This doesn't suit the Colonel, who instantly discovers a cross- 
 country route, and exclaims, "See ! there is a way by those vine- 
 yards ! " And before I can remonstrate, and point out that this is 
 almost certain to be private property, he has urged Risette into a 
 gallop and is half-way down a narrow path between two vineyards. 
 I see in the distance the upper half of the Colonel above a low 
 stone wall, which now borders the road. Untaire catches sight 
 of Risette and impelled by his strong affection for her, it occurs 
 
 1 Again he urges on 
 hiB wild career." 
 
 Untaire Grazing— a Corner. 
 
 to him that he can break through all obstacles that separate 
 them, and so, instead of waiting for the corner of the road, he 
 makes straight for the wall in front of us on the other side of 
 which as it seems to his limited intelligence, he sees Risette 
 galloping away in the distance. I pull at him, but to no pur- 
 pose, but he had not reckoned on a blind ditch, and into this 
 he goes with a dash that brings his nose sharp up against the 
 wall. 
 
 Like the wondrous wise man celebrated in verse for the feat of 
 jumping into and out of a quickset hedge, Untaire no sooner finds 
 his fore-legs in the ditch, than he extricates them, backs himself 
 on to the road, perceives the -right-angled corner of the wall, and
 
 HOY AT. 235 
 
 in order to rectify his error as soon as possible, makes for it at 
 such a pace, that, before I can do anything in the way of guiding 
 him, he has swerved round it so sharply as to bring my right boot 
 in contact with some projecting flints, which cut the sole as clean 
 away from the upper leather as if the operation had been per- 
 formed by a machine specially invented for the purpose. 
 
 Luckily, Eoyat appears in sight, and I am no longer dependent 
 on following the Colonel's lead. This is my last performance on 
 Untaire, as the Colonel quits Royat next morning. Dr. Ham- 
 mond Putteney and the others have all gone, and Cousin Jane 
 doesn't ride. Left to ourselves, we drive about the country, 
 visiting among other places the wonderfully well-preserved ruin, 
 the Chateau de Tournoel. Here, surveying the view from the top 
 of the Castle in the company of a strongly garlic-and-tobacco- 
 scented old guardian, I see Cousin Jane suddenly start back 
 from the ramparts with a terrified expression, as if she'd seen a 
 ghost. 
 
 " What is it 1 " I ask, anxiously. But by way of reply she can 
 only point towards the massive old stone wall. I look, but can see 
 nothing except the highly flavoured guide — one who comes under 
 the "Highly-Flavoured Nation" clause, — who is leaning his elbow 
 on the rampart. 
 
 "There! there!" she exclaims. "Don't you see those crea- 
 tures ! " If it had been a viveur who, after indulging rather too 
 freely, had exclaimed, " Look ! those horrid creatures ! See, 
 there they are again! popping up!" I should at once have 
 been able to trace his agitation to the probable cause. But 
 with Cousin Jane who is almost a teetotaler, whose general 
 health has been so much improved by the Cesar baths, and her 
 nerves by the iron in the waters, it is another affair, and I am, 
 for the moment appalled as if in the presence of some frightful 
 calamity. 
 
 But the Highly Flavoured One hits on the right solution as he 
 points to some funny little yellow heads which are peeping up 
 between the crevices of the old stones in the blazing heat of this 
 tropical afternoon. 
 
 I am much relieved, and explain, as does the guide also, that they 
 are quite harmless, and that this hide-and-seek is only their play.
 
 236 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " What are they called 1 " I ask. 
 
 " Lezardines, answers the guide. 
 
 Cousin Jane is indignant. She gives a sniff in the air, and 
 observes that the man must take us for fools to try and impose on 
 us in this way. 
 
 I am mystified, and so I ask him again what is the name of 
 hese creatures, and he makes the same answer, " Lezardines." 
 
 " There ! ' Les Sardines ' / " exclaims Cousin Jane. " As if we 
 didn't know what sardines were. Nonsense ! " 
 
 Cousin Jane has certainly been benefited considerably by the 
 waters of Koyat. 
 
 THE FINISH. 
 Riding quietly home.
 
 ROY AT. 
 
 237 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Salut, Mossieu' et 
 Medame !" 
 
 ASCENT OF THE PUY DE DOME, AND GRAND FINALE. 
 
 ~\X7"E ARE preparing for final retire- 
 ment, and a wizened figure in black, 
 like a rag-doll as a pen-wiper, presents us 
 with our little bill for twenty-one days' 
 washing, insists upon giving us sweet- 
 scented flowers and unripe fruit, and then 
 with her money in her pocket, shows herself 
 out of the room, saying with plenty of bobs 
 (and francs) and curtseys at the door, 
 "Salut, Mossieu' et Medame. ' Salut, Medame 
 et Mossieu ! " and so ringing the changes 
 on this formula, she disappears. We both 
 took a great fancy to this old lady, who 
 was full of chatter and gossip, but on subse- 
 quent consideration, Cousin Jane begins to 
 question whether the work of the Blanchis- 
 seuse is quite the most reasonable of the charges, which as a rule 
 are decidedly moderate at Royat. Afterwards, in driving about, 
 we come upon the Grotto where the Nymphs wash and pummel 
 the linen. If the amount of iron in the water is the same as that 
 in the Source Eugenie or Cesar, then the work of the blanchisseuse 
 is an economy of time and labour, as in the Spring of the Grotto 
 they do both the washing and the ironing at the same moment. 
 
 Coming on to the roof of our hotel, after a long drive, I hear a 
 voice, exclaiming, " Hallo ! What you here ! " 
 
 Why is one Englishman always utterly astonished to meet 
 another Englishman, and a friend, anywhere abroad ? Wherever 
 they meet it is " Hallo, old fellow ! what on earth brings you 
 here? "or, "Who'd ha' thought o' seeing you here?" — as if you 
 had taken an unfair advantage of him somehow, or as if your 
 presence anywhere was, in itself, a suspicious circumstance, and 
 demanded instant explanation. In this case it is a Scotch friend, 
 who has arrived for the benefit of his health. He is accompanied
 
 238 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 by another friend, also a North Briton, "who has come to see him 
 safely started in the Water Course, along which I have been sail- 
 ing pleasantly enough ; and after that he intends to return to the 
 Highlands, where, at the sporting season, his heart naturally is 
 and " not here ; " his heart, according to the old song, being 
 engaged in " Chasing the wild deer, the (something, I forget 
 what) and the roe. Oh ! my heart's in the Highlands wherever 
 
 A ROYAT-L ASCENT. 
 Happy Thought.— " \ say, suppose we meet anything coming down!" 
 
 I go." This patriotic sportsman is the Chieftain of a Clan, at the 
 sound of whose pibroch (I am not sure of my Scotch terms, and 
 do not venture them in his presence) a thousand stalwart High- 
 landers, kilted and claymor'd, spring from the heather, and shout 
 something equivalent to " ieroe ! " and then execute wild dances 
 by torchlight, in celebration of having killed something or other 
 on four legs, which must be considerably larger than a hare. I
 
 BOY AT. 239 
 
 mention four legs, because I do not think they have any midnight 
 revels after killing a sixteen-pound salmon. 
 
 However, I admit my ignorance of Highland customs, and am 
 glad to be instructed. Delighted also to partake of the savoury 
 venison. 
 
 The Chieftain, who, with his friend the Mclnvalid, dines with 
 us to night in the salle a manger, where the number of guests is 
 daily diminishing, expresses his delight with lloyat, at finding it 
 so like Scotland. As a Chieftain who would have his foot on hi.s 
 native heath if he could, he is burning to climb a mountain, to 
 ascend the steep and craggy rocks, and bound lightly from point 
 to point like a gay chamois. " Can we not," — he suggests, con- 
 siderately turning towards the Mclnvalid, — "before you begin 
 your baths and drinks, can we not ascend the Puy de Dome 1 " 
 
 Yes. Why not ? Nothing more simple. Order a carriage ; 
 drive over there to-morrow morning ; " take luncheon with us," 
 says the Mclnvalid. " By all means," returns the Chieftain, " and 
 make the ascent." Though disliking climbings, and detesting, in 
 a general way, going up any high places, whether a belfry, a tower. 
 or a mountain merely for the sake of a view, I cannot refuse their 
 friendly offer of a seat in the carriage and a share of the lunch. 
 So I accept. The Mclnvalid has a guide-book, likewise the Chief- 
 tain has one. I tell them that I have a book which will be of 
 service to me as a beginner in the act of going up mountains, but 
 not to them as experts. "What is it?" "Well — it is only a 
 Grammar ; it is, in fact, Cardinal Newman's Grammar of Assent." 
 
 Thus lightheartedly I prepare for the dangers of the morrow. 
 I dismiss the excursion in two pictures which present a fair idea 
 of the pleasant sensations we experienced in going up the moun- 
 tain. The hardy mountaineers didn't like it. The Chieftain sat 
 behind, and his chances of escape, in case of an accident, were 
 somewhat better than ours in front, though we were all three 
 boxed into the seats, and aprons tightly fixed. One comforting 
 thought was, " How many have been up here before, and yet 
 lived to tell the tale ! " But, on consideration, such a theory 
 could only be supported by our having implicit faith in the word 
 of anvone who told us that he had made the ascent 
 
 Unlike Box and Cox we did not meet anyone " Coming up-stairs,
 
 240 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 us we were going down, or going down-stairs as we were coming 
 up." And it was fortunate for us that we didn't. When we 
 reached the top there was an Observatory, where we made several 
 observations, — strong ones too, some of them, on tumbling up and 
 down the stairs. Here the seamanlike Observer pointed out to 
 us all that was to be seen, and that didn't require pointing out, 
 and told us of a great deal more, including " Jerusalem and Mada- 
 gascar, and North and South Ameriky," which would have been 
 plainly visible to the naked eye had we only been up here yester- 
 day, or the day before, or in fact at any time except the very day 
 we had selected. We saw the French soldiers practising firing in 
 the fields below — and that was all. 
 
 We had lunch previous to the ascent, which proceeding we 
 subsequently decided was a mistake ; and the Chieftain chatted 
 freely and pleasantly with the peasants on our return. The 
 Mcln valid was deeply interested in their habits and customs, and, 
 — his idea as to the dinner-hour being founded on the practice 
 of the London season, — he wished to know what time they 
 dined, and when they breakfasted, and was much exercised on 
 being informed by the chatty matron, that they had dinner at 
 eleven in the morning, and " soup " at about six or so in the 
 evening. 
 
 " Et dites done, Madame, s'il vous plait," says he, regarding the 
 mother of the family with the deepest interest, " ne prenez-vous pas 
 da the a cinque heures alors ? " 
 
 He couldn't understand that at the foot of the Fuy de Dome, 
 within reach of an Observatory, not more than a mile off perpen- 
 dicularly, and within fifteen miles of Royat, this good lady should 
 not have her " day," and her " five o'clock tea." 
 
 It quite saddened him to think to what a state of ignorance a 
 peasantry might come, if only left out long enough in the 
 country. And to think that they shouldn't take tea at all, but 
 " la soape" before they went to bed ! Such a derangement of a 
 menu ! 
 
 This weighed on the Mclnvalid, and for some time after we had 
 started on our road home he was saddened and downcast. But 
 presently it began to mizzle, and fog swept over the heather, and 
 then both the North Britons revived.
 
 R YA T. 
 
 241 
 
 " It is like Scotland," cried the Chieftain, beaming with pleasure 
 as they both wrapped their plaidies about them, and revelled in 
 waterproofs. 
 
 On our arrival at the hotel, a gigantic retainer, one of the Chief- 
 tain's Highland Body Guard, or Six-feet-three-Highlander, opens 
 the carriage-door. Where has Donald been ? He has just been up 
 
 Delightful Ascent of the Puy de Dome. "So glad vwe came.' 
 
 " what they call in these parts a mountain, but it's nae better than 
 a hillock, ye ken, in Scotland." 
 
 " You got a good view, eh? " inquires the Chieftain. 
 
 Donald considers a second or two before answering, and then 
 replies, — 
 
 " Aweel, when I got oop to the top o' the thing they ca' a moun- 
 tain " 
 
 " What did you see 1 v asks the Chieftain, cutting in quickly. 
 
 " Aweel," answei-s Donald, looking a bit puzzled, " I just saw a 
 
 it
 
 242 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Frenchman." And this seemed to have impressed the Highlander 
 more than anything in the whole course of his journey abroad. 
 
 The next morning we bid Dr. Rem good-bye ; Cousin Jane de- 
 cidedly improved, myself undecidedly improved, and not yet out 
 of the traitement, but looking forward to results to be hereafter 
 apparent. 
 
 "You won't feel the benefit of the place all at once," says Dr. 
 Rem. He is quite right — I don't. Perhaps I am getting it in 
 bits, and I am what is expressively termed "mending." 
 
 I have seen the process of " mending." Even with the best 
 housewife it's a slow business. But still, for anaemic persons who 
 are overworked and weary, it would be difficult to find a better 
 (and, mind 3*011, a more moderate) place than Royat, with its vine- 
 yards, its lovely country, its magnificent air, its pine-forests, its 
 picturesque environs, its amusements (they've stopped the baccarat 
 and petits chevaux), its rides, drives, and walks, its douches of all 
 sorts, and, in a general way, its Water Course. 
 
 The Nymphs of the Grotto.
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 R ?
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A RETURN VOYAGE. 
 
 SALUBRITIES at 
 Home " {pace Mr. Atlas, 
 who will recognise this tern- 
 porary adaptation of his 
 world-renowned title) I should 
 say are Buxton (for most 
 people), Bath (for some), 
 Harrogate (for others), and, 
 — besides a variety of North, 
 South, East and West, too 
 numerous to be mentioned in 
 these notes, — Ranisgate for 
 > A " / "~ 7 nearly all. 
 
 ''Salubrities Abroad" are Homburg, Aix-les-Bains, Carlsbad, &c, 
 &c, and Roy at, where I find myself again this year. " Scenes of 
 my bath-hood, once more I behold ye ! " There is '■' A Salubrity 
 at Royat," which people of certain tendencies cannot easily find 
 elsewhere. It is a cure for eminent persons of strong Conservative 
 tendencies. Lord Salisbury was here last year, and my friend 
 Monsieur Ondit, who is in everybody's confidence, tells me that 
 his lordship will revisit a place where the traitement did him so 
 much good. I believe he underwent the " Cherry-cure," at all 
 events his lordship was seen in public constantly eating them out 
 of a paper bag. Wltat did he do with the bag ? My answer is, " he 
 popped it." Down went the cherries, and bang went the bag and 
 fifty centimes. Well, did not Royat effect some change in his
 
 246 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 conservatism ? What has been the result 1 But I am not here to 
 
 talk politics. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Everybody is talking of the Boulanger-Ferry incident." This is 
 Aug. 4, and nothing has happened. 
 
 " II n'y a pas de danger," 
 Dit General Boulanger ; 
 " Tout va, je crois, s'arranger, 
 Chez Terry, mes amis." 
 
 I haven't time to proceed with this, but, so far, the idea is at 
 any poet's disposition to continue as he pleases, my only stipula- 
 tion being that the air to which it is to be sung shall be " Marl- 
 brook." 
 
 My other friend, Benjamin Trovato, of Italian extraction, tells 
 me that Boulanger is half English, and had an English education. 
 Ben informs me that the General has never forgotten the rhythms 
 he learnt in his happy English nursery ; and that, when he read 
 that M. Ferry had called him a "St. Arnaud de Cafe-Concert" he 
 sang out, recollecting the old catch, — - 
 
 A Note, a Note ! 
 Haste to the Ferry ! 
 
 in which his friends were unable to join, owing to their ignorance 
 of the words and tune. 
 
 When driving through Clermont-Ferrand from the Station up 
 to Royat, we (three of us) had a small omnibus to ourselves. One 
 of the party (a wag, of whom, and of the circumstances of our 
 meeting, more " in my next ") insisted on our calling out, " Vive 
 Boulanger ! " We did this several times in the most crowded 
 parts, but the cry obtained no response, and aroused no excite- 
 ment, as, being littered with the greatest caution (at my instance), 
 nobody heard it. 
 
 ****** 
 
 But what a thing to fight about ! If duelling were an English 
 fashion, how fruitful of "incidents" this Session would have been. 
 How often Avould Mr. Tim Healy have been " out " i And Mr. 
 De Lisle's life w r ould have hung upon a Lisle thread !
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 247 
 
 Note for strangers about to visit Royat. — The Continental Hotel 
 
 has lost a little territory, as half of what was its terrace has been 
 
 re-turned to the present proprietor of the hotel next door, with 
 
 whom we Continentals have no connection, not even "on business," 
 
 it not being " the same concern " and under one management as it 
 
 was last year. But what the Continental Hotel has sacrificed in 
 
 domain, Monsieur Hall, our obliging landlord, has more than made 
 
 up in comfort and cooking. Dr. Brandt sees his patients in a 
 
 charming Villa of Flowers. The weather is lovely. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 We are all surprised at seeing one another here. Each person 
 
 for each couple or party) seems to think that he alone (or they 
 
 alone) possess the secret of Royat' s existence. We certainly are 
 
 not a mutual admiration society at Royat. When we come upon 
 
 one another suddenly, each exclaims, "Hallo! what are you here 
 
 for 1 " as if the other were a convict " doing his time." Everyone 
 
 thinks he knows what he is here for, but very few tell what lie 
 
 thinks he knows. And, by the way, the best-informed among us 
 
 doesn't know very much about it. 
 
 ****** 
 
 In the Reading-room of the Cercle there ought to be (as adver- 
 tised in a local journal) at least three English newspapers daily. 
 I have not seen them as yet. The only London paper arriving 
 here regularly, and to be purchased every day early at the News- 
 vendor's, is the Morning Post. Vive Sir Algernon ! Can this be 
 the attraction for Lord Salisbury 1 Why come out so far afield to 
 read the Morning Post ? Or wasn't it here, during Lord Salisbury's 
 visit last year, and is he still ignorant of its having been subse- 
 quently demanded and supplied this season? And when he comes 
 and finds it — " what a surprise ! " — no, thank goodness, we have 
 
 escaped from this song- — for a time, at least. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Too hot to write any more journal. The hundredth bell is 
 sounding for the fiftieth dejeuner. My dejeuner is finished. There 
 ire bells here perpetually. All day and all night. In vain would 
 Mr. Irving as Mathias, put his hands to his ears and close the 
 windows. The bells ! The bells ! Distant bells, near bells, sheep- 
 bells, goat-bells, a man with pipe (not tobacco but tune, or what
 
 248 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 he and the goats consider a tune), dinner-bells, guests'-bells, 
 servants'-bells, church-bells (not much), chapel-bells (early and 
 occasionally), horse-bells, donkey-bells, breakfast-bells, supper-bells, 
 arrival-bells, departure-bells, tramway-bells, crier's-bells, with varia- 
 tions on drum or trumpet, and several other bells that I shall 
 notice in the course of the twenty-four hours, but have forgotten 
 
 just now. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The " petits chevaux " have not been stopped by the Government ; 
 
 they are running as fast as ever. There are two bands, playing 
 
 morning, afternoon, and evening. The Casino Sarnie is as lively 
 
 as ever, or, as my waggish acquaintance at once expressed it, in 
 
 that vein of humour for which he is so specially distinguished, 
 
 " The Sarnie old game," and to sit out in the garden, with a 
 
 fragrant cigar and coffee, before retiring for the night, is indeed a 
 
 calm pleasure, or would be but for the aforesaid waggishness, of 
 
 which more anon. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Soldiers about everywhere, Boulangering. Up in the hills is a 
 splendid echo. This morning, having caught the very slightest 
 cold, I went up into the mountains to get it blown away. Sud- 
 denly I sneezed. Such a sneeze ! It reverberated all over the 
 mountain like the firing of a battery. Again ! again ! These 
 sneezes nearly shook me off the rock, and sent me staggering on 
 to the plateau below. The effect must have been alarming, as the 
 third sneeze fetched out the military, horse and foot, at full gallop, 
 and the double. L'ennemi? C'e'tait moi! They scoured the 
 mountain sides, but I did not sneeze again. I have a sort of idea 
 that my sneeze upset the entire preconcerted arrangements for a 
 
 review. The Boulangerers retired — so did I. 
 
 ****** 
 
 'Tis the hour of douche. Richard, the attendant, will be there 
 to give it me. Douche-ment, douche-ment. Gently does it ! O 
 Richard, Mon Roy-at! . . . An revoir I
 
 SA L U BRIT IKS ABROAD. 
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AGAIN WE COME TO THEE," — ROYAT ! 
 
 7 
 
 lO THOSE about to travel via 
 Dover and Calais. — Ask when 
 The Empress makes the journey. 
 Something like a boat, and the day 
 our party went by her she did the 
 crossing in the hour, and I won't 
 positively swear it wasn't a minute 
 or so under that time. There's a 
 crossing - sweeper for you ! The 
 Empress of the Sea ! Mind you it 
 was a fine day, and what I should 
 say would be considered a calm sea 
 though there were several sufferers. 
 
 If not in a hurry — and who can hurry in such weather? — the 
 easiest travelling is by the 11 a.m. from Victoria; admirable 
 Empress for the crossing ; and a good twenty-five minutes or more 
 for one of the best buffet-luncheons in France. Stay the night 
 in Paris, and off to your Royat, your Aix, or wherever it may be, 
 as early as possible. 
 
 At the Paris-Lyon Station, en route for Royat. — Owing to the 
 gentle influence of Colonel Waters, attached to the L. C. & D. 
 corps in Paris, and to the indefatigable exertions of his lieutenant 
 in uniform, Gustav Herlan, the P. L. & M. Company have con- 
 sented to put a lit-salon carriage on to their day-train as quite an 
 exceptional concession to an invalid, who might be supposed to 
 have thus addressed them : — ■ 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a gouty man, 
 
 Whose trembling limbs have brought him to your door, 
 "Who asks you to oblige him with — you can — 
 
 A simple lit-salon and nothing more. 
 
 The perfect comfort of this arrangement for a long journey is 
 worth the price including the supplement, which I am paying when
 
 250 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 a cheery voice cries " Hallo ! old chap," and I recognise Puller, 
 whom I haven't seen for some time. I return his greeting 
 heartily. " You've got a coupe reserve ? " he exclaims gleefully, 
 and literally skipping for joy. I never saw a man in such spirits. 
 He is not absolutely young, nearer forty than thirty for example, 
 looking so wonderfully fresh, that turn-down collars and a jacket 
 would suit him perfectly. He is as clean-shaved as a Benedictine 
 Monk or a Low Comedian. He says of himself — he is the waggish 
 companion to whom I alluded in my previous notes — " I am well 
 preserved in high spirits." He insists on paying the extra seat 
 and supplement. Cousin Jane (again going to Royat for the Caesar 
 Baths) says she shall be delighted, and so Puller is to come with 
 us. Certainly am delighted to see Puller. Will he have his 
 things brought here 1 He will, " d, Vinstant" — he pronounces it 
 " ar long stong," and roars with laughter as if he had delivered 
 himself of the rarest witticism. Then he skips off down the plat- 
 form, waving an umbrella in one hand and a stick in the other. 
 Suddenly Puller's social characteristics all flash across me. I 
 haven't seen him for years, and had forgotten them. I recollect 
 now, he is what they call " an inveterate punster," and loves when 
 abroad (though an accomplished linguist) to speak the language of 
 the country in which he may be temporarily sojourning with a 
 strong English accent; it is also a part of his humour to embellish 
 his discourse with English idioms literally translated, — or, vice 
 versd, to give French idioms in colloquial English ; so that on the 
 whole his conversational style, when in foreign parts, is peculiar. 
 The impression left in my memory years ago of Puller, is that he 
 is a wonderfully good-natured fellow unless a trifle puts him out, 
 when he flares up suddenly into red heat ; but this is seldom, and 
 he cools down directly if allowed to stand. When he is not in the 
 highest possible spirits he is an agreeable companion, as he can 
 give some interesting, but utterly untrustworthy, information on 
 most subjects, and, when this comes to an end, he falls asleep sud- 
 denly, — he does everything suddenly, — but, as I have since ascer- 
 tained, does not snore. When at his office in London he is the 
 second partner of an eminent firm of Solicitors with a varied and 
 extensive business. For a safe and sound legal opinion in any 
 difficult matter, specially on the Chancery side, there is no one to
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 251 
 
 whom I would sooner go myself, or recommend a friend, than 
 James Puller, of Holier, Puller, Puller (J.), Baker and Dayville. 
 For the greater part of the year James Puller is hard at work, and 
 is gravity itself, except on certain social and festive occasions. 
 But in vacation-time he gives up Law and goes in for Lunacy. 
 " I feel," he says, when he returns, still capering on the plat- 
 form, this time with his stick in one hand and his hat in the other, 
 " I feel like a school-boy out for a holiday," and, allowing for the 
 difference of age and costume, he looks the character. 
 
 Travelling is very tiring ; so is rising early in the morning 
 (which is included in the process of travelling) after a night spent 
 in fitful dozing, one's rest beina: broken bv nervous anxietv as to 
 whether the waiter will remember to call one at the cruel hour of 
 6 -30, or not, and determining to be up at that time exactly, and 
 if he doesn't appear punctually, to ring for him to bring the bath 
 and the boots ; then preternatural wakefulness, then the drowsi- 
 ness, then the painful emptiness, then the necessity for extra- 
 ordinaiy energy and bustle, — all this fatigues me so much, that 
 when at last I find myself in a comfortable railway-carriage, I sink 
 back, and prepare to make up for the lost sleep of the previous night. 
 
 Puller has been travelling all night right through, yet he is now 
 as fresh as the proverbial lark. He is smoking. He eaine up 
 smoking. I am a smoker, but at an early hour on a hot day, and 
 comparatively unbreakfasted, I do not like the smell of the last 
 half-inch of a strong and newish cigar such as Puller is now 
 smoking. He is sucking at this last morsel of it as if it were the 
 only one he should take (I wish it were) for another month, and 
 as if it went to his heart to part with it. 
 
 " Don't you smoke your cigars rather short ? " I ask, mildly, 
 1 >y way of a hint. 
 
 " No," he replies, quickly ; " I smoke them rather long. Had 
 him there, eh 1 " he says playfully, turning to Cousin Jane, wdio, 
 I regret to say, encourages him with an appreciative smile. After 
 his fit of chuckles has subsided (in which I do not join), he takes 
 off his hat a la frariQaise, and addresses himself to Cousin Jane. 
 
 " If Madame does not oppose herself to that I shall smoke." 
 
 Jane graciously returns, " Oh dear no, I do not mind smoke," 
 which isn't at all what I want her to say on this occasion. Puller
 
 252 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 throws away what is left of his cigar, and, producing an enormous 
 case, offers me what he calls " a beauty," — very big, very 
 dark one, with a bit of red and gold paper wrapped round its 
 middle, as if it were in a delicate state of health and might suffer 
 from rheumatism, — but I decline it, saying pointedly, " I can't 
 stand smoking so early, and before breakfast." 
 
 "Oh," he returns in an offhand manner, "can't you? lean 
 smoke any time, it doesn't affect me. Besides, I had a first-rate 
 breakfast at the fork, and spoon too, at the buffet," — he pronounces 
 this word as written in English — this is his fun (i.e., the fun of a 
 high-spirited Solicitor on a holiday), and forthwith he lights the big 
 cigar, changes his seat so as to face us both, and then commences 
 a conversation about all sorts of things, seasoned with his jokes 
 and comic French, at which he laughs himself uproariously, and 
 appeals to me to know if it, whatever the joke may be, " Wasn't 
 bad, was it 1 " And when I beg him to spare some of his witticisms, 
 as he'll want them for the friends he's going to meet at Royat — ■ 
 (thank Heaven, he is going to meet friends !) — he only says, " Oh, 
 there's lots more where these came from," and off he goes again. 
 Fortunately he turns to Cousin Jane, and instantly I close my 
 eyes, and pretend to be overcome with fatigue. If Jane is wise 
 she will do the same. Jane is tired, but tolerant. 
 
 Finding that neither of us is up to much talking (I have in- 
 advertently opened an eye) he says, " Look here, I'll show you my 
 travelling bag," as if it was something to amuse children. This 
 delights him immensely. He opens it and explains its compart- 
 ments, tells how he shaves, what soap he uses, how he invented a 
 peculiar pomade for travelling, and how he had thought out this bag 
 and had everything made to fit into its place. He takes out every- 
 thing, brushes, combs, razors, glass-pots, knives, brushes, one after 
 the other, expatiating on their excellence as if he were a pedlar 
 anxious to do a deal, and we were his casual, but likely, customers. 
 Then finding our interest waning, he shuts it up, and saying that 
 the best of travelling in a lit-salon is that you can stretch your 
 legs, he forthwith begins capering, asks Jane if he mayn't have 
 the pleasure of the next waltz and so forth, until fortunately, he 
 discovers the secret of the seat which pulls out and becomes a 
 bed, and is so struck with the idea that he exclaims, " By Jove !
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 253 
 
 this is first-rate ! pillows, mattresses, everything ! I've never slept 
 in one of these ! I haven't been to bed all night. You don't mind 
 my taking forty winks — -do you 1 " 
 
 dear no — take eighty if he likes. 
 
 " Ah, then," he says in broken English, " I go to couch myself. 
 I salute you the good morning, Mister and Missis. I have well 
 envy of to sleep." And thank goodness in another minute the 
 high-spirited Solicitor is fast asleep, and not snoring. 
 
 Then we all drop off. At Montargis he awakes, breakfasts at the 
 buffet : we breakfast in our salon. He returns, puffing another 
 cigar, stronger and bigger than the previous one : but smoking 
 yields to sleeping and his high spirits become less and less. After 
 his second or third sleep he becomes hungry. The train is late. 
 He becomes hungrier and hungrier. Again he smokes ; but his 
 cigars are dwindling in size and growing paler in colour. He 
 calculates when the hour of dinner will be. He foresees that it 
 will not be till past eight and we breakfasted at eleven. Hunger 
 has deprived him of all his jokes, all his high spirits ; he is hope- 
 lessly depressed, and preserves an almost sullen silence till we 
 reach Clermont-Ferrand, when the sight of the Commissionnaire of 
 the Hotel Continental slightly restores him, and as we get into 
 the Omnibus he whispers to me feebly, "I say, let's cry 'Vive 
 Boulanger ! ' " 
 
 1 beg him to hold his tongue, or the police will be down on him. 
 I fancy this warning has its effect, in his present state of hunger,. 
 as he limits himself to whispering out of the window to any passer- 
 by who happens to be in uniform, " Vive Boulanger ! " but I am 
 bound to say, nobody hears him, so finding the fun of the jest 
 exhausted within the first ten minutes, he drops it, and once more 
 collapses, shakes his head wearily over his wretched state, and 
 expresses in pantomime how he is dying for something to eat. 
 Jane and myself recognise Clermont-Ferrand and draw one 
 another's attention to all points of interest, more or less incorrectly. 
 Then, after noticing how familiar all the land-marks seem en route, 
 we find we have been taken by a different road from the one we 
 used to travel in order to avoid the dust. 
 
 Ha ! Here is Doctor Rem. "Welcome to Royat ! Same rooms. 
 New Proprietor, but same Hotel in effect, it is the Continental.
 
 254 
 
 VEKY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 M. Hall, of what nationality I do not know, exerts himself to see 
 that everything shall be right for everybody who has just arrived. 
 There are several others by this train, all requiring special and 
 individual attention, and all, somehow, getting it. New faces, but 
 civility and readiness to oblige everywhere. The weather perfect ! — 
 perhaps a trifle too perfect. But Royat is high up, and, if it is hot 
 here, what must it be down below at Vichy or at Aix ! Dinner in 
 the Restauration of the Hotel, where we pant for air because other 
 visitors, chiefly French, of advanced years and in various stages of 
 " The Cure," will not allow a door or window to be opened. We 
 finish dinner, and hurry off for our coffee in the garden of the 
 Casino Sarnie. End of first day. 
 
 p.S. — I said last week I could not find the English newspapers 
 in the reading-room of the Cercle. I have since seen them, Times 
 .and Telegraph. But the only one sold outside is apparently the 
 Morning Post. Lord Salisbury is coming. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " PRESENT COMPANY. 
 
 TJO TEL CON- 
 JT TINENTAL, 
 Royat. — Our party 
 here (which, somehow 
 or another 1 , Puller has 
 contrived to 2,et to- 
 gether and introduce 
 to each other by the 
 simple means of induc- 
 ing M. Hall to give us 
 a room to ourselves 
 for a small table-d'hute 
 ■at the un-Royatdike hour of 7 "30) consists of La Contessa 
 Casanova, the English wife of an Italian merchant, the head 
 •of a large house of business in London — she is Marchesa or
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 255 
 
 Contessa, I am not certain which, but Puller styles her Milddi and 
 Madame. She is devoted to the serious Drama, and her pet sub- 
 ject is Salvini in Othello. Her daughter, an elegant young English 
 girl, lively, amusing, and with a bias in favour of the very lightest 
 forms of theatrical entertainment. 
 
 Then we have Madame Metterbrun and her daughters, Anglo- 
 Germans, thorough musicians, with Wagner at their fingers' ends, 
 — literally, as they are accomplished pianists. There is Mrs. Din- 
 derlin, who was here last year, and is taking the waters seriously, 
 and who knows when to put in the right word at the right 
 moment. Cousin Jane who is taking the waters still more seri- 
 ously and who is an excellent listener : myself an impartial referee : 
 and Puller the Solicitor out for a holiday, who is alternately in 
 the highest of spirits or the lowest depths of depression, according 
 as the waters and weather affect him. Outside our party there 
 are others whom I meet occasionally, consisting of the lady who 
 finds fault with everything French, the gentleman who laughs at 
 everything French, the grumbler whom nothing satisfies, the con- 
 tented man who is pleased with everything, the man who after 
 being here a Hay is intensely bored, the man who from the moment 
 of his arrival is always studying Guide-books and indicatews to see 
 what is the best and easiest way of getting away again : the 
 patient who has come all the way here to see the Doctor and then 
 refuses to do anything he tells him : the patient who has come to 
 find out what on earth is the matter with him : the man who 
 doctors himself, and two or three ladies of my acquaintance of 
 whom I only catch occasional glimpses as they issue from Sedan- 
 chairs or muffled up like the Turkish women, merely recognise me 
 with their eyes, incline their heads and pass on their way with a 
 little drinking-glass in their hands. 
 
 To me Royat is an amusing place : it is certainly a pretty one, 
 and its waters in most cases are decidedly of lasting benefit 
 
 What those ''most cases" are, the patients themselves best know. 
 
 ******* 
 
 For expanse there is nothing like the sea, and for grandeur the 
 snow mountains. Unless I go up to the Puy de Dome — which I 
 do not mean to do, for I have been up there once, and never, 
 never, never will go there again — I cannot see either. And even
 
 256 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 from the top of the Puy you can only discern the sea, or Mont 
 
 Blanc, with a very good glass, on a very clear day. 
 
 ****** 
 
 M. Boisgobey's description of a Parisian Club in his latest 
 
 book (I delight in Boisgobey now that there is no Gaboriau) 
 
 called Grippe-Soleil will amuse London Club members. The only 
 
 two Clubs in Paris I ever saw were not a bit like Boisgobey's 
 
 description. 
 
 ****** 
 
 When anyone who has been under treatment a week, unex- 
 pectedly meets a friend here, he stops short, stares at him, 
 examines him from head to foot, and then exclaims, in a tone of 
 utter astonishment, " What ! ! you here ! ! " as if the new arrival 
 were either an intruder or a lunatic. The person thus addressed 
 immediately retorts in an injured tone, " Well, what on earth are 
 you here for?" and then he adds maliciously, "there doesn't seem 
 to be much the matter with you." Now to say this is to utter 
 your deliberate opinion that the person you are addressing is at 
 Ptoyat (or any other Salubrity Abroad wherever it may be) under 
 the false pretence of being an invalid, and is therefore, to put it 
 
 plainly, a shammer, an impostor. 
 
 ****** 
 
 After this greeting, explanations follow. The first man has to 
 prove his right to be at Royat, and the second man has to admit 
 the evidence to be incontestable, on the condition, implied but not 
 expressed, of his own case being taken as thoroughly warranting 
 his taking the baths and traitement generally at Royat. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Then comes the question of Doctors. " Who shall decide when 
 Doctors disagree 1 " — but who shall decide when patients disagree 
 about Doctors ? " Whom do you go to ? " asks the suffering Smith 
 of the invalid Brown. " Well," says Brown, apologetically, — 
 because he is not sure, this being his first visit, that he might not 
 have gone to a better man, " I go to Dr. Chose," and noticing the 
 astonishment depicted on his friend's face, he hastens to explain, 
 "Squills sent me to him." The suffering Smith professes himself 
 puzzled to know why on earth Squills always sends his patients to 
 Chose. " Dr. Bern's the man for you, my boy," says Smith. But
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD 257 
 
 Brown feels that he is in the toils of Squills, and that it would not 
 be fair to him or to Chose, if he suddenly left the latter and 
 sought the advice of Dr. Rem, on the sole recommendation of 
 Smith who, after all, is not a professional. 
 
 ****** 
 Then two habitues meet, " I always go to Chose," says eczematic 
 Jones, dogmatically ; " first-rate fellow, Chose. All the French go 
 to him. They know." "Ah!" returns gouty Robinson, with 
 conviction, "I never have been to anyone but Rem. He's the 
 chap. All the English go to him. Best man in Royat." And if 
 it weren't the hour for one of them to go and drink Eugenie water, 
 and for the other to take his second glass of St. Mart, they would 
 have a row and come to blows. 
 
 ****** 
 Puller tells me that there's one London Doctor, describing him- 
 self as a Gynaecologist ("A guinea-cologist," parenthetically 
 remarks Puller), who always sends his patients here. I think he 
 says his name is Dr. Barnes. " He sends so many," says Puller, 
 " that I propose changing the name of the place from Royat-les- 
 Bains into Royat-les-Barnes." I see why he introduced the name 
 of Barnes. Fortunately he is so delighted with this jeu de mot, 
 which I fancy I've heard before, that he is off to tell his friends 
 in the Pare, and, as I pass a group, I overhear him explaining the 
 point of it to a French lady and her husband, with whom he has 
 a speaking acquaintance. For Puller likes what he calls " airing 
 his French," and is not a bit shy. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The Band is performing another new tune ! How is this 1 I 
 can account for it, It rained nearly all yesterday, and so the 
 musicians didn't come out. How did they occupy themselves 1 In 
 rehearsal. Well, here's one good effect of rain at Royat — it brings 
 out the new tunes.
 
 258 
 
 VFAiY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "THE out-for-a-lark, etc., society. 
 
 A 
 
 PROPOS of Puller "airing his 
 French," Miss Louisa Metterbrun said 
 something delightful to him the other 
 day at dinner. Puller had been instructing 
 us all in some French idioms until Madame 
 Metterbrun set him right in Ins pronun- 
 ciation. He owned that he had made a 
 slip. " But," says he, wagging his head and 
 pulling up his wristbands with the air of 
 a man thoroughly well satisfied with himself 
 generally, "but I think you'll allow that I 
 can speak French better than most Englishmen, eh ? " 
 
 Madame Metterbrun doesn't exactly know what to say, but 
 Miss Louisa comes to the rescue. "0 Mr. Puller" — he is fre- 
 quently at their house in London, and they know him intimately 
 — " I always say to Mamma, when we 're abroad, that I do like 
 to hear you talk French " — Puller smirks and thinks to himself 
 that this is a girl of sense and rare appreciation — " because," she 
 goes on quietly, and all at table are listening — "because your 
 speaking French reminds me so of home." Her home is London. 
 I think Puller won't ask Miss Louisa for an opinion on his French 
 
 accent aarain in a hurry. 
 
 * -k # * * * 
 
 I have just been reading Victor Hugo's Glioses Vices. Admirable ! 
 Fuite de Louis Philippe! What a pitiful story. Then his account, 
 marvellously told, and the whole point of the narrative given in 
 two lines, of what became of the brain of Talleyrand. Graphically 
 written is his visit to Thiers on behalf of Rochefort. Says Thiers 
 to him, " Cent journaux me trainent tous les matins dans la hour. 
 Mais savez-vous mon procede? Je ne les lis pas." To which Hugo 
 rejoined, " C'est 2>rccise'ment ce que je fais. Lire les diatribes, test 
 respirer les latrines de sa renomme'e." Most public men, certainly
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD, 259 
 
 most authors, artists, and actors, would do well to remember this 
 
 advice, and act upon it. 
 
 ■y- * * •* * * 
 
 "Glioses Vues," written "Shows Vices" would be a good heading 
 
 for an all - round - about theatrical and entertainment article in 
 
 Mr. Punch's pages. Patent this. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Puller has recovered his high spirits. The temperature has 
 changed : the waters are agreeing with him. So is the dinner 
 hour, which M. Hall, our landlord, kindly permits us to have at 
 the exceptional and un-Royat-like hour of 7'oQ. At dinner he is 
 convivial. Madame Metterbrun and her two daughters are dis- 
 cussing music. Cousin Jane is deeply interested in listening to 
 Madame Metterbrun on Wagner. The young ladies are thorough 
 Wagnerites. La Contessa is unable to get a word in about Shak- 
 speare and Salvini, and her daughter, who, in a quiet tone and 
 with a most deliberate manner, announces herself as belonging to 
 the " Take-every thing-easy Society," is not at this particular 
 moment interested in anything except the menu, which she is 
 lazily scrutinising through her long-handled pince-nez. 
 
 Mrs. Dinderlin, having succumbed to the usual first attack of 
 Royat depression, is leaning back in her chair, smelling salts and 
 nodding assent to the Wagnerite theories, with which she entirely 
 agrees. For my own part, I am neutral ; but as the Metterbruns 
 are thorough musicians, — the mother being a magnificent pianist, 
 and the eldest daughter a composer, — I am really interested in 
 hearing all they have to say on the subject. Our bias is, tempo- 
 rarily, decidedly Wagnerian, for Cousin Jane, who is really in 
 favour of " tune," and plenty of it, — being specially fond of Belli:ii 
 and Donizetti, — in scientific musical society has not the courage 
 of her opinions. 
 
 From composers the conversation travels to executants, and we 
 name the favourite singers. After we have pretty well exhausted 
 the list, and objected to this one as having a head voice, or to that 
 as using the vibrato, or to the other as dwelling on an upper note 
 ("queer sort of existence," says Puller, gradually coming up, as 
 it were, to the surface to open his mouth for breath, — whereat 
 Cousin Jane smiles, and Miss Casanova lazily nods approbation 
 
 s 2
 
 260 VERY MUCK ABROAD. 
 
 of the joke — while the rest of us ignore Puller, putting him 
 aside as not wanted just now, — when down he goes again), we 
 generally agree that Gayarre is about the best tenor we have had 
 in London for some time ; that Santley is still unequalled as a 
 baritone ; that there is no one now to play and sing Mephistopheles 
 like Faure ; that M. Maurel is about the finest representative of 
 Don Giovanni ; that Miss Arnoldson shows great promise ; that 
 Albani is unrivalled ; that Marie Roze is difficult to beat as 
 Carmen ; and that it is a pity that Patti's demands are so exorbi- 
 tant ; and having exhausted the list of operatic artists, — Madame 
 and her daughters holding that certain Germans, with whose 
 names we, unfortunately for us, are not even acquainted, are far 
 superior to any French or Italian singers that can be named — 
 there ensues a pause in the conversation, of which the Countess 
 Casanova takes advantage, and extending her right hand, which 
 'movement sharply jingles her bracelets, and so, as it were, sounds 
 a bell to call us to attention, cuts in quickly with an emphatic, 
 " Well, I don't profess to understand music as you do. I know 
 what I like " — (" Hear ! hear ! " sotto voce from Puller, coming up 
 again to the surface, which draws a languidly approving inclina- 
 tion of the head from Miss Casanova, and a smile, deprecating the 
 interruption, from Cousin Jane), — " and I must say," continues 
 the Countess, emphatically, " I would rather have one hour of 
 Salvini in Othello, than a whole month of the best Operas by the 
 best composers, — Wagner included," and down comes her hand 
 on the table, all the bracelets ringing down the curtain on the 
 first act. 
 
 We, the non-combatants, feel that the mailed gauntlet has been 
 thrown down by the Countess as a challenge to the Metterbruns. 
 
 "0 Mother ! " faintly remonstrates Miss Casanova, who loves a 
 stall at the Opera. She fears that her mother's energetic declara- 
 tion means war, and fans herself helplessly. 
 
 I am preparing to reconcile music and the drama, and am 
 getting ready a supply of oil for what I foresee will be troubled 
 waters, as the Metterbruns are beginning to rustle their feathers 
 and flap their wings,— when Puller, leaning well forward, and 
 stretching out an explanatory hand, with his elbow planted firmly 
 on the table ("Very bad manners," says Cousin Jane afterwards
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 2G1 
 
 to me), says genially, " Well, voyez-vous, look here, you may talk 
 of your Wagners and Shakspeares, and Gayarres, and Fattis, 
 but, for singing and acting, give me Arthur Roberts. Yes," 
 he repeats pleasantly but defiantly, and taking up, as it were, the 
 Countess's gauntlet, " Sal villi's not in it with Arthur Roberts." 
 
 The Countess's fan spreads out and works furiously. The 
 steam is getting up. The Metterbruns open their eyes, and 
 regard one another in consternation. They don't know who 
 Arthur Roberts is. 
 
 " Not know ! " exclaims Puller, quite in his element, " Well, 
 when you come to London, you send to me, and I'll take 3*011 to 
 hear him." 
 
 " He's a Music-Hall singer," sa}'s the Countess, fanning herself 
 with an air of contemptuous indifference. 
 
 " Music-Hall Ar-tiste I " returns Puller, emphasising the second 
 syllable, which to his mind expresses a great deal, and makes all 
 the difference. "Now, Miladi," he goes on, imitating the manner 
 of one of his own favourite counsel, engaged by Puller & Co., con- 
 ducting a cross-examination, " have you ever seen him 1 " 
 
 " Yes," she replies, shrugging her shoulders, " once. And," she 
 adds, making the bracelets jingle again, as with a tragedy-queen's 
 action of the right arm she sweeps away into space whole realms 
 of Music Halls and comic singers, "that was quite enough." 
 
 " Didn't he make you laugh 1 " continues Puller, still in the 
 character of a stern cross-examiner. 
 
 " Laugh ! " almost shrieks the Countess, extending her hands 
 so suddenly that I have only time to throw myself back to avoid a 
 sharp tap on the head from her fan. " Heavens ! not a bit ! not 
 the least bit in the world ! He made me sad ! I saw the people 
 in the stalls laughing, and I said," — here she appeals with both 
 hands to the majority of sensible people at large — still at large — 
 '"Ami stupid ? am I dull 1 Do I not understand 1 ' 
 
 " Mother ! " expostulates her daughter, in her must languid 
 maimer, " he ivas funny ! " 
 
 " Funny ! " ejaculates the Countess, tossing her head. 
 
 " I'd rather see Arthur Roberts than Salvini," says Puller, 
 waggishly, but with conviction. 
 
 "I think I would, for choice," says Miss Casanova, meditatively.
 
 2G2 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 but seeing the Countess's horrified expression of countenance, 
 slie takes care to add more languidly than ever, as if taking 
 the smallest part in an argument were really too exhausting, 
 "but then, you know, I really don't understand tragedy, and I 
 love a laugh." 
 
 " Prefers Arthur Roberts to Salvini ! " exclaims the Countess, 
 and throws up her hands and eyes to the ceiling as if imploring 
 Heaven not to visit on her the awful heresy of her child. 
 
 Here I interpose. Salvini, I say, is a great Artiste, no doubt of 
 it, a marvellous Tragedian; and Arthur Roberts is not, in the 
 t rue dramatic sense of the word, a genuine Comedian ; but he is, 
 in another sense, a true Comedian, though of the Music-Hail 
 school. 
 
 " What a school ! " murmurs the Countess, and with a pained 
 expression of countenance as though she were suffering agonies. 
 
 The Metterbruns see the difference. Madame remembers a fat 
 comic man in Berlin, at some garden, who used to wear a big hat 
 and carry a large pipe, and make her laugh very much when she 
 was a girl. Certainly, in his way, he was an artist. Is this 
 Arthur Roberts anything like Max Spliitterwessel ? At this point, 
 as we have finished coffee, and the Countess finds the room hot, I 
 propose adjourning the debate to the Restaurant in the garden, as 
 we are too late for the band at the Casino Samie. 
 
 The party is broken up in order to walk down to our rendez- 
 vous. 
 
 Puller, whose idea of making things pleasant, and, as he 
 expresses it, " sweetening everyone all round," is to order 
 "drinks "for everybody, insists upon the party taking " consom- 
 mations " — he loves saying this word — at his expense. The 
 Countess at first objects, as also does Madame Metterbrun ; but 
 on Puller's explaining that he belongs to " The Two-with-you 
 Society," they accept this explanation as utterly unintelligible 
 but perfectly satisfactory ; and so, accepting Puller's al fresco 
 hospitality, we form a cheerful group round two tables put 
 together for our accommodation. Puller's hospitality has taken 
 the form of grenadines, chartreuses, and "sherry-gobblers," — he 
 loves this word too, — for us all round, and he has ordered for 
 himself a strange mixture, which perfumes the night air as if some
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 2C3 
 
 nauseous draught had been brought out of a chemist's shop, and 
 which looks like green stagnant water in a big glass. It is called 
 by Puller, with great glee, an "Absinthe gummy." 
 
 Anything nastier to look at or to smell I am not acquainted 
 with in the way of drinks. However, he is our host, and I have 
 a grenadine before me of his ordering, and between my lips an 
 excellent cigar which is his gift. I can only say mildly, " It looks 
 nasty ; " and Cousin Jane expresses herself to the same effect, 
 remarking also as she looks significantly towards me, that it is 
 late, and that I am not keeping Royat hours. I promise to come 
 away in ten minutes. Puller is in the highest possible spirits : 
 surrounded by this company, all drinking his drinks, he as it were 
 takes the chair and presides. He knocks on the table, which 
 brings the waiter, to whom he says, holding up a couple of fingers, 
 •' Two with you," — whereat the waiter only smiles upon the 
 eccentric Englishman, shakes his head, and wisely retires. 
 
 " Ah, Miladi," says Puller, " you must take a course of Roberts. 
 He's a rum 'un." Then he sings, "He's all right when jou know 
 him, but you've got to know him fust." 
 
 His guests politely smile, all except the Countess. I preserve 
 a discreet silence. Taking this on the -whole for encouragement, 
 Puller commences the song from which he has already quoted the 
 chorus. What the words are I do not catch, but as Puller repro- 
 duces to the life the style and manner of a London Music- 
 Hall singer, and cocks his hat on one side, it is no wonder 
 that the French people at the other table turn towards us in 
 amazement. 
 
 "For goodness sake, Mr. Puller !" cries the Countess, rising 
 from her chair in consternation. Jane also rises, Miss Casanova is 
 laughing nervously. The Metterbruns look utterly astonished. 
 I feel I must stop this at once. 
 
 " My dear fellow," I say, magisterially, " you really mustn't do 
 this sort of thing " — he is breaking out again with " wJiat a 
 surprise ! " — but I get up from my seat to reprove him gravely. 
 " You would not do this if you were in a London restaurant." 
 
 " No," he replies, not in the least offended—" that's the lark of 
 it. I belong to ' The-Out-for-a-lark-and-Two-with-you Society.' 
 Don't you mind me," he adds ; then turning with a pleasant wink
 
 2G4 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 to the ladies, who have been putting on their wraps and mantles, 
 and are preparing to leave, he sings again, — - 
 
 " I'm all right when you know me — 
 But " 
 
 We leave him to finish the song by himself. 
 
 And to think that my friend Puller, with his hat cocked on one 
 side, a big cigar in his mouth, a tumbler of " absinthe gummy " 
 before him, a rakish expression in his eye, is the same Puller to 
 whom, as partner in the fh*m of Horler, Puller, Puller (J.), Baker 
 and Day ville, Solicitors, I would trust my clearest interests in 
 any matter of property, of character, even of life itself! The 
 strange story of Hyde and Jekyll is no fiction, after all. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THIRTEENTH DAY OP CURE. 
 
 THE view from my window is 
 charming, whether on a bright 
 morning or a moonlight night. 
 But I am not contented with it. There 
 is within me an " Oliver, asking for 
 more." Had I the faith which moves 
 mountains, I would order that hill 
 opposite to be removed, so as to give 
 me a more extensive, and a grander 
 
 view. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The Beggars at Royat. — A nuisance 
 and a disgrace to the place. Why 
 are these wretched creatures allowed 
 to trade on their fearful afflictions ? 
 Are there no free hospitals, no charit- 
 able institutions, where they can be taken care of? Of course 
 there are. Is there no power to compel them to go in ? Is there 
 no " traitement " for them 1
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 265 
 
 As for the little beggar boys and girls who are brought up to 
 the trade and who waylay us all day, cannot they be put to some 
 useful work and be forced into school ? These able-bodied paupers 
 should be employed in mending the footpaths leading up to Gravc- 
 uoire and the environs, which are in a very bad condition. 
 ****** 
 
 I do not object, indeed by this time I take rather kindly to the 
 via du pays, but I detest what Mr. " Dumb-Crambo" would call — 
 
 The Whine of the Country. 
 
 * 
 
 A propos of walks in a wretched condition, why don't their 
 Worships, the Maires of Royat and Chamaliere, lay their heads 
 together and mend the footpaths? In making the above sugges- 
 tion, I do not contemplate wood-pavement. No : but I do think 
 
 that these beggars might be utilised. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 Pensees d'un Baigneur. — A bather has plenty of time to emulate 
 the celebrated parrot. What can he do — the bather, not the parrot 
 — in his bath, except think ? He can talk, hum, or sing. He 
 can recite : and exercise his voice and memory. But this would 
 attract attention, and I fancy the talking, singing, or reciting 
 bather would very soon be requested to keep quiet. Therefore he
 
 26G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 must think. He may not sleep : it is not permitted by the faculty. 
 No : thinking is the thing. The time in a bath, — thirty-five 
 minutes of it — passes as a dream, and the thoughts are as difficult 
 to catch and fix as butterflies. Here are a few : — 
 
 It is absolutely necessary to please oneself even in things ap- 
 parently indifferent. Out of politeness, I yielded yesterday to an 
 invitation to take a drive of two hours. I was ill for nearly a 
 
 couple of days afterwards So was the kind person who 
 
 took me. I believe she meant it well, and intended it as an acb 
 of politeness. (N.B. This was written within the first seven days 
 of the " traitement." This sort of thing must come out of you. 
 The waters bring out selfishness and ingratitude.) 
 
 ****** 
 
 Morning after morning I find myself staring at the notice on 
 the wall at the foot of my bath. From that I gather that I am a 
 " titulaire." My bath-cell is No. 17. So as Titulaire I am 
 Number Seventeen, — like a convict. My Gaoler, the bathman, 
 does not know me perhaps by any other name than " Monsieur 
 <kc, Dix-Sept." Ah, well, I never thought I should be seventeen 
 again. But I am — at Royat. How it must be re-juvenising 
 
 me ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 I have been looking over a list of excursions to various " Salu- 
 brities Abroad." Among them I find this : — " De Lyon en Savoie 
 et en Dauphind par Saint- Andre-le-Gaz, et retourP 
 
 " St. Andrew-the-Gas " sounds a novel name in a calendar. He 
 was evidently a Saint much in advance of his time. An excellent 
 man of course "according to his lights." 
 
 ******* 
 
 I saw a subject here for Mr. Marks, R.A. A bearded Franciscan 
 Monk in his brown habit, with cord and rosary at his waist, 
 sending a telegram at the telegraph office. Imagine the surround- 
 ings ! Mr. Marks might call it an Anachronism. 
 
 ******* 
 
 When abroad, I make notes of the names of any new dishes. 
 The following one was new to me as a name, not as a dish, which 
 was simple enough, " Culottes de boeuf cb lafermiere." What next? 
 " Calecons de veau a la baigneuse ? " " Gilets de mouton a la
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 267 
 
 Urgere?" "Culottes de veau a la Brian Of Lynn ?" " Ckapean 
 
 lie volatile a la coo ? " 
 
 ******* 
 
 Music. — This morning, the fifteenth of my sojourn here, the 
 liand is playing something new. This is refreshing, as I am 
 becoming a little tired of the overtures to Zampa, Guillaume 
 Tell, Italiano in Algeria, selections from the Huguenots (highly 
 popular as a good finish to any concert) and the dance music, 
 waltzes and mazurkas, which have been popular for the last two 
 years. 
 
 ******* 
 
 The clocks of Royat arc still in an undecided state. The 
 uninitiated person who takes his time — {Note, en passant, for all 
 baigneurs here — Never be in a hurry, and always "take your time,'' 
 no matter from where you take it) — from the Hotel, and starts at 
 7 30 in order to reach his bath by 8, — a walk of five minutes, — 
 will find, on arriving at the ffitablissement, that it is just 8'5, so 
 that he has taken a quarter of an hour to do the distance. If he 
 starts from the JUtablissement at 8 '30, to meet a friend at the 
 station, on arriving there he will discover that it is 8*15 by the 
 Railway Clock, so that he is at the end of his journey a quarter of 
 an hour before he set out, having done the distance in considerably 
 less than no time, — a record worth preserving. The Post Office 
 Authorities, in despair, have put up a notice informing everybody 
 that their clock has no connection with that of the Etahlissement, 
 which may just do what it likes and be wound to it, and ignoring 
 all church-clock authority and all municipal authority too, they 
 (the Post Office Authorities aforesaid) announce that they intend 
 to take their time from the Railway station, but even then will 
 give themselves a margin of five minutes one way or the other, so 
 that the public wishing to send letters must ascertain what the 
 post times ought to be, and then give themselves another margin 
 of at least ten minutes on the safe side. The calculation is not 
 very complicated, when you are accustomed to it, and its un- 
 certainty lends a gentle stimulus to the ordinary routine of the 
 uneventful life at Royat.
 
 268 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 For "Excursions from Royat by Rail or Road," see my Guide- 
 Book, forthcoming. 
 
 ******* 
 
 This advice, " See my Guide" or " See my History" is per- 
 petually recurring as a friendly hint — it really being a most artful 
 way of introducing an advertisement to your notice — in that in- 
 valuable publication, the Guides Diamant, P. Joanne, series, 
 Hachette & Cie., without which no traveller's pocket or bag is 
 completely furnished. Time for siesta. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 -T^ 
 
 SOMETHING ABOUT GUIDES. 
 
 HAVE said Royat ought to be re- 
 built. The Grand Hotel is of a sort 
 of Doll's House order of architecture, 
 splendid front, no depth to speak of, 
 and built on so steep an ascent that it 
 is hoisted up at the back like a lady's 
 skirt by a dress-improver. Beau site 
 all the same, and magnificent view. 
 $ * * * * 
 
 Last year the Hotel Continental formed part of a group of hotels 
 
 which seemed to have been the result of some violent volcanic 
 
 eruption, when the mountain threw up several hotels, and left 
 them there anyhow— it is at present separated from the Splendide 
 and its other former companions by an impromptu wall, and from 
 all its front windows it commands varied, beautiful, and, on the 
 Clermont-Ferrand side, extensive views. It has a pleasant garden, 
 a most enjoyable terrace, and it only wants to be in the hands of 
 a firmly fixed and intelligent management to make it quite the 
 best hotel in Royat. "Personally recommended," that is, as 
 managed under the direction of M. Hall this year. 
 
 The service at the Etablissement de bains is about as good as it 
 can be. There are, however, no bains de luxe. A few of these
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 260 
 
 would attract those " whom," as the appeals to the charitable 
 used to have it, " Providence has blessed with affluence." 
 
 " La Gompagnie Brocard," which manages Royat's bathing 
 arrangements and undertakes a portion of the mild yet (to my 
 mind as a serious bather) sufficient amusements, is not, unfor- 
 tunately for the public, in accord with M. Sarnie, the spirited 
 Proprietor of an opposition Casino, where there is a small theati'e, 
 in its way a perfect gem. Here all the "Stars "of any magni- 
 tude make their appearance on visiting Royat. As a"Baigneur 
 de Royat" puts it, in a local journal, the Compagnie Brocard 
 cannot consider their stuffy little room (" le petit etouffoir") where 
 theatrical performances are given as a real theatre. It is a pity 
 that M. Sarnie and La Compagnie Brocard cannot, like the "birds 
 in their little nests," agree. But as to Theatres and spectacles, 
 my rule at Royat, or at any other Watercure place, would be 
 this :— 
 
 "Any baigneur found out of his hotel or lodgings after 10*15, 
 p.m., shall be arrested, conducted back to his hotel, his number taken, 
 and for the second offence he shall be fined. The fine to go to such 
 objects as the Direction shall determine." 
 
 In short there should be introduced here the English University 
 system of Proctors and Bull-dogs. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Another Rule. — No theatrical entertainment should last more 
 than two hours with entr'actes of seven minutes each. The venti- 
 lation of the scdle de spectacle should be assured. 
 
 ****** 
 
 If a company wanted to play a piece in four Acts, they must 
 stop here two days; and, if they couldn't do that, then they 
 must begin their performance in the afternoon, have one entr'acte 
 of an hour and a half to allow for dinner, and recommence at 
 eight o'clock. I would discourage all evening indoor entertain- 
 ments. Music, coffee, petits chevaux, M. Guignol's show, ombres 
 rhi noises, everything, in fact, that can be done al fresco — (and why 
 not good plays cd fresco ? After the Laboucheriun Midsummer 
 Night's Dream, at Twickenham, which I am told was perfection) — ■ 
 cafes chantants, and so forth, including the " consommation de-
 
 270 VEUY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 voutly to be wished," and all the lights out by 9-30. Lights in 
 bedrooms to be extinguished same hour. This rule would mean, 
 Early to bed, and early to rise, and the " baigneurs " would receive 
 double the benefit they derive from these places as now consti- 
 tuted. Life in the open air should be the rule ; plenty of exer- 
 cise, riding and walking, and regular hours for everything for 
 three weeks. The baigneurs to choose their own hours, and be 
 kept to them strictly. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 But I have personally no sympathy with the baigneurs who find 
 such a water-cure place as Royat dull. What do they want ? If 
 they cannot get on without a sort of continuation of the London 
 Season, let them stay away altogether. Don't let them come and 
 make night hideous with balls, suppers, dances, and won't-go 
 home-till-morning parties. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The above are my suggestions for the improvement of Royat ; 
 and now I go on to La Bourboule, and Mont Dore. By the way 
 the waters at these places are all supplied, as I am credibly in- 
 formed, from the same source ; but the waters flowing towards La 
 Bourboule and Mont Dore traverse certain couches on their way, 
 and come out arsenical. It is strong drinking at La Bourboule 
 and Mont Dore. 
 
 * ***** 
 
 One Joanne Guide introduces you to another Joanne Guide, or 
 a history, you can't help yourself. The Joanne Guides are so 
 united a fiamily, that as soon as any member of it establishes 
 itself on a friendly footing with you, your hand is always in your 
 pocket while you are travelling on that Guide Joanne's account. 
 An insidious tribe : and they make themselves absolutely essential 
 to the traveller's existence and comfort. 
 
 Each Guide Joanne tells you about his own country all that is 
 requisite fur you to know, and just so much more **s inspires you 
 with a thirst for further information. Say for example you see an 
 old Chateau. Let us say Le Chdteau, de Jean. You want to 
 know everything about it. Good. You inquire of the Guide
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 271 
 
 Joanne which professes to show you all over France, and which 
 does it, mind you, in what would be an exhaustive style if it was 
 not written with such an evident eye to the bookselling business. 
 For example, suppose you are looking for information about the 
 well-known ancient Chateau de Jean, here is a specimen of what 
 Joanne would say on the subject : — 
 
 " Sur la rive g. (V. ci-dessous B.) restes d'un chdteau, style ogival, 
 {man. 7tist.,)bdti par le celebre Jean Bienconnu-aux-enf ants (V. mon. 
 hist. x e et xii e s. ), beau portail, jolis details d' architecture {mon. hist.) 
 et en partictdier I'appartement dit de la Donzelle toute desesperc 
 (pour le visiter, s'adresser au gardlen, pourboire), qui a conserve une 
 grande partie de sa decoration originate et de sa peinture (mon. hist. 
 xi e ). Le donjon renfermait une oubliette profonde nominee du rat de- 
 vorant, qui autrefois servait de grenier au malt (V. mon. hist.). 
 Ascension des Obdlisques sur la terrasse (splendide panorama) et 
 belles promenades autour de la petite chapelle dite Du pretre 
 criAUVE. (V. vi. IJ Itincrairc du Pay s-de- Bonnes, Guide Diamant.)'
 
 272 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A 
 
 ADVICE GRATIS. 
 
 LAST I have seen him ! — the 
 travelling Englishman, the English 
 Milord of the French Farce — " Oah, c'est 
 
 » 
 
 ' of the Journal Comique. 
 
 * * * 
 
 * 
 
 But if the farce Milord is grotesque, the 
 English " Mees " is equally ridiculous. I 
 met, the other day, a lady of Albion, who 
 was strutting about with an enormous 
 " handled " pince-nez raised to her eyes, 
 while she expressed her opinion " that those 
 foreigners really do dress so absurdly ! " 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 Mees " O'Shocking ! 
 
 Diary of a Day. — At all these Stations 
 Thermales the pleasantest hours of the day 
 are sacrificed to the interests of the band, 
 the casinos, the cercle, and the evening 
 amusements. Les Baigneurs serietix ought not to require any 
 amusement after 9-30, and by ten they should be in bed. Then- 
 hours for walking and other exercise should be very early in the 
 morning, or late in the evening before dinner. The remainder of 
 the day should be given up to baths, to drinking waters, dejeuner 
 
 a la fourchette, and rest. 
 
 * * * * * •* 
 
 By the way, at the top of the daily menu at the Continental 
 Hotel the dejeuner a la fourchette at 11 a.m. is styled "Lunch." 
 Puller resents this as strongly as he does a waiter's answering 
 him, " Yees, Sare," when he has given an order in his best French. 
 Now this meal at 11 a.m. is not an English lunch, but is the 
 French dejeuner a la fourchette. Is it becoming the common 
 practice in hotels on the continent ? If so, the English will soon 
 remember that they don't come abroad for lunch — they can
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 273 
 
 " lunch " well enough at home — but they do come abroad for 
 dejetmer d la fourchette, and, if they do not get it, they will stay 
 away. 
 
 " It's confoundedly insulting ! " exclaims Puller, indignantly. 
 " Do they think we don't know what a dejeuner d la fourchette 
 means ? But, dash it, you know," he goes on, in the tone of a man 
 whom a very little more of this sort of treatment would disgust 
 with life generally, " they're making everybody abroad so English." 
 Then he repeats, " So English, you know," in imitation of some 
 American burlesque actor, and this has the effect of restoring his 
 good humour. He thinks the quotation so apt and so humorous, 
 that he expands in chuckles, and goes out of the salle-d-manger 
 doing a step, and repeating, " So English, you know ! " The 
 French, Spanish, and the visitors of various nationalities, shake 
 their heads, shrug their shoulders, and evidently hope he is 
 harmless. The waiters smile, and this reassures the guests. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 The special merit of the Royat Drinking Waters and Baths 
 consists in the large amount of iron contained in them. Over the 
 gates of the Park at Royat, where the liltablissement and Buvettes 
 are situated, should be inscribed, for the benefit of English visitors, 
 " Washing and Ironing done here." 
 
 ****** 
 
 The Uncertain Bather. — My acquaintance Mordel is another 
 variety of the genus Baigneur. He is dissatisfied only with himself. 
 He is perpetually having a row with himself. The Hotel is 
 good enough, he says ; the Doctor is all that can be desired. 
 The baths and waters are managed very well ; but the question is, 
 he says to himself, " Was I right in coming here at all 1 Ought I 
 not to have gone to Aix ] or to Vichy ? or to Homburg 1 or to Mont 
 Dore, or to La Bourboule 1 ?" "AVell, but" — I say to him, with 
 a view to reconciling him to himself — " are the waters doing you 
 good 1 " He reluctantly admits that they are not doing him any 
 harm — as yet. In this state of uncertainty he remains during the 
 whole course of treatment, and to the last, he is of the opinion that 
 he ought to have gone to some other place, no matter where.
 
 274 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 It is a real pleasure to see Smith, of the Colosseum Club, meet 
 Brown, also a member of the same sociable institution. He greets 
 Brown heartily, — never was so glad to see anybody. Yet they are 
 anything but inseparables in London ; and it certainly was not 
 owing to Smith's good offices that Brown was elected to the Colos- 
 seum. Brown has just arrived at Royat, and is not so effusive at 
 the sight of Smith, as Smith, who has been here ten days, is on 
 beholding Brown. " Thompson's here, so's Jones," Smith tells 
 
 "L'Anglais pour rl.-e." 
 
 Brown, beamingly. " Are they ? " returns Brown, who recognises 
 the names as those of eminent Colosseum men. " And now," 
 exclaims Smith heartily, " in the evening we can have a rubber ! " 
 This was why Smith was so overjoyed at meeting Brown ; not 
 because he was an old friend, not even because he was a member 
 of the same social set, but because he would make a fourth ! 
 "You'll want a rubber," adds Smith, cajolingly. "If he does," 
 interposes Puller, in excellent spirits this morning, " he'll have to 
 go to Aix-les-Bains. They don't do the massage here. Aix is the 
 place for Rubbers." The joke falls among us like a bombshell and
 
 8A L UBRITIES A BBOA D. 
 
 275 
 
 the group disperses, each wondering how long Puller is going to 
 remain at Royat. His movements may govern our own ! 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 Uneventful ! General Boulanger has called here to-day. No, 
 not on me, but on a noble English poet, who is staying at the 
 Continental. From the portrait in the Salon I should have 
 expected a fine fellow of six feet high, rather Saxon and swaggery. 
 Had he resembled his portrait I should not have believed in him. 
 Now I do. There is hope for Boulanger. He is a short man. 
 Napoleon was a short man. " II grandira ! " 
 
 The Cravate au Moulin. 
 
 * 
 
 Encore des Pensees. — " There is a time to talk, and a time to be 
 silent." The first occasion is, when I have something to say, and 
 an audience to say it to ; the other is, when I don't feel well, and 
 hate everybody equally. Puller, when high-spirited, cannot under- 
 stand this. Undergoing these Royat Waters, Puller and myself are 
 on a see-saw. When he is up, I am down, and vice versd. After 
 trying to breakfast together, and to be mutually accommodating, 
 which is done in the most disagreeable manner possible, we sepa- 
 rate, on account of incompatibility of temper. Temporarily our 
 relations are strained. This only applies to the morning. I want 
 
 T 2
 
 276 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 to be quiet in the morning, and detest early liveliness. Jane and 
 
 myself, in future, breakfast together at our own time, and at our 
 
 own table, in a corner. (And this is also within the first seven 
 
 days of the traitement.) 
 
 ****** 
 
 By the way, what a chance of reclame I lost on the occasion of 
 
 Boulanger's visit. It never occurred to me till too late. I ought 
 
 to have been at the front door, awaiting his departure. At the 
 
 moment of his leaving, I should have left too. Then the report 
 
 could have been spread about that I had "gone out with" 
 
 General Boulanger. How astonished M. Ferry would have been. 
 
 " Quite a Fairy tale for him," says Puller, who wishes to exhibit 
 
 his acquaintance with the proper French pronunciation of 
 
 M. Ferry's name. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The Twenty-Second Morning. — I shall give myself three days 
 leave of absence, and revisit La Bourboule and Le Mont Dore. 
 These two places are higher up in the mountains of Auvergne. 
 
 ****** 
 
 La Bourboule Revisited. — Very beautiful the line of country 
 between Boyat and La Bourboule. But the latter is an out-of-the- 
 way place compared with Boyat, which has the great advantage 
 of being within a quarter of an hour's ride, or walk, of such a real 
 good town as Clermont-Ferrand, whereas La Bourboule and Mont 
 Dore are an hour-and-a-half's drive each of them from their own 
 station, Laqueuille, which is nothing more than a mere country 
 railway station, with a simple buffet, and four hours from Cler- 
 mont-Ferrand, which I suppose is the market town, and certainly 
 the only place of any importance to which one can go, " there and 
 back again," in a long clay. 
 
 Of course the descendants of Balbus, who " rmirum cedificavit " in 
 our old Latin Grammar — (Are Balbus and Caius still at it in the 
 Grammai's of the present day ? ) — could not leave La Bourboule 
 alone, and villas have been springing up in every direction. Shops, 
 too. Already one side of a Boulevard has been commenced, repre- 
 sented by half-a-dozen superior shops, one of which, it is needless 
 to say, is a sweet-stuff emporium, and another a Tabac. Then
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 277 
 
 they've a Hotel de Ville at La Bourboule. In our time there 
 was only a solitary Gendarme, in full cocked-hat and sword, who, 
 as an official, was a failure, but, as a playmate of the children, and 
 a friend of the bonnes, was a decided success. He looked 'well, and 
 inspired the stranger on his arrival. But the feeling of awe soon 
 wore off. Perhaps he, also, was a baigneur. Invalid Gendarmes 
 might be usefully employed in this manner, their imposing appear- 
 ance at various watering-places would inspire confidence, while 
 they might be benefiting their physique. Policemen could be also 
 
 The dear Old Things who wont have a Door or Window open in our 
 small Salle-a-manger. 
 
 effectively used in this way. " Recruiting Sergents-de-ville " they 
 
 might be called, engaged in recruiting their own health. 
 ****** 
 
 A storm of rain and wind swept us out of La Bourboule — we sub- 
 secpiently heard that there was snow at Mont Dore — and drove us 
 post-haste back to Royat warmth — comparative warmth, that is, 
 for they were having two or three cold, rainy, and gusty days at 
 Royat, too, preceding the day fixed for the Eclipse. But such 
 weather is bearable at Royat, if you have once experienced it at 
 La Bourboule. The valley of Royat is fairly high up, and well 
 sheltered ; but as to the situation of La Bourboule and Mont Dore 
 one may say, reversing the quotation, " And in the highest heights 
 a higher still ! " " Only not by any means still," says Puller, who
 
 27S VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 knows the country, and whom no inducement will lead away from 
 
 Royat. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I have mapped out a short tour by way of return from Royat, 
 which is at the disposition of anyone who is preparing to make 
 
 himself a baigneur and a titulaire next season. 
 
 ****** 
 
 My itineraire is this : London to Paris, taking care to travel by 
 the Empress from Dover to Calais. Inquire beforehand at the 
 L. C. & Dover Station. Victoria. Go by the a.m. Dine in Paris 
 at 8 - 30. In a forthcoming little work I contemplate benefiting the 
 travelling public generally with a few useful details, of which these 
 are only hints. Paris next morning, to Clermont-Ferrand, for 
 Royat. At Royat, I should naturally recommend the Hotel I 
 know best. This is the Continental. It may change hands next 
 year ; if it changes hands it changes heads at the same time, and 
 
 my advice may or may not be useful. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Stay at Royat for cure ; visit — as excursions easily done in a 
 
 day, when you're in fettle — La Bourboule and Mont Dore. For 
 
 all information, ask the most civil of men, and the most obliging, 
 
 the agent, who has an office in a line with the few shops situated 
 
 on the upper ten-ace of the Pare. He will tell you everything — 
 
 and be delighted to do it. 
 
 ****** 
 
 By the way, when once you've settled your tour, take my advice, 
 and visit Messrs. Cook, of Ludgate Circus. Provide yourself with 
 all your tickets beforehand. It will save you a heap of trouble 
 afterwards. Too many Cooks can't spoil your journey, as you will 
 take them on the " play or pay " system, and it binds you to 
 nothing, except, in case of not using them, a slight discount ; 
 whereas, on the other hand, it helps the person who is at all 
 " infirm of purpose " to make up his mind, and keeps him to his 
 original plan, which any experienced traveller will agree with me 
 in saying, is, nine times out of ten, the wisest and best course to 
 pursue. Of this more anon in my forthcoming parvum opus on 
 this and cognate subjects.
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 270 
 
 Roy at (if you are a baigneur, recommended here by your Doctor) 
 is an easy place to get to, and to get away from. My friend 
 Skurrie, who, immediately he has arrived at any place, passes all 
 his time there in consulting guide-books, maps, Bradskaivs, Cook's 
 tourist books, and local indicateurs, with a view to see how he can 
 best get away, comes to me with a paper full of closely-written 
 details, and says, "Here's my plan : — Royat, Lyon (why do we put 
 an ' s ' on to it, and make it ' Lyons ? ' it would be as sensible for 
 the French to call Liverpool ' Liverpool, ' or Manchester ' Man- 
 chester. ' And why can't the French call London ' London,' 
 instead of ' Londres 1 ') — then Aix-les-Bains (for a massage, and an 
 excursion or two) . . then Geneva. This is, if you've got time to 
 spare. If not, in a week you can make a really refreshing tour by 
 pushing on from Lyon to Geneva, to Bale, to Heidelberg, to Mainz, 
 down the Rhine to Cologne, then Antwerp, Flushing, Queen- 
 borough. This will complete your week, and you will return to 
 England with a store of variety to last you a year."
 
 280 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 EN ROUTE FOR HOME AFTER THE ROYAT TREATMENT. 
 
 A 
 
 GENEVA I met 
 an old friend, one of 
 the heartiest men I 've 
 ever known, and one of the 
 best. He is delighted, really 
 delighted, at our accidental 
 meeting. I am for going on, 
 but he will not hear of it. 
 " I know the place," says 
 he, cheerily, with a wink and a nudge, " and I '11 take you about." 
 What a wink it is ! and what a nudge ! So full of humorous 
 appreciation of life and character. Such a knowing not-to-be- 
 done-by-anyone sort of wink. And the nudge is intended to draw 
 your attention to the wink and emphasize it. John Birley is the 
 frankest, openest, freest-and-easiest of men, with a boundless 
 capacity for enjoyment, the strongest sympathies with suffering, 
 and a reverential grateful spirit that thanks Heaven for all 
 bounties, and accepts misfortunes and sorrows as kindly re- 
 minders from Providence that the misfortunes and sorrows of 
 others have to be considered and relieved, and again he thanks 
 Heaven for having put it into his power to relieve them. His 
 chief enjoyment is in giving pleasure to others. The most selfish 
 would gain some good from contact with John Birley ; and the 
 craftiest, to whom it might occur to make John Birley's acquaint- 
 ance for the sake of what he could make out of him or by him, 
 would soon discover his error, and would be informed that he 
 stood detected, very clearly, plainly, and straightly, not by any- 
 thing that John Birley would say, but he would have it intimated 
 to him beyond possibility of mistake by John Birley's wink and a 
 playful nudge from John Birley's elbow in his left or right side, 
 for John speaks with both elbows. The crafty rogue would there 
 and then know — if he were not too fatally crafty for himself as are
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 281 
 
 so many rogues, or too conceited to realise the humour of the 
 situation, — that his little game, whatever it might have been with 
 John Birley, was up, that his schemes were upset, and that to " try 
 it on " any further with John Birley would be utter waste of time 
 and trouble. That is what John Birley 's wink would convey to 
 the rogue. But to the honest man, to the friend, the wink and 
 nudge assure good comradeship and something rare in store for 
 him. To the unfortunate and suffering there is another tone to 
 the wink and nudge, and to these they are full of promise of hope 
 and help, and act as a fine invigorating tonic. 
 
 Such is John Birley, whom I meet en route and who insists upon 
 my stopping with him and showing me the place. He travels a 
 great deal, he knows everybody, and everybody knows him. No 
 matter what the language of the country may be, no matter whether 
 he is in France, Germany, Russia, Egypt, India, or Africa, among 
 cultivated peers, outlandish peasants, or uncouth savages, John 
 Birley invariably makes himself thoroughly understood, for any 
 deficiency in his acquaintance with the language he ekes out with 
 a wink and a nudge adapted to the occasion, and he is sure to 
 obtain exactly what he wants, or an excellent substitute for it, if 
 the thing itself is not to be had. And this has always been so. It so 
 happens that he has retired from business and is now very rich, but 
 long ago when he was working hard, and struggling too, his manner 
 and method were just the same ; he has never been discouraged, 
 never been discontented, always energetic, always sanguine, and 
 has elbowed his path for himself through the crowd, politely, 
 pleasantly, apologising sympathetically for any toes he may have 
 accidentally trod upon in his onward course, and working himself 
 well into the front rank by the magic charm of his wink and 
 nudge. He has pulled some others after him w 7 ho have clung on 
 to his coat-tails, and brought out of the ruck not a few of those 
 on w r hose toes, as I have already said, he had pressed rather heavily 
 in passing. 
 
 I know I cannot be in better hands, and he is going to show me 
 about everywhere within the very few days I can absolutely spare, 
 now that my cure is finished, my Royat time over, and that I am 
 on my way back to England, home, and beauty. 
 
 He maps out a few excursions. He has taken them all before,
 
 282 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 long ago. But, delighted to go over old ground, the greater part 
 of his pleasure will be found in my enjoyment ; for to revisit 
 places associated with pleasant memories, or with nothing but the 
 remembrance of their loveliness, their grandeur, or their solemnity, 
 is to him, in some way like welcoming old friends. All John 
 Birley's friends are old ones ; he has no new ones, he never had. 
 Some men of the world discussing him, aver that it is a sort of 
 proof to themselves of there being something good still left in 
 them, that they can reckon themselves among John Birley's 
 friends. They are of all shades and colours are his friends, and 
 they will analyse each other's characters behind each other's backs 
 in the presence of John Birley, and afterwards they will be more 
 inclined towards each other, more sympathetic, and more 
 charitably disposed, in consequence of each other's good points 
 having been brought out into strong relief by John Birley's kindly 
 light. So it is with seeing the beauties of nature or art in his com- 
 pany ; and so it is that I consider myself to have alighted on my 
 legs in having come across him in this, the lovely playground of 
 Europe, the home of the Merry Swiss Boys and Girls. 
 
 There is the Lake to be done ; there is Nyon, Thonon, llolle, 
 Lausanne, Ouchy, Evian-les-Bains, Vevey, and then there are the 
 heights above, including the ascent to St. Gergues, and to wherever 
 can be obtained the best views of Mont Blanc, the Dent du 
 Midi, and the other well-known "objects of interest." Were 
 Puller here, he would say that " the best views of these mountains 
 can be obtained at the photographers " — but he is not here, he is 
 finishing his treatment at Royat. So it is all arranged, and we 
 dine together, as a commencement. 
 
 " You don't mind a third party present?" says Birley to me, 
 apologetically, "as I have just found old Sir Alec McQuincey, 
 wandering about without a companion. Wretched to be alone, eh! 
 and not well, eh? Suffering from liver— nasty that — gives 
 jaundiced view of life. So must cheer the old boy up. He's 
 off for a cure to Evian-les-Bains ; so I said to him, ' Dine 
 with us to-night, and we'll land you there to morrow, eh ? ' 
 — that's right, isn't it?" — and he gives me a cheery wink 
 and nudge, taking me, as it were, into partnership with him 
 in his scheme for entertaining Sir Alec McQuincey, and for
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 283 
 
 keeping up the latter's spirits, previous to seeing him off to- 
 morrow to the place across the Lake where he is to undergo his 
 treatment, which I trust may enable him to "live happily ever 
 after," and enjoy any amount of City dinners (" He is a City 
 magnate," says Birley, with a nudge, " and that's not good for 
 liver complaint, eh ?") till the end of next Season. 
 
 Sir Alec is a capital companion, hearty, cheery, and full of 
 anecdotes. He has got an excellent listener in John Birley, 
 whereat I am rather astonished, as John generally has a lot to say 
 for himself, and a good story from one man invariably draws out 
 another from J. B. But on this occasion he is so unusually silent 
 that I am puzzled. It is true that Sir Alec commences most of 
 his anecdotes with an apology to Birley in this shape, " I've told 
 this to Birley before, but," turning to me, " you haven't heard it, 
 and it may interest you" whereupon Birley nods approval, and I 
 politely assure Sir Alec that I am already deeply interested by 
 anticipation, and in the words of the ancient drama, now obsolete, 
 I feel inclined to add, "Proceed, sweet warbler, your story interests 
 me much ; proceed." 
 
 The sweet warbler, who, by the way, is a trifle hoarse and occa- 
 sionally a little indistinct, tells several of these narratives — they 
 are narratives, and I cut in with occasional observations more or 
 less to the point, which are silently acknowledged by Birley, but 
 not by Sir Alec, who seems bent upon getting on with his series, 
 interspersed with anecdotes, to the exclusion of all other conversa- 
 tion. He begins with the fish, and his first story about somebody 
 who rose from nothing and arrived at being something, lasts, with 
 the assistance of several discursive but illustrative anecdotes, till 
 we reach the merry Swiss cream and stewed fruit. With the 
 coffee and cigars he opens volume two of his interesting and 
 remarkable stories of great men — each biographical monologue 
 being really interesting by itself, only taken together they ought 
 to be spread over a considerable period, like the Arabian Nights' 
 Entertainments, and still Birley contentedly listens, gently inhal- 
 ing his cigarette, and, when referred to, nodding corroboration. 
 It occurs to me that as Sir Aleu has told all these before to John 
 Birley, so the latter may have told most of his to Sir Alec and 
 myself, and that that is why he is now so silent. At all events,
 
 284 VERY MUCH A BE GAD. 
 
 he only rarely makes observations, and these of the curtest. I 
 fancy he wants me to come out and amuse Sir Alec, in return for 
 Sir Alec interesting me ; and it occurs to me that I shall be 
 ungrateful if I do not cut in with something new, just to save 
 Birley from hearing Sir Alec's stories all over again, and Sir Alec 
 from hearing Birley 's, with which I presume, as they are such very 
 old and intimate friends, he must be acquainted. 
 
 So I rouse myself, with a strong determination to shine or perish 
 in the attempt. I make a sharp and apposite remark on some 
 portions of the story which Sir Alec is now recounting, whereat 
 Birley smiles, and Sir Alec smiles too, but resumes his narrative 
 at once, as if he were afraid of losing the thread in consequence of 
 my interruption. I am conscious of having only glimmered ; I 
 have not yet shone. On he goes again ; he is telling us of a won- 
 derful silver tea-pot, how it was lost in a cart, how some one saw 
 it outside the Old Bailey, how some one came up at that moment 
 and a Judge said to an Alderman, " That's the tea-pot ! " Now 
 at this moment I remember that I have a story which neither of 
 these two has ever heard, of a Judge and an Alderman which will 
 come in capitally here, and so as I am quite certain that if I keep 
 it to myself and allow the opportune moment to pass, I shall forget 
 it entirely, and so lose a magnificent chance of shining brilliantly 
 in the presence of Sir Alec (who if favourably impressed can be, I 
 am aware, of the greatest possible service to me), I take advantage 
 of Sir Alec drawing strenuously at the last half-inch (he is a 
 thrifty man evidently) of his expiring cigar, to say briskly, " By 
 the way — excuse my interrupting you — but that reminds me," and 
 then I give my story of the Judge and the Alderman, which makes 
 Birley laugh, and brings a smile to Sir Alec's lips, though it 
 seems to me there is a puzzled expression on his countenance, as 
 though he couldn't quite understand the point, and was appearing 
 to be amused chiefly out of politeness to me as being a friend of 
 John Birley's. 
 
 However, Sir Alec does smile, and then forthwith resumes his 
 narrative. When he has finished, as he has mentioned the names 
 of some persons with whom I am acquainted, I ask him if they are 
 so and so, and he replies, " Yes," and adds something which elicits 
 from me a sharp remark that gets a roar from Birley, and pro-
 
 SALUBRITIES A B 110 AD. 285 
 
 duces on Sir Alec's countenance another smile and the same sort 
 of puzzled expression I had noticed before. I feel that I have 
 shone, but that somehow I have not turned my light strongly 
 enough on to Sir Alec. I question him as to the identity of some 
 other celebrated persons he has been mentioning, and he replies 
 with something about them which doesn't seem to exactly cor- 
 respond with my question ; but once more — being in the happiest 
 vein, and shining in a manner that positively astonishes myself, I 
 let off another brilliant jest, which is received in precisely the 
 same manner by my audience as were my previous conversational 
 fireworks. I think to myself, " I am ingratiating myself with Sir 
 Alec. This will be a first-rate thing for me and for several 
 members of my family, as a man in Sir Alec's influential 
 position," &c. 
 
 Sir Alec now starts another subject, and as I foresee that if he 
 sticks to it, I have something which will cap everything, I at once 
 question him as to something he has just uttered. He replies, 
 but, as before, I am bothered by his reply, which seems to me 
 utterly inconsequent. So I repeat my question. And he smiles, 
 nods and says, "Well — yes — " doubtfully. But my question re- 
 quired quite a different sort of answer. It had been, " How many 
 times did you say Lord Grangemore sneezed on that occasion ? " 
 To which it is evident that a doubtful "Well — urn — yes," is not a 
 satisfactory answer. So I repeat the question, whereupon he turns 
 towards me confidentially and says, " No, I don't think so. It 
 was her sister he married." I look at him inquiringly to see if 
 this is his fun, but at that moment I catch a wink from Birley, 
 who is putting up his hand to his ear and intimating in the clearest 
 possible pantomime for my private and particular benefit, that our 
 entertaining friend Sir Alec McQuincey is uncommonly deaf! 
 
 Now I comprehend Birley's silence. Now I comprehend why 
 Sir Alec goes on talking, and why he looks puzzled at any inter- 
 ruption, and why he could only smile when he got the cue, as it 
 were, from his companion, and was made aware that there had 
 been something said which required to be smiled at. 
 
 I relapse into silence. I accept an excellent cigar from Sir Alec, 
 and I let him talk for the rest of the evening uninterruptedly, 
 until he looks at his watch, says that nine-thirty is late enough
 
 286 FERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 for him, that he has enjoyed his evening with us amazingly, and 
 goes off to bed. 
 
 "Agreeable old chap," says Birley, stretching out his legs, pre- 
 paratory to taking a short stroll. " Seen a lot of life has old Alec. 
 He's a capital Chairman at a Board-meeting. Just deaf enough 
 when he doesn't want to hear any arguments. I let him talk on." 
 
 " So I see," I say, and we walk out to bid good-night to Mont 
 Blanc. 
 
 " The Mons looks like a warrior taking his rest — his last rest," 
 says Birley, gravely, giving me a subdued nudge. " Napoleon the 
 Great, and his cocked hat, carved out of white stone. Ah ! " and, 
 meditatively we linger, and then walk slowly back to the Hotel. 
 
 "We'll take old Alec to his warm bath at Evian-les-Bains to- 
 morrow," says Birley. " Good night." Then he pauses on the 
 stairs, as with a wink full of fun, and last playful nudge, he says, 
 " I suppose you'll let him have all the talk to himself, eh 1 Won't 
 
 you? Ha! ha! I shall." 
 
 ****** 
 
 My friend Skurrie, to whom his own Plan of Return, which I 
 have accepted, is as the law of the Medes and Persians, says he 
 will give me three days more for Geneva and Birley, and that 
 then we must emphatically start homewards, as he insists on Jane 
 and myself seeing Heidelberg en route, and every half hour of our 
 time from Wednesday to Monday is so carefully adjusted that to 
 miss one train will upset all the plans he has taken such pains and 
 trouble to arrange for us. I am closeted with him for two hours, 
 when he explains it all to me, gives me, so to speak, the key of 
 the puzzle, insists on my verifying the items by Cook's Tourist 
 Train-Book (an invaluable work), and then reducing it to writing. 
 After this I am headachey, and exhausted. 
 
 [P.S. — Revising this, long after the event, I say, " Beware of 
 Skurrie and his fixed plan of sight-seeing against time."]
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 
 
 287 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 "Is this the Hend?"— Miss Squeers. 
 
 s 
 
 KURRIE puts us in the train, 
 gives us our Cook's tickets all 
 ready stamped and dated. No 
 trouble. Then he insists on com- 
 paring his notes of our route with 
 mine, to see that all is correct. 
 
 "Wednesday," he says, "that's 
 to-day. Geneva dep. 12, BAle arr. 
 7 - 45." He speaks a Bradskaw 
 abbreviated language. " Change 
 twice, perhaps three times, Lausanne, 
 Brienne, Olten. Not quite sure ; 
 but you must look out." Oh, the trouble and anxiety of looking 
 out for where you change ! " Then," he goes on, " Thursday, 
 Bale dep. 9-2 a.m., Heidelberg arr. 1-55." 
 
 " Any change ? " I ask, as if I wanted twopence out of a 
 shilling. 
 
 " No, at least I don't think so. But you had better ask," he 
 replies. Ah ! this asking ! if you are not quite well, and don't 
 understand the language (which I do not in German Switzerland), 
 and get hold of an austere military station-master, or an imbecile 
 porter, and then have to carry that most inconvenient article of all 
 baggage, a hand-bag, which you have brought as "so convenient to 
 hold everything you want for a night," and which is light to carry 
 until it is packed ! " Then," goes on the imperturbable Skurrie, 
 " you'll ' do ' Heidelberg, dine there, sleep there, and on Friday 
 
 Heidelberg dep. 6 a.m. " 
 
 Here I interrupt with a groan — " Can't we go later 1 " 
 " No," says Skurrie, sternly. " Impossible. You'll upset all 
 the calculations if you do." 
 
 Jane says, meekly, that when one is travelling, and going to bed 
 early, it is not so difficult to get tip very early, and, for her part,
 
 288 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 she knows she shall be awake all night. Ah ! so shall T, I feel, 
 and already the journey begins to weigh heavily on me, and I do 
 not bless Skurrie and his plan. " But," I say aloud, knowing 
 he has done it all for the best, and that I cannot now recede, 
 "go on." 
 
 He does so, at railroad pace : — " Heidelberg clep. 6. Mannheim 
 arr. 7"5, dep. 7 - 15. Mayence arr. 8*22, in time for boat down the 
 Rhine 8*55. Cologne arr. 4*30. And there you are." 
 
 " Yes," I rejoin, rather liking the idea of Cologne, " there we 
 are — and then 1 " 
 
 " Well, you'll have a longish morning at Cologne ; rest, see 
 Cathedral, breakfast," and here he refers to his notes, " Cologne 
 dep. 1*13 p.m., and Antwerp arr. 6 - 34." 
 
 " Change anywhere ? " I inquire, helplessly. " Yes," he answers, 
 meditatively. " At this moment I forget where, but you've got 
 examination of baggage on the Belgian frontier, and you have two 
 changes, I think. However, it's all easy enough." 
 
 " I'm glad of that," I say, trying to cheer up a bit, only somehow 
 I am depressed : and Cousin Jane isn't much better, though she 
 tries to put everything in the pleasantest possible light, and 
 remarks that at all events " the travelling will soon be over." 
 
 Skurrie continues reading off his paper and comparing the details 
 with my notes, "Sunday — Antwerp dep. 6-34 p.m. Rosendael arr. 
 7-45 — yes — then Rosendael dep. 8 '44, and catch the 10-10 p.m. 
 boat at Flushing. Queenborough arr. 5*50, fresh as a lark, and 
 up to town by 7 '55." 
 
 " But we don't want to go up to town, we want to go to 
 Ramsgate." 
 
 " Ha ! " he says slowly, giving this idea as just sprung upon him 
 his full consideration. "Ha! — let me see—" Then, as if by 
 inspiration, he continues quickly — " sacrifice your London tickets, 
 book luggage for Flushing, only then at Flushing re-book it for 
 Queenborough, and once you're there you catch an early train to 
 Ramsgate, and you'll be there nearly as soon as you would have 
 arrived in London. Train just off. Wish you ban voyage." 
 
 I thank him for all his trouble, and ask, with some astonishment, 
 if he is not going to accompany us 1 
 
 " Can't — wish I could," returns Skurrie. " But I've got to go off
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 289 
 
 to Peterborough by night mail. Business. Should have been de- 
 lighted to have looked after you and seen you through, but you've 
 got it all down and can't make any mistake. Awplaisir!" 
 
 And he is off. So are we. 
 
 Oh, this journey ! ! Everything changes. My health, the 
 scenery, the weather, all becoming worse and worse. Poor Cousin 
 Jane, too. 
 
 Oh, the changes of carriage ! The rushing about from platform 
 to platform, carrying that confounded bag, and sticks, and 
 umbrellas, and small things, of which Jane — poor Jane ! — has her 
 share, and, but for her sticking to every basket and package, I 
 should, in despair, have surrendered to chance, left them behind . 
 me somewhere, and should have never seen them again. All aches 
 and pains, and weariness ! At last at Bale, rattled over stones and 
 bridge in a jolting omnibus, through pouring rain to the hotel of 
 " The Three Kings." 
 
 Our treatment in the salle-a-manger of that Monarchical 
 Hostelrie is enough to make the most loyal turn republican. A 
 willing head-waiter with insuboi-dinate assistants — and we are 
 miserable. 
 
 Off early to Heidelberg. Delighted, at all events, to bid fare- 
 well to the w r orthy Monarchs. This trip seemed to invigorate us 
 and if civility, polite attention, good rooms, and an excellent 
 cuisine could make any invalid temporarily better, then our short 
 stay at the Prinz Karl Hotel — a really perfectly managed estab- 
 lishment — ought to have revived us both considerably. And so 
 it did. A lovely drive to the heights among the pine-woods and 
 in the purest air went for something, but alas the knowledge that 
 we had to rise at 5 a.m., to be off by six — it turned out to be a 
 6.30 train — drove slumber from our eyes, and only by means of 
 a cold bath, the first thing on tumbling out of bed, could I brace 
 myself for the effort. Then on we went, taking Skurrie's pre- 
 arranged tour. 
 
 Let the remainder be a blank. 
 
 When abroad I had bought a French one-volume novel which I 
 had seen praised in the Figaro. I will not give its name, nor that 
 of its author. If it indeed portrays persons really living in Paris 
 and if these persons are not wholly exceptional (but, if so why
 
 200 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 this novel, which implies the contrary and denounces them ?) then 
 is the latest state of Republican Paris worse than its former state 
 in the days of the degringolade of the Empire, and Paris must 
 undergo a fearful purgation before she will once again possess 
 mens sana in corpore sano. I read this disgusting novel half-way 
 through until its meaning became quite clear to me, and then I 
 proceeded by leaps and bounds, landing on dry places and 
 skipping over the filth in order to see how the author worked 
 out a moral and punished his infamous scoundrel of a chief 
 personage. No. Moral there was none, except an eloquent 
 appeal to Paris to rise and crush these reptiles and their brood. 
 On the wretched night when feverish, ill, and sleepless, I lay 
 miserably in the saloon of the Flemish steamer crossing to Queen- 
 borough, I opened the porthole above me and threw this infernal 
 book into the sea. After this I bore the sufferings of that night 
 with a lighter heart. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Suffice it that I arrived at home — and how glad I was to get 
 
 tli ere — broken down, prostrate and only fit for bed where 
 
 with railways running round and round my head, steamboats 
 dashing and thumping about my brain, the shrieks of German 
 and Flemish porters ringing in my ears, Skurrie always forcing 
 me to travel on, on, on, against my will, I remained for about 
 three weeks. 
 
 Advice gratis to all Drinkers of Waters. — " The story shows," as 
 the Moral to the fables of ^Esop used to put it, that when you 
 have finished your cure, make straight by the easiest stages for 
 the seaside at home. Avoid all exertion ; and ask your medical 
 man before leaving to tell you exactly what to eat, drink, and 
 avoid, for the next three weeks at least after the completion of 
 your cure. 
 
 ****** 
 
 While ill, but when beginning to crave for some amusement or 
 distraction, I asked that my dear old Boz's Sketches should be read 
 to me, to which in years gone by I had been indebted for many a 
 hearty laugh. Alas ! what a disappointment ! Except for a little 
 descriptive bit here and there, the fun of these Sketches sounded as
 
 SALUBRITIES ABROAD. 291 
 
 svearisome and old-fashioned as the humours of the now forgotten 
 "Adelphi screamers" in which Messrs. Wright and Paul Bedford 
 used to perform, and at which, as a boy, I used to scream with 
 delight, when the strong-minded mistress of the house, speaking 
 while the comic servant was laying the cloth for dinner, would 
 
 say of her husband, " When I see him I'll give him " 
 
 " Pepper," says the comic servant, accidentally placing that condi- 
 ment on the table. "He shan't," resumes the irate lady, " come 
 
 over me with any " "Butter," interrupts the comic servant 
 
 quite unconsciously, of course, as he deposits a pat of Dorset on 
 the table. And so on. Later on, I tried Thackeray's Esmond. 
 How tedious, how involved, and full of repetitions ! It is enlivened 
 here and there by the introduction of such real characters as Dick 
 Steele, Lord Mohun, Dean Atterbury, and others, and by the 
 mysterious melodramatic appearances and disappearances of 
 Father Holt, a typical Jesuit of the " penny dreadful " style of 
 literature. But the work had lost whatever charm it ever pos- 
 sessed for me, and, indeed, I had always considered it an over- 
 rated book, not by any means to be compared with Vanity Fair, 
 Pendennis, or even with Barry Lyndon, which last is repulsively 
 clever. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Then I asked for a book that I never yet could get through, 
 and to which I thought that now, with leisure and a craving for 
 distraction, I might take a liking. This was Little Dorrit. I 
 tried hard, but it made my head ache even more than Esmond 
 had done, and I laid it down, utterly unable to comprehend the 
 mystery which takes such an amount of dreary, broken-up, tedious 
 dialogue in the closing chapters to unravel. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I took down Washington Irving's Sketch-book, and read it with 
 delight. Fresh as ever ! It did me good. So did Charles Lamb's 
 Essays. And then guess what moved me to laughter, to tears, 
 and to real heartfelt gratitude that we should have had a writer 
 who could leave us such an immortal work ? What? It is a gem. 
 It is very small, but to my mind, and not excepting any one of 
 all he ever wrote, the most precious in every way for its true 
 humour, for its natural pathos, and for its large-hearted Christian 
 
 u 2
 
 292 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 teaching, is The Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens. Had this 
 been his only book, it would have sufficed for his imperishable fame. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And then what made me chuckle and laugh? Why, Thackeray's 
 
 Sultan Stork, which, somehow or other, I never remembered 
 
 having read before this time of convalescent leisure. It is 
 
 Thackeray in his most frolicsome humour, and, therefore, Thackeray 
 
 at his best. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I am almost recovered, and am finding my "Salubrity at 
 Home."
 
 DUE SOUTH.
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 
 MONTE CARLO VILLA ROUGE-GAGNE — THE CASINO. 
 
 TJ ERE a * 93 a.m., 
 [jL having just finished 
 my early chocolate and 
 my fragrant cigaretto per 
 esser felice — the adjective 
 reminds me of what Mrs. 
 Ramsbotham said when, 
 after telling her nephew uot 
 to smoke in the dining- 
 room, she found hrm with what he called "a fragrant weed" 
 in his mouth, so that, as she said, " I caught him in frayraute 
 delicto" — but this quite "en parson," as the waiter said when 
 he saw his white tie reflected in a looking-glass — here I am, 
 sitting out amid the orange and lemon trees, feeling myself 
 making part of a Burne-Jones picture, in summerish attire, 
 under a sunshade, looking out on to the blue Mediterranean, 
 down on to the hot and dusty road to Nice, and up at the 
 saffron-coloured tiles and pale white-and-yellow walls of the 
 Citadel of Monaco. It is too hot to walk much — except, pre- 
 sently, down hill, as far as the terrace of the Casino — so I prefer 
 to bask beneath the pleasant verandah while I read the day before 
 yesterday's Times, which recounts how London is in difficulties, as 
 usual, with the snow, how the sun has shone fitfully, for a few 
 minutes at a time, during the day, and, in a general way, how 
 beastly the weather is every whei'e but here.
 
 203 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 On Monday we had our share of wind, for there was what 
 Mrs. Ram terms "a Minstrel," which raised blinding clouds of 
 dust, and one minute you were hot, and the next you were cold, 
 the whole entertainment " presenting," as the dear old lady 
 above-mentioned says, " a complete illustration of one of Allsop's 
 Fables about the Sun, the Wind, and the Traveller." But to-day 
 life is worth living, — and it would be still more so if one could 
 look back without regret to the result of last night's roulette, when 
 I lost quite fifteen francs, or could anticipate with certainty the 
 successful issue of planking down the maximum on a single 
 number,— and, at the present moment, life would be perfectly 
 enjoyable, if two dirty raffish-looking troubadours, with a couple 
 of guitars, had not invaded the gardens, and commenced a serenade. 
 Where are the police 1 Where is the army of Monaco ? They 
 don't expect police, but they do expect " coppers." And / shan't 
 be happy till they get them. Their style and manner reminds mo 
 of the Derby Day, and of the itinerant musicians whom one sees 
 outside public-houses in London, pursuing their calling, or rather, 
 their bawling. I fancy under the influence of a Franco-Italian 
 sky I am dropping into poetry. " It's the fine weather brings 
 them out," says our confidential waiter at the Hotel Windsor, 
 " Comme les oiseaux au print emps," which is small compliment to 
 the birds. 
 
 Everybody here, in this wonderful Casino ! Many who, I 
 imagine, must be neglecting their professional duties " to serve 
 tables." Some excellent people would like to see each of these 
 tables a " tabula rasa" but where's the special and particular 
 harm, any more, that is, than in horse-racing, card-playing, Stock 
 Exchange speculation, or any other form of gambling 1 
 
 Perhaps all gambling is bad, — I don't say it isn't, and I certainly 
 am far from saying it is, — but why is this particular form of it at 
 Monte Carlo to be denounced as so utterly monstrous ? 
 
 " Why," says some one to me, " notice the faces round the 
 tables ! Look at the people ! Did you ever see such a set 1 
 Look at the women, regard the men ! The Demon of Play has 
 seized them all ! It is a Pandemonium ! " 
 
 " Quite so," I reply, " and by the way I observe several dis- 
 tinguished English Statesmen and highly respectable English
 
 DUE SOUTH. 297 
 
 ladies in that crowd — and — and — as the red hasn't turned up 
 for the last four times, I shall put on les qua t re premiers, and on 
 red — excuse me." And turning to apologise to my companion for 
 interrupting his flow of moral conversation, I find I am addressing 
 myself to a perfect stranger, and that my virtuous friend has con- 
 trived to get a seat, and has his money on in four different places. 
 The Mediterranean is blue, the oranges and lemons are yellow, the 
 sun shines brightly, the air is exhilarating — health before every- 
 thing by all means. But at Monte Carlo — as in Denmark where 
 there was something rotten in the state tempore Hamletto — " the 
 play's the thing " — il rCy a que ca — rien ne va plus — and so I 
 finish my brief correspondence just to let you know where I am. 
 Well, I am on the four first, the middle dozen, and red. I sign 
 myself yours truly, singing — 
 
 " Monte Carlo is my Name ! " 
 
 P.S. — I have returned from the Casino. Yes. The gambling 
 ought to be stopped. The weather is chilly. I will have the fire 
 lighted. Such a fire ! Only wood — no coals. Bah ! Why come 
 here for health and change of climate ? Isn't good honest snow 
 and muck in England, and no sun, better than losing 500 francs 
 in three-quarters of an hour? And to think that if I had only 
 put on the quatre derniers, instead of the quatre piremiers (as I did), 
 I might have won something fabulous. I shall send for my bill. 
 Where's a cheap restaurant % Shall I have one turn more at the 
 tables 1 Well, just one. To-night. 
 
 P.S. No. 2. — Lovely night ! Beautiful moon ! Stars mag- 
 nificent ! Such an atmosphere ! Who would stop in England, 
 and, above all, in smoky London, if they could only get out here ! 
 Let me see ; I'll just empty out my pockets — 750 francs ; that 
 leaves me 250 to the good. After all, there's no harm in 
 gambling ; merely pour passer le temps. And then the place is 
 so healthy ! Why, one can be up till two in the morning, and 
 take anything and everything, and smoke any amount, without 
 feeling the effect. The air is so exhilarating. Shall stay here a 
 few days more. Shall I play again 1 that is the question. At 
 present I am inclined to say, Monsieur, faites votre jeu I J'y suis ! 
 I send you this as a sort of diary just to show you what good the 
 climate here is doing to Yours truly, M. C.
 
 298 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 JIONTE CARLO — THE ENGLISH BAR — CHEZ " PETERS." 
 
 J 
 
 (YEN IN G of the Fifth Day. — 
 Beautiful night for walking home. 
 Moon bright. Air fresh. Charming- 
 place ! Lovely weather ! After many 
 ups and downs at the tables, I have come 
 off a winner of ten francs. Had I lost 
 ten francs I do not think the night would 
 appear to me so lovely as it does. It is 
 a long way up to the Villa Rouge Gagne, 
 so my companion, who says he is out to 
 " see life," purposes taking light refresh- 
 ment en route. Among the many light refreshment-places here, one 
 of the most successful seems to be an English Bar, on a small scale. 
 Here distinguished compatriots stroll in after the tables, to take a 
 "John Collins"- — I believe this is the name of the harmless 
 beverage — or a few oysters and stout, or a glass of beer, or spirits 
 and water. Odd to come all the way from London merely to play 
 roulette in a hot and crowded x*oom, and afterwards to sit at the 
 bar of a small public-house overlooking the blue Mediterranean. 
 But I do — and so do very many others. In front of this bar, 
 within the last few minutes, the policy of an empire could have 
 been quietly arranged over a " John Collins " or glass of whiskey- 
 and-water and a cigar. We stroll out into the moonlight, and just 
 look in " Chez Peters." Here, while the dignified but obliging 
 and industrious Monsieur Peters serves behind the bar, sportsmen 
 gather round the simple marble-topped tables, discussing pigeon- 
 shooting, and strange stories of the chances of war, at trente el 
 quarante and roulette. One very big man, with a loud voice, is 
 energetically recounting to a small circle of admirers some wonder- 
 ful coups that he had made at the tables. Thirty thousand francs 
 at one go is the lowest amount he will condescend to talk about. 
 
 " I put down, Sir," says he, emphatically thumping the marble 
 table with his fist, and addressing no one in particular, "four
 
 DUE SOUTH. 299 
 
 times I put down a thousand francs at each corner, and one of the 
 numbers came up every turn." 
 
 " No ! " exclaim some young men who are listening, open- 
 mouthed. 
 
 " Very odd ! " drily remarks a shrewd-looking person, with the 
 cynical air of an elderly Mephistopheles. 
 
 " Yes, Gentlemen, I did," says the big man, emphasising his 
 narrative with more thumps on the marble table, " and then I put 
 forty on passe, a hundred on six premiers, and another forty on 22. 
 They all turned up, and so I went on, and that evening made just 
 eighty thousand francs, in something under an hour." 
 
 " No ! " again murmur the younger portion of his audience, 
 while the elderly Mephistopheles, lighting a cigarette as he raises 
 liis eyebrows, and observes, " Did you really *? Very strange ! " 
 
 I certainly became interested in his stories. They made me 
 thirsty. Some one suggests oysters and stout. I think, hearing 
 of all these vast sums of money being won, has given me a strong 
 inclination for oysters and stout, as suggested. Though I had not 
 thought of them before, I now feel that I can't possibly go on for 
 another five minutes without them. An additional incentive is, 
 that the friend who has joined us, and who suggested this form of 
 nourishment, is in excellent spirits, having unexpectedly won forty 
 francs, and offers to provide the entertainment at his own expense. 
 Offer immediately accepted. And so we sit down to oysters and 
 stout, and bread and butter " Chez Peters," at Monte Carlo, and 
 for all that we see the Southern sky, the brilliant moon, and the 
 blue Mediterranean, we might as well be at Rule's, in Maiden 
 Lane, or Wilton's, in King Street, St. James's. But when we 
 leave " Peters," and walk up the hill, then we feel the effects, not 
 of the supper, but of the invigorating air, and the clear atmo- 
 sphere ; and as we look upwards at the deep blue sky, and the 
 brilliant moon, we say to one another, Shakspearianly, " ' On such 
 a night ' we could stay out for any length of time, and walk any- 
 where, without fatigue" — which sentiment maybe more poetically 
 expressed in the words of the immortal bard, who sang, "We 
 won't go home till morning, Till daylight doth appear." As a 
 matter of fact, it is 12 "30, and we retire now, one of the party to 
 Villa Rouge Gagne, and the other two to the Hotel Windsor.
 
 300 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MONTE CARLO — THE TABLES — CHANGE — BYNGLEIGH. 
 
 
 
 N MY road to the Ca- 
 sino at Monte Carlo I 
 meet H odgkins, Peter- 
 son, and Flickmore. " How 
 have you done 1 " I ask, as 
 I am collecting all the in- 
 formation I can about the 
 country, so to speak, in 
 which I am about to try my 
 fortune. 
 " Pretty fair," answers Hodgkins. " Not bad," says Peterson. 
 " Might have been worse," observes Flickmore. 
 
 " Lost five hundred louis first day," says Hodgkins, looking 
 sharply at his two friends. 
 
 I smile sympathetically. Five hundred ! Dear me, a large 
 sum to lose. And I began to think that I'd better reflect before 
 I tempt the hazard of roulette. 
 
 "We picked it up next day, though," puts in Peterson, also 
 looking round at his companions, and smiling. 
 
 "And the second day were two thousand to the good," says 
 
 Flickmore. "Not pounds — louis ; but not bad businesseven in that." 
 
 Bad business, indeed ! I wish it would happen to me even in 
 
 francs — or half francs, for the matter of that. T am eager to 
 
 know the system. 
 
 ""Well," answers Hodgkins, "you see it's a little difficult to 
 explain and to carry out, unless you're really going in for it. 
 Perhaps you'd hardly understand it." 
 
 Well, I think my powers of comprehension are quite up to 
 this ; I mean that, if these three chaps, who are mere flaneurs 
 on the face of the earth (except when they are in their business 
 in the City) can master the system, I'm pretty sure that / can. 
 " Can't you give me an idea of it ? " I ask, almost piteously. 
 " Well," says Flickmore, " it takes a day to carry it out 
 proper!}', even with luck, and jt requires three fellows to play
 
 DUE SOUTH. 301 
 
 it. We're a Syndicate, and we bring in five hundred apiece. 
 Lose that, we stop." 
 
 Thank you. Much obliged. I needn't trouble them for their 
 system, as I am not " three single gentlemen rolled into one," and 
 so can't be a Syndicate. 
 
 They are going in to the Casino, and pass me on the steps. 
 Now what shall I do? While I am meditating on my plan of 
 campaign, Lord Arthur Stonebroke, passing me hurriedly, cries, 
 " Halloa, old chap, going in to break the bank, eh ? " I reply, as 
 he halts for a second by the door, as carelessly as I can, as if I 
 hadn't quite decided whether I should let the Bank have another 
 day's grace or not,—" Well, I don't know." And then I pay him 
 the compliment of asking " what he is going to do," as if to imply 
 that my movements shall be decided by his. 
 
 " Oh," says he, in an off-hand manner, " I'm just going in for a 
 flutter before dinner. Only taking in five hundred louis." 
 
 I nod to him pleasantly, and he passes in, and disappears. 
 " Only five hundred louis to play with before dinner ! " I am 
 debating with myself whether I shall put on three five-franc 
 pieces all at once, or extend the operation as they used to 
 do the torture of the rack by doing it in three turns. Shall 
 I stop at three five-franc pieces, or shall I go on to six 1 Let me 
 see — five five-franc pieces are a sovereign, and therefore ten make 
 two sovereigns. I wish one could make two sovereigns — and that 
 one be myself. 
 
 First Decision. — I settle that it is better to have the ten five- 
 franc pieces in my pocket, in case I want to play. 
 
 Second Decision. — The number of my coat is 200. I've often 
 heard that a man backing the number of his coat, or multiple 
 of it, or some division of it, makes a heap of money. Happy 
 Thought. Try it. I ask Smithson, who has been an habitue 
 for years, how he would divide 200 so as to make it into playable 
 numbers. Smithson, with an air that inspires me with confidence, 
 says offhand, " Put on the six premiers — that includes the two — 
 on the middle dozen, so does that — on the pair, which includes 
 the 20, and on zero, that's your game." And, nodding knowingly, 
 to me, he walks away with the satisfied air of a man who has done
 
 302 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 the best he can for a friend, and who, throwing off the responsi- 
 bility there and then, leaves the friend to do the best he can for 
 himself. I note it down, and determine to act upon it. It is, one 
 fiver — I mean one five-franc piece — that is, four-and-twopence, 
 only it sounds more sporting to speak of them as "fivers" — one 
 fiver on the first six numbers, another on the middle dozen, 
 another on "even," and another on zero. Good. Stay — that 
 makes four all at once, and I only intended to put on three. If 
 I lose these, then on go four more — that's eight — and I shall only 
 have two left. 
 
 I decide to change a third sovereign — just as well to have 
 fifteen " fivers " (silver fivers) in my pocket as ten. 
 
 I enter the room. I walk up to the Changers' bureau, and get 
 my fifteen French five-franc pieces in exchange for three beautiful 
 golden English sovereigns. It doesn't seem fair, to begin with. 
 I look upon them as counters, and three sovereigns seems a lot of 
 money to pay for fifteen counters. I go to a roulette-table in first 
 room. Crowd. No getting near it. I see Peterson with a pile 
 of gold before him, looking very serious ; behind him stand 
 Hodgkins and Flickmore. Their eyes are on the table. They 
 don't see me. Next moment the croupier cries out something 
 that I don't catch, and the effect of it is that a lot of money is 
 swept off one way, a lot another, and then Hodgkins and 
 Flickmore seem to breathe again as Peterson has notes and 
 gold pushed toAvards him with the croupier's rake. Somehow 
 I don't like this table. I leave it. I don't even visit the one 
 opposite, and enter the middle room. Here the table at the 
 lower end has an attraction for me. Some one standing by one 
 of the croupiers just moves out, and leaves a momentary vacancy, 
 which fate seems to point out to me as the very place for me. It 
 is almost opposite pair, which just suits my plan, the only diffi- 
 culty being to get at the other end of the table, and deposit my 
 five-franc piece on the middle dozen, and to get it back again, 
 with the companion which it ought to win, from that distance in 
 safety. At the tables I have often heard of old French women 
 collaring what doesn't belong to them ; and then indignantly 
 protesting that the expostulating Englishman had tried to rob them. 
 
 This rather sets me against the middle dozen. Also somehow J
 
 DUE SOUTH. -Mli 
 
 don't fancy zero. If I snnb the middle dozen and zero, then I only 
 need risk two fivers each time, and this will give me more sport for 
 my money. And, after all, on the middle dozen you only get two 
 to one, and the odds against zero turning up are greater than 
 against anything else on the table. Besides, instead of losing four 
 each time I should only lose two. For all these excellent reasons 
 I decide to follow only half of my friend's advice, and I select the 
 six premiers and pair. When shall I begin ? No time like the 
 present. Now : this next turn. I brace up my nerves, I give a 
 nod that the Duke of Wellington, at Waterloo, might have 
 copied, when he shut up his telescope with a snap and gave 
 the word to charge, and producing two five-franc pieces, I lean 
 over the man in front, and with a polite " Pardon, M'sieur," I take 
 his rake from him, and push my piece on to pair, nearly jobbing 
 him in the eye with the handle as I draw the instrument back 
 again. Elderly Frenchman looks up angrily. I feel hot and 
 awkward : I foresee a duel, and so give him a smiling apology to 
 turn away his wrath (which it doesn't), and then catching the 
 croupier's eye — not with the rake this time, but figuratively with 
 my eye — I ask him to shove my other five-franc piece on to six 
 premiers, which he does with a careless air, as if it didn't matter 
 twopence to him (and it doesn't) or to anybody (no more it does 
 except to myself and family), what becomes of this absurd stake. 
 
 Then I draw back, fold my arms, try to appear utterly indifferent, 
 look round the table to see if I can spot a friend to nod to, fail, and 
 then I keep my eye on my pieces, and stoically await the issue. 
 " Rien ne va plus ! " — click ! — it is over. Vingt-cinq — middle 
 dozen and uneven. Thank you — five-franc pieces, fare ye well ! 
 
 Two more on the same. Same business of jobbing Frenchman's 
 eye with rake, catching croupier's eye, folding arms, awaiting 
 verdict — which .... nineteen! 
 
 Thank you. Exeunt second supply. Upon my word, I think 
 I'll try the whole lot at once. Six premiers — zero (hate zero) — 
 pair — and middle dozen. I do. Middleton comes up at the 
 minute. " Doing any good ? " he asks. I shrug my shoulders. 
 As I turn round, the number is called — I don't see what it is — 
 but whatever it was, I find that it was neither zero, nor pair, nor 
 middle dozen, nor six premiers, and all my pretty chicks are gone
 
 304 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 at one fell swoop. No, I'll limit myself to two. It's quite enough 
 to lose at a time. And those two shall be — stay .... shall I 
 change my plan — evidently I'm not in luck. Wish I hadn't asked 
 Srnithson how to divide 200. Also wish I'd never heard that some 
 gamblers choose the number of the ticket given them for their 
 coat, and have immense luck with it. Stupid story : it's stories 
 like this that lead one so astray. 
 
 My last two. I object to zero. The first six have played 
 me false. The middle dozen can no longer be trusted. Impair 
 has once stood my friend. Suddenly the number 19, which has 
 nothing whatever to do with my calculations, seems to stand out 
 from the rest, and invite me. It absolutely seems to say, " Put 
 five francs on me, and one on the red." My whole plans are 
 deranged. Nineteen is staring at me. " You'll regret not planking 
 down on me," it says. " Messieurs, faites le jeu ! " " Faites ! " Fate 
 it is. Once more " pardon," and I job the irate Monsieur in the eye 
 with the end of the rake. On to the 19 plump, en plein. Already 
 I see the croupier preparing to pay me thirty-five times my stake. 
 Shall I put another, the other — and the last — on something? If so, 
 on what 1 The ball is whizzing round ! The second — shall I on 
 zero ? Smithson said zero — it was part of his original plan — as 
 I catch the croupier's eye — an inspiration. " Six premiers, sil vous 
 plait " — he pushes it on just where I would give any amount — 
 another five francs to recall it. The croupier opposite says, 
 inexorably, " Rien ne vaplus ! " and — click ! . . . zero ! ! Ha ! ha ! 
 and I was within an ace of putting on zero. Smithson ! When 
 I tell you that, after asking your advice, I've not acted on it, you 
 will think I've been making a fool of you — and of myself. 
 
 Shall I change another sovereign ? And try another table % I 
 will. I go to the magician, who warily examines and changes the 
 gold into silver behind the pigeon-hole of the bureau, and get my 
 five-franc pieces. Odd ! this time as I slip them into my pocket, 
 I feel as if I'd won them from the man behind the pigeon-hole, and 
 somehow, I experience the pleasant sensation of having somehow 
 or another got the best of him in a bargain. To which table shall 
 I go 1 ? What plan shall I pursue? With Smithson's I can only 
 play once with four francs, and if I lose, then once with one. At 
 this moment up comes Byngleigh.
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 30o 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 NICE THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS RESTAURANT FRANCOIS — 
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE — AFTER— EVENING. 
 
 WHAT I did with Byngleigh, who 
 came up after I had lost my 
 little all, and had changed some more 
 gold into five-franc pieces, I will 
 recount on a future occasion. At 
 present a day must intervene, a fete 
 day, which removes me away from 
 the tables, and takes me over to Nice. 
 Certainly, being at Monte Carlo, let us go to the second day of 
 the " Battle of Flowers." This is March the 4th, and the Battle 
 of Flowers does sound such a summery proceeding. 
 
 " Mrs. Grayling and her niece Mabel want to see it," says Mrs. 
 Grayling's brother-in-law, the generous Taplin, who, when out for 
 a holiday, likes to do the thing well ; "and so, if you'll come," 
 this to me, " I'll take the lot of you. One more or less makes no 
 difference." 
 
 Being delighted to hear that my presence will make no differ- 
 ence, I embrace the offer. 
 
 The carriage is at the door. There are two baskets of flowers 
 and two bouquets. This looks like the First of May, old 
 " Chimney-sweepers' Day." It may " look like " the First of May; 
 but with a cutting North wind, with just a touch of East in it, it 
 feels like the time of year it is ; namely, the fourth day of March, 
 at Monte Carlo and elsewhere. At all events there is no fog, as 
 there probably is in London at this moment. The sky is clear, 
 the Mediterranean is blue, the sun is bright, the view is lovely ; 
 the wind is cutting. We take rugs, wraps, and overcoats, but 
 out of compliment to the appearance of the place, with its hedges 
 of geraniums, its red roses on the walls, the spreading palm-trees, 
 the cactuses, the olive-trees, and the prickly pears, " all a-growing" 
 and looking tropical — (how they do it is a wonder to me. I am 
 
 x
 
 306 VERY MUCH AB1WAD. 
 
 inclined to think they're most of them sham, the deception being 
 connived at by the authorities, and kept up by the hotel-keepers 
 and the Casino officials at an enormous cost) — so, as I say, out of 
 compliment to the tropical " scenery and properties," we decide on 
 not having foot-warmers in the carriage. 
 
 Taplin, huddled up in rugs, with only the upper part of his head 
 under a pot-hat, appearing above (so to speak) the bed-clothes, 
 exclaims, from time to time, " There's a beautiful view ! " — nodding 
 at it, for he won't take his hands out from under the coverings, — 
 "Lovely, isn't it?" to which we all assent, the pair on the back 
 seat not turning their heads to look at it, for fear of getting a stiff 
 neck and being " struck so ; " and then Taplin, wriggling down 
 lower than ever under his counterpane and blankets, murmurs, 
 with conviction, " But, / say, it m cold ! " And so say all of us, 
 and all snuggle down under the rugs. For all this, we are going 
 to the celebrated Battle of Flowers at Nice. 
 
 jy{ ce . — We pull up at the Restaurant Frangais. Descend. Nice 
 is en fete. Flower-baskets everywhere. Fans for sale. Ragged 
 urchins with baskets of flowers. Everybody moving about. 
 Fortunately we find one table unoccupied. We swoop down on 
 it, and occupy it bodily. We are here for the Battle of Flowers ; 
 so a la guerre comme a la guerre. 
 
 Restaurant doing enormous business. Crowd too big for the 
 small room. Prices up probably in consequence. It will be 
 " breakfast at the fork out." Head-waiter imposing personage, 
 but with his wits about him. Good breakfast and good wine. We 
 begin to feel warm and comfortable. 
 
 "Amusing scene," says Mrs. Grayling, patronisingly. Miss 
 Mabel is delighted with everything. Taplin says, "I don't see 
 anything very Carnivalish about the place." Miss Mabel exclaims, 
 ' Oh, don't you think so ! " She is evidently afraid that if Uncle 
 Taplin begins to be disappointed with it, he may suddenly decide 
 to return without seeing any more. So she continues, " Why, 
 Uncle, look at all the people ! And then, you remember, we saw 
 that figure of King Carnival sitting in a ship as we drove in ! " 
 "Ah, yes, so Ave did," replied Uncle Taplin, brightening up. 
 Whereat we all brighten up too, and Uncle Taplin insists on our 
 having some old Burgundy, whereupon we brighten up still more,
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 507 
 
 and become warm and genial. We expand like the flowers, and 
 by two o'clock, when we get into the carriage again, — this time 
 with the rugs concealed, and only the flowers displayed, — we are 
 all in full bloom. The North wind has blown itself out, — at its 
 own luncheon, perhaps, — at all events, we don't feel it so much in 
 the town, and the sun is shining. 
 
 Everybody is now en fete. Shops are closed, all business sus- 
 pended for the rest of the afternoon. It is the Flower Derby Day, 
 All sorts of Tom-fools among the populace in false noses, dominoes, 
 
 Going to the Battle of Flowers at Nice. 
 
 as Pierrots, and in a variety of shabby fancy costumes, the odds 
 and ends of costumiers' old clothes. A carriage comes along, being 
 one mass of flowers, wheels and all. It is Jack-in-the-Green on 
 wheels. These faded costumes, and ruddled cheeks, these clowns, 
 and harlequins, and columbines, do certainly recall my boyish 
 recollections of Chimney Sweeper's Festival in London, with My 
 Lord and My Lady, Pantaloon, the Swell, and Clown, with the 
 ladle collecting the coppers. 
 
 It is a great day for the Nirois 'Arry and 'Arriet. It is a great 
 day for every one who has anything in the way of a fan or a bouquet 
 to sell. Any price. How much for that fan? " Fifteen francs." 
 Bah! "Then how much will Monsieur give?" Monsieur will 
 give a third of the price. " Oh, impossible." Monsieur pa-sses on, 
 and purchases two fans (with which the ladies are to protect their 
 
 x 2
 
 .108 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 faces), for one franc each. " Let's have two good bouquets," says 
 Uncle Taplin, becoming enthusiastic ; and the ladies exclaim, " Oh 
 yes, do ! Let's ! " So Uncle Tap purchases two bouquets, and 
 our coachman, being an ingenious creature, and a bit of an artist 
 in colour, — having already decorated his horses' heads with small 
 nosegays, now takes the oarriage-lamps out of their sockets, de- 
 posits them in a shop (I hope with a trusty friend), and in half a 
 minute, the two bouquets have replaced the lamps, and give quite 
 a gay and festive appearance to our equipage. 
 
 Basket after basket of flowers is offered to us. Ten francs, nine 
 francs, any francs, down to one franc, according to size. Here's a 
 good basket-full. How much Madame ? Madame replies readily, 
 hazarding a likely price, " Monsieur shall have it for nine francs." 
 Monsieur, who is hard at a bargain this morning, won't hear of it. 
 What, then, will Monsieur give ? Monsieur will give five francs. 
 " Tenez ! ' " she exclaims, shoving it into my hands, " prenez-le, 
 prenez-le ! "' She won't wait — the bargain is concluded — she is 
 afraid I shall change my mind. I take the basket, and, my hands 
 being full, I ask Uncle Tap for the money. " Et encore un franc 
 pour le corbeille I " shrieks the lady, who is a type of a Ni$oise 
 as an outside-Covent-Garden market-woman. 
 
 "Hey, what's that?" asks Uncle Taplin, suspiciously, under the 
 impression that something has gone wrong with the bargain. 
 
 "One franc more for the basket," I say, carrying it off to the ladies. 
 
 "All right ! " says Uncle Tap, much relieved, and pays up. 
 
 Boys surrounding us, begging to be taken as ramasseurs. 
 Fortunately someone has told me beforehand that a rcunassetcr, at 
 two francs for the afternoon, is necessary as a sort of running foot- 
 man, to pick up the nosegays, and return them to the carriage. 
 I select a sickly-looking chap, who really does seem in want of 
 a job. Five francs he wants. No. Three. Very good, he'll 
 undertake it for three, — and will Monsieur pay before-hand ? No, 
 Monsieur won't. This engagement being made, our successful 
 ramasseur shows that he is not quite the sickly creature he appears, 
 by kicking and cuffing all the smaller and unsuccessful candidates 
 for our ramasseurship, and then he mounts by the side of the 
 coachman, and we are off to the Promenade des Anglais. 
 
 At the entrance we are stopped, and a lours is demanded.
 
 DUE SOUTH. 309 
 
 "Halloa !" says Uncle Taplin, induced to resent the demand as an 
 imposition on confiding foreigners, " What's this for ? " I re- 
 member the Derby Day, and remind him that even in free England 
 we have to pay a guinea to take our place among the coaches on 
 the hill. "Ah, so we do !" says Uncle Taplin, and seeing the 
 matter in a different light, and rather pleased that this price of 
 admission should be an imitation of an English custom, he pays it 
 with cheerful alacrity, and the coachman receives a yellow ticket, 
 while for one franc more, our consumptive ramasseur has purchased 
 a Carnival fool's cap, which is the badge of his connection with our 
 carriage, and eo we enter the rank as combatants in the Battle or 
 Flowers. 
 
 The Drive is not crowded at first. It is railed in on both sides. 
 There are mounted gendarmes keeping the course, and occasionally, 
 when tired of standing still, taking short sharp gallops from one 
 point to another, on the evident pretence of giving each other 
 orders, or delivering official messages. There are important per- 
 sonages, stewards of the com-se, on foot, wearing red rosettes, who 
 are very ill-tempered, cross, and fussy. By the Hotel de la MeJi- 
 terranee the crowd is really dense, — but never at any one point, or 
 at any part all along the course, does it ever exceed the crowd to 
 be seen in Hyde Park by the Serpentine on a fine day at the first 
 meet of the Four-in-hand, or Coaching, Club. Here are the Tom- 
 fools and clowns, and other professional gentry going about just as 
 the acrobats, and the conjuror, and the strong man, and so forth, 
 do on the Derby Day. There are very few good turn-outs, and 
 the presence of voihires, hired traps, and vans, are rather suggestive 
 (to the Englisher of Cockney experience) of a " day out " with the 
 Foresters, 'Appy 'Ampton, or Odd Fellows. There is a band play- 
 ing somewhere which is to be heard occasionally. 
 
 " When is the battle going to begin ? " asks Mrs. Grayling, who 
 is a trifle nervous. 
 
 " Aunt ! '' exclaims Mabel, " look — they're throwing already." 
 And scarcely are the words out of her mouth than three small 
 nosegays fall lightly into our carriage, and a fourth drops outside, 
 which is immediately picked up and given to us by our ramassevr, 
 who from this moment has his work cut out for him. A gaily- 
 dressed lady drives by, and throws a bouquet at Uncle Taplin.
 
 310 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Ha ! " he exclaims, his eyes sparkling with delight at the com- 
 pliment thus paid him by the fair stranger, and he discharges one 
 at her, "which misses. Mrs. Grayling receives nice little nosegays 
 on her bonnet or her face, and returns them with a graceful sort 
 of movement, as if she wer,e curtseying on her seat. Miss Mabel 
 becomes energetic, and goes in for rapid pelting, keeping the con- 
 sumptive ramasseur hard at woi'k. 
 
 " Really," says Uncle Taplin, chuckling, " this is capital fun." 
 Here comes at him a small bunch of violets, which he returns so 
 quickly that it gently hits his assailant — a very pretty woman — 
 
 Before the Battle. 
 
 on the corner of her ear. "Aha!" laughs Uncle Tap — "and all 
 done with such good humour ! Oh ! " he cries, suddenly, " who 
 the deuce did that ? " as a heavy-handled bouquet bound with wire, 
 gives him a stinger on the cheek. I can't help laughing. " That 
 was a nasty one," I say, and, seeing a big man, in a white hat, 
 pass, I hurl the heavy bouquet at him. Bang goes his hat, and 
 there is a shout of laughter. It is too late to retaliate, — he has 
 been driven off one way, our carriage another. 
 
 " Capital ! " I exclaim. I'm really getting quite warm with the 
 exertion of throwing. I select prominent personages, on coach 
 boxes, or sitting up at the backs of the carriages. 
 
 " Now look here," I say to Uncle Tap, "see me catch that chap 
 on — Ha ! conf ." A heavy blow, as if from a tennis-ball,
 
 DUE SOUTH. 311 
 
 catches me behind the ear, another whack in my eye, find a third 
 bang on the cheek — " en plein " — as we say at roulette. Shouts of 
 laughter from the bystanders. My cheek is smarting painfully, 
 and my eye is watering. This is horse-play. This is not good- 
 humoured. That blow on my ear — my, how it tingles ! was 
 vicious, distinctly vicious. I prepare a heavy, well- wired bouquet. 
 
 If I could only catch the confounded fellow who Ah ! bang on 
 
 my hat. I turn sharply, and discharge, savagely, my life-pre- 
 server bouquet, — "as an olive-branch out of a catapult," — whack, 
 on to the nearest Tom-fool's head. He flinches and goes down to 
 avoid, whereupon, my life-preserver bouquet catches an entirely 
 
 After the Battle. 
 
 innocent person, standing just behind him. A laugh — and a 
 whack at me — right on the tip of my nose — which feels smashed 
 in. Nosegay indeed ! I feel my nose is anything but a nose-gay 
 now. Shouts of laughter, in which Uncle Taplin joins. This 
 reminds me suddenly, that I must keep my temper, or at all 
 events, keep up appearances of being in the best possible humour ; 
 otherwise, if the crowd becomes nasty, vegetables might follow. 
 So I take my punishment smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Grayling and Mabel have recognised lots of friends, and 
 have been pelting and pelted right and left. Once Mabel gets 
 rather a nasty one, and retaliates with all her might and main. 
 Mrs. Grayling has her hat knocked on one side, which gives her a 
 momentarily dissipated appearance ; but she only smiles, and
 
 312 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 tosses back upon her fierce assailant a pretty little bouquet, 
 making her usual half-curtsey on the seat, and then puts her hat 
 to-rights. 
 
 Happy Thought. — As our baskets of ammunition may be soon 
 exhausted, let us attract the fire of others upon ourselves by 
 feigning to be preparing to throw. This succeeds admirably, and 
 in a few minutes our baskets are choke-full again. 
 
 Some one cries out, " There's the Prince of Wales ! " and in the 
 distance we hear the band playing our National Anthem, but I am 
 unable to catch sight of His Royal Highness, as, just when I am 
 raising my hat to receive him, I salute a heavy bouquet full in 
 the face, — " en plein " again, — and can't distinguish even the most 
 distinguished persons for the next couple of minutes. 
 
 Having driven up and down the promenade three times, and 
 having, all of us, received " nasty ones," more or less, in the eyes, 
 nose, mouth, and ears, isn't the amusement becoming a trifle 
 monotonous ? Isn't the fun a littlo forced? Isn't it rather devoid 
 of " life " and " go " ? " Is there anything else to do or to see 1" 
 I ask the driver when we get into a quiet part of the promenade 
 where there is only a single line of carriages. The coachman 
 shrugs his shoulders ; no, this is all. " Tout ce qu'il y a (if aire, on 
 avoir." When does it finish? Well, about 4*30, the coachman 
 says, naming an early hour, as he probably is becoming tired of it, 
 and wants to get home to tea. 
 
 "It's not well arranged," says Uncle Taplin, with his hat 
 smashed in, and one side of his face as red as a rose from a recent 
 violent blow. 
 
 " No," I reply, feeling Very hot and very angry, because Avith 
 a swollen cheek, a burning ear, and a partially discoloured eye, 
 I have not been able to be revenged on " The Man who struck 
 O'Hara " — (Oh, if I had only been near him with a thick stick ! 
 I'd have shown him what a Battle of Flowers ought to be, and 
 be blowed to him for a coward !) " Let's turn back and cut it," I 
 suggest. Yes — the ladies have had enough of it. We are not 
 vanquished. We do not retreat. No ; we simply don't want to 
 play any more — and — ha ! — a drop of rain ! Rain it is ! and rain 
 it will be, when it once begins. So hurry back, Coachman. Out 
 with the bouquets, in again with the lamps, lighted this time, for
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 313 
 
 the gloom is coming on, all the forces are routed, and in full retreat 
 we drive along the road to Monte Carlo, arriving in time to vaseline 
 our wounds, and prepare for dinner. 
 
 It has been a glorious fight, this Battle of Flowers. Not quite 
 so lively as we expected, and yet a little too lively occasionally. 
 We all agree that it is a pretty sight. But Uncle Taplin and 
 myself are of opinion that it is badly managed, and the horse- 
 play spoils it. 
 
 In excellent form for dinner. The very evening for a glass of 
 real good champagne. Now in France, as a rule, this is just what 
 you can't get, pay what you will for it. But, to the eternal praise 
 of Signor Zucchi (of our Hotel) be it recorded, that he is able to 
 produce for our benefit Pommery and Greno '80, and very soon we 
 are all unanimous in our expression of opinion that the Battle of 
 Flowers at Nice is well worth seeing, that we wouldn't have 
 missed it for anything, that all the pelting was most good-tempered, 
 and that if there were, now and then, a little horse-play, it must 
 be expected from a crowd ; and — after all — didn't we join in it as 
 heartily (and as fiercely) as any one 1 Certainly. Another bottle 
 of Pommery, '80 or '84, and here's the health of the Battle of 
 Flowers at Nice. 
 
 " Sauve qui peut I'
 
 314 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 STILL AT MONTE CARLO — AFTER THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS- 
 
 THE CASINO. 
 
 -RETURN TO 
 
 "QYNGLEIGH comes up to me 
 at the table. He is a small man 
 with a sharp shrewd manner, and 
 a glittering eve, — strictly speaking, 
 two glittering eyes. He is building 
 a villa at Monte Carlo — that is, he 
 is building it with the assistance of 
 an architect and gangs of work- 
 men, and from being accustomed 
 to deal, in his London house of business, with a large number of 
 employe's, to whom his every word is law, and with chiefs of various 
 departments who do not attempt even to discuss his suggestions, 
 he has acquired the habit of excogitating complicated pi-oblems of 
 trade in half a second, seeing all the pros and cons of a scheme at 
 a glance like a First Napoleon, and of giving his orders with the 
 same promptitude and decision that characterised the commands 
 of the Iron Duke. His word, nay, even his opinion, is as the very 
 concentrated essence of the spirits of the law of the Medes and 
 Persians. He stands behind me and closely follows the progress 
 of the game. 
 
 " Well," he says in his crisp chirrupy manner, with his head a 
 little on one side, addressing me, while he never takes his eyes off 
 the board, " "Well, what are you doing 1 " Now at this minute I 
 am hesitating whether I shall put on the six premie)^ or the 
 sixteen en plein. " No good going on numbers," remarks Byng- 
 leigh, curtly ; "you won't do anything at that. Go on red." But 
 I point out to him that on red you can win only the amount you 
 stake. 
 
 " Well," he returns, "if you do that often enough, you'll make 
 a good lot." 
 
 " No," I reply, with dogged determination, "I've made up my 
 mind to go on the first six."
 
 DUE SOUTH. 315 
 
 " I shouldn't," he says, decisively. But I do. " Messieurs, faites 
 lejeuf . . . Rien ne va pins /" and I've lost. 
 
 " Told you so," says Byngleigh, with a dry laugh, and shrugging 
 his shoulders as much as to say, " if you will insist on running 
 contrary to my advice, you know what to expect." 
 
 I quote to him the authority of Smithson, an old hand. Smith- 
 son, I remind him, advised me to put on the first six, the last 
 dozen, and zero. " Oh, Smithson doesn't know everything," retorts 
 Byngleigh. 
 
 This I admit is true ; but still, having trusted to Smithson, and 
 Smithson having been right, — and if I had only stuck tc what he 
 told me, I should have been by now a richer and a gayer man, — 
 I am a little hurt to hear Smithson's advice so contemptuously 
 treated by Byngleigh. I can't help telling him that Smithson has 
 played here for years over and over again, and that 
 
 Here Byngleigh cuts me short by saying authoritatively, 
 
 " It's no use dodging about the table. You put on the red, — 
 chat's the best game." 
 
 No, I beg his pardon, I will put on the 16 to 21 " transversal," 
 and also back the middle dozen. 
 
 It turns up " three, red," which is neither in my transversal nor 
 in the middle dozen, and I lose on both. If I had stuck to my 
 " six premiers" I should have won five times my stake, and only 
 lost the middle dozen one. 
 
 "But it was red," says Byngleigh, persistently. 
 
 Yes, it was ; but I shall stick to the numbers. I like trans- 
 versal. I like the quatre prremiers, which includes zero, for which 
 you get, as I explain to him, eight times your stake, and this time 
 [ shall go on the four first and the middle dozen. 
 
 " I wouldn't," says Byngleigh, shortly. " / should go on the 
 red." 
 
 I put my five-franc piece on the middle dozen, then, by an 
 inspiration, on '■'■impair" and finally I am just saying to the 
 croujner, in my sweetest and politest manner, — nay, the words are 
 actually on the tip of my tongue — " Les quatre premiers, s'il votes 
 plait," when Byngleigh jogs my elbow and draws my attention to 
 a large amount which somebody is putting on the red, and, by an 
 otherwise utterly unaccountable lapsus lingua 3 , I suddenly say
 
 316 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Six premiers" instead of " quatre" and before I can correct the 
 mistake, the magic words, " Rien ne va plus / " are uttered, click 
 goes the ball, and " Zero " turns up ! Zero counts for quatre 
 premiers, but not for six premiers, and I've lost again. 
 
 " Red's put in prison ! " says Byngleigh. I mentally wish that 
 he was sharing red's fate, that is while I am playing. " It'll win 
 you'll see." 
 
 It has been red so often, that I feel confident it can't come off 
 this time. I tell Byngleigh it was his fault that I didn't- win 
 just now, because he jogged my elbow, and distracted me just at 
 the critical moment. 
 
 " Oh nonsense," he replies, with an irritating chuckle. " You 
 go on the red." 
 
 No, I don't care about colour. I feel an inspiration to try 
 the middle dozen, and impair. It is 16 (red) which is in the first 
 dozen. Lost again ! » 
 
 "You would do it," says Byngleigh, shrugging his shoulders 
 with an air of supreme disgust at my inconceivable obstinacy. 
 " It's no use your going on numbers. Stick to a colour." 
 
 " Which ? " I ask, in despair. 
 
 " Ah," he replies, with another shrug, and a short cynical laugh 
 — I hate a short cynical laugh — "I haven't been watching, but I 
 should say black for choice." 
 
 Savagely I throw down one piece on black, and another I place 
 en transversal 16 to 21, and, just as I am doing it, I feel a strong 
 impulse to put it on 13 — 18. By a sudden impulse, and begging 
 somebody's pardon for rubbing his ear the wrong way as I lean 
 energetically over towards the croupier at the end of the table, I 
 place a piece on the last dozen. " Messieurs I faites le jeu I . . . 
 Rien ne va plus / " — it will soon be rien ne va plus with me — and — 
 click ! — up comes 14 red. Lost on all ! 
 
 "Ah," says Byngleigh, smiling sardonically, "you oughtn't to 
 have gone on the black." 
 
 " But you said black," I retort, annoyed at his perversity. 
 
 " Oh," he replies, with the same irritating cut-and-dried laugh, 
 and the usual shi-ug, " you mustn't go by me." 
 
 " Look here," I say to him, in a manner which is described in 
 the " business " of an operatic libretto as " with concentrated
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 317 
 
 •■•/., | i 
 
 
 'J . , J . 
 
 emotion," — "look here, you bring me bad luck. I wish to good- 
 ness you'd go away." I feel that this is childish superstition. But, 
 if you begin gambling, you'll find yourself giving in to all sorts of 
 superstitions, — and you can't help it. 
 
 Byngleigh shrugs his shoulders again, and saunters off. I 
 remain, and go on losing. Then I stop playing, just to see if I 
 should have had any luck. I say to myself, " This time I should 
 have put a five-franc piece on 13 and black." I stand calmly 
 watching the table. No one puts on 13. '■'■Messieurs," tkc. Some- 
 body suddenly stretches out his hand and puts a pile of gold coins 
 on 13. "Rien ne vaplus!" 13 by Jove ! ! ! Now, that's worse 
 luck than anything else. I 
 turn away. " Rien ne va 
 plus / " I retire into a corner 
 and reckon. Bang has gone 
 one hundred and seventy-five 
 francs. " Rien ne va plus / " 
 
 It is just on eleven, and I 
 stop at the last table. Byng- 
 leigh is here. He shows me 
 five pieces he has just won. 
 " I went only on red," he says, 
 smiling triumphantly. His 
 manner implies that I am an 
 idiot for not having done the same as he has. " Now," he 
 cries, "look here!" and he chuckles in anticipation of good 
 luck, as he puts his money on red and even. It turns up black 
 and uneven. Bang have gone two out of his five. " The black's 
 turn now," he says, and reaching out his hand deposits his three 
 pieces on black. In a second it is raked up and disappears with 
 all the other stakes, the croupiers descend from their perches, the 
 servants are covering up the table, the players are dispersing, and 
 Byngleigh is left grabbing at the cloth, and exclaiming; 
 
 " Here ! Hi ! I hadn't any go for my money ! " 
 
 But no one attends to him, the rules are inexorable, and Byng- 
 leigh has lost all his hard-earned gains, and a trifle more into the 
 bargain. 
 
 " My dear fellow," I say, not so much to console him as to 
 
 Messieurs, faites le jeu I '
 
 318 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 rebuke him for having previously lectured me on my method of 
 playing, and for his irritating style to me in the hour of my 
 adversity, " there is no rule in this sort of thing. It is all luck." 
 "Yes," he mutters, bitterly, "and bad luck too." 
 " Let's go to ' Zero's,' " suggests Johnnie Spofferd, coming up 
 in a great-coat and muffler, for it is uncommonly cold. We visit 
 " Ciro's" — popularly known as "Zero's," which is a small American- 
 English drinking-bar, where very soon some fifty persons crowd 
 into a small space calculated to accommodate, with careful adjust- 
 ment, about thirty-five. And here we are, on a balmy moonlight 
 night, balmy but freshish, within a stone's-throw of the blue 
 Mediterranean (which we can't see) in the land of the Sunny 
 South, sitting in a small bar, drinking Scotch whiskey-and-water 
 hot, gin-sling, " John Collins," stout-and-bitter, all of which 
 beverages are, as is well known, peculiarly characteristic of the 
 Sunny South of Europe.
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 310 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LAST FEW DAYS AT JIONTE CARLO FINANCE. 
 
 Going "A cheval." 
 
 THE winning of one five-franc piece 
 brightens existence. The loss of 
 sixty sours it. Such is life at 
 Monte Carlo. 
 
 Once more Attempt. — At first table 
 on the left. "Good business," says 
 Tom Whiffler, showing me a handful 
 of notes, "just played three coups. 
 Two thousand francs. Not bad, in five 
 minutes, eh ? " 
 
 " What did you go on ! " I inquire 
 earnestly. 
 
 " I went on the dozens. First 
 dozen, then middle dozen. Middle 
 dozen," he adds, " was first-rate," which sounds as if he were 
 talking of oysters. And off he goes, the lucky chap, nodding 
 airily to me, and " chortling in his joy." 
 
 Think I'll try the " middle dozen." Difficult to find a place, so 
 crowded. I notice several people here, whom I had always under- 
 stood were "anything but well-off," playing with piles of notes 
 and heaps of gold. How do they do it ? 
 
 "Oh," Johnnie Spofferd explains, "they're playing with the 
 Bank's money." Yes, but how did they get the Bank's money 1 
 I can't. On the contrary, the Bank gets mine. 
 
 Squeezing myself in close to a croupier, I present him with two 
 five-franc pieces, and request him in the sweetest possible tone, — 
 all novices address the croupiers in the sweetest tone, possibly with 
 the idea of ingratiating themselves with them, and so squaring it 
 somehow, as if being on speaking terms with a croupier could 
 assist you to win, — to put one on the "six demiers" and the other 
 on li douze premiers." Fifteen turns up, and I've lost. Then I try 
 19 en plein, and the first six, and again I lose, whereupon I change 
 to a transversal, which includes 19 (I've a fancy for 19), and
 
 320 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 impair. Trente-trois turns up. Out of it again. Whereupon 1 
 give up my fancy for 19 and leave it. Immediately up it comes ! 
 and this happens also with trente-trois. 
 
 Lost sixty francs. Time to go and dress for dinner. Chilly air. 
 They cover up all the flowers and shrubs at 4 p.m. So the beauty 
 of the place is ai'tificially kept up. North-east wind. Queer sort 
 of sunset. Seen sunsets twice as good as this in England, when 
 I hadn't lost sixty francs. Meet Dordly Tapp going to his hotel, 
 " The Paris," to dinner. How has he done to-day? Any good? 
 No, Dordly has lost. 
 
 " Beastly place," he says, " and so cold too, eh ? " 
 
 I remark that there is an odd sort of sunset. 
 
 " Ah ! " replies Dordly, " that is a queer sunset. Rum colour 
 I remember a sunset exactly like that the night before the earth- 
 quake. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if there wasn't a 
 tremblement de terre to-night. There's one comfort, this place felt 
 it less last time than any other on the Riviera. Still it's not 
 pleasant. If I'd won, I should be off to-night, but I must have 
 another turn at the tables. Ugh ! Horribly cold ! " and he 
 shivers — he has a tremblement all over him — and hurries off. 
 
 One more Attempt at the Tables, after Dinner. — Luck turns. I 
 say +o Mrs. Wetherby (who has had wonderful luck and made 
 £1500), "Shall I put en plein on 32?" She replies quickly, 
 "Yes ! " It turns up. 32 ! by all that's lucky ! 
 
 " I told you I should bring you luck," she says, as 1 receive 
 thirty-five times my stake, which was only five francs — (ah, why 
 didn't she tell me to put on eight louis?) — and so pocket one 
 hundred and seventy -five francs, that's seven pounds, in a second, 
 merely for risking four shillings and twopence. This is exhila- 
 rating. This is the air of Monaco. I ask Mrs. Wetherby, as she 
 is so lucky, to stand by me, and give me some more tips. 
 
 " Ah ! " she replies, smiling, " I'm afraid my luck has gone. I 
 don't feel as if I could advise you correctly again." 
 
 " Shall I leave it on ? " I ask, alluding to my five-franc piece, 
 which is still lying on the 32. 
 
 " I think I should," she answers. " You may as well leave it 
 on." But though her tone no longer inspires me with confidence, 
 yet I leave it on ; but, rein ne va plus, and the croupier takes it
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 321 
 
 off. I'll take myself off. I'll be satisfied -with this for to-night. 
 Let us regale ourselves. Really nothing is so easy as "winning. 
 I meet friends. I tell them seriously, as if it were a feat of 
 dexterity or a well-calculated stroke of business, requiring great 
 acumen and shrewd, sharp clear-headedness, how, without any 
 system, I put en plein on 32, and it turned up. 
 
 " Had you got the maximum on?" asks Dordly Tapp, who has 
 had a fair evening of it. 
 
 " No," I reply, carelessly ; " no, I hadn't got the maximum on. 
 Only a small stake." I don't tell 
 him it was merely a five-franc piece. 
 Probably my one bit of luck will be 
 magnified into thousands, as any one, 
 who subsequently tells the story, 
 may credit me with having put on 
 any stake that suits his fancy. 
 
 Eight louis in my purse, and a 
 lot of five- franc cart-wheels in my 
 pocket. We regale. Dordly has 
 won, he says, a hundred. Johnnie 
 Stofferd at once decides that Dordly 
 shall stand treat. 
 
 " How about the earthquake 1 " 
 I ask Dordly. 
 
 He has forgotten all about it. 
 "Earthquakes?" he asks, "What 
 earthquakes 1 " I remind him of the melancholy forecast he made 
 only a few hours since. " Oh ! " he exclaims, there's not a chance 
 of one. I thought over it again, and now I remember it was quite 
 a different sunset when we had the last earthquake. Besides, 
 with such a lovely night ! What stars ! what a moon ! " 
 
 We agree — Johnnie Stofferd, too, who has won a trifle — that Monte 
 Carlo is a beautiful place, and that the nights are magnificent. 
 
 " I like this place," says Johnnie Stofferd — " it's so foreign. 
 One couldn't do this sort of thing in London." It is half-past 
 midnight, and Johnnie, wearing a soft felt hat, cocked very much 
 on one side, is perched on a high stool in front of the bar, — not at 
 Zero's," but " chez Peters." He has just finished a plate of devilled 
 
 Cooks Tourists.
 
 322 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 oysters, and is now drinking stout, and enjoying a pipe. No, 
 certainly, we — when we come abroad — manage these things better 
 in France, in the Sunny South. But why travel all the way to 
 Monte Carlo, in order to sit on a high stool in a public-house, to 
 eat devilled oysters, to drink stout, and to smoke a pipe 1 We 
 discuss this walking back to the hotel (1 a.m.), and Johnnie 
 Stofferd's opinion, freely expressed, is that " he's blowed if he don't 
 think that the nights at Monte Carlo are about the best part of 
 the amusement." 
 
 1 find out that whenever Dordly Tapp has had a bad time at 
 the tables, he becomes an alarmist. I meet him next day with 
 the longest face possible. What's the matter 1 
 
 " Matter, my dear fellow ? Haven't you heard 1 " 
 
 " No, I haven't. What is it ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, there's measles and scarlet fever all over the 
 place. We're going to pack up and be off at once." 
 
 " Really? It's very sudden. How did you hear all about it?" 
 
 "Oh, everyone's talking of it. Two or three persons died 
 yesterday. And the place has no drainage. It's really too bad. 
 I shall be off. Good-bye." 
 
 I confess I can hardly believe it, but I can't help repeating to 
 several people what Dordly Tapp has told me. No ; they've not 
 heard anything about it, but nothing is more likely. Johnnie 
 Stofferd remembers to have heard a whisper about it before he 
 arrived. Uncle Tamplin can't recall where he also has heard some 
 rumour of the sort. And so within an hour or so there will be a 
 scare sufficient to clear Monte Carlo. 
 
 "Well," I inform Uncle Tamplin, " Dordly Tapp and his wife 
 have packed up and are going off." And this I subsequently hear 
 him repeating to his sister and niece, who at once commence the 
 study of Bradshaw, with a view to as speedy a return as possible. 
 
 Next afternoon, going down to the Casino, I meet Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dordly Tapp. He and his wife are beaming with joy. " Halloa, 
 not gone ! " 
 
 " Gone ! *' he cries, " No ; why should I go 1 Bless you, I've just 
 been and won two thousand lbuis. Shall stay here any length of time." 
 
 "Well," I say, "but the measles or scarlet fever " 
 
 " Oh, yes," he returns, in an off hand manner, " I did hear some-
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 323 
 
 thing about it, but my wife inquired and found it wasn't true." 
 Mrs. Dordly confirms this statement with an emphatic nod. 
 "Oh," continues Dordly, "it's all right. Monte Carlo's the 
 healthiest place in the world." 
 
 " But you said yesterday that there was no drainage 1 " 
 
 "Did I! Ah, yes, so I did." 
 
 " But I asked two Doctors," interposes Mrs. Dordly, coming to 
 her husband's relief, "and they both say that where there are 
 smells there is no danger, and there are lots of smells here ; so it's 
 all right. They explained about the 
 gases, but I don't understand it. And," 
 she goes on, " wasn't I lucky, while 
 Dordly was winning his two thousand, 
 I made a hundred louis, all out of a 
 poor little five-franc piece to start 
 with! I do like Monte Carlo! Au 
 revoir ! " 
 
 "Ta! Ta! au pi 'a i 'sir/" says Dordly, 
 jauntily, as they go into the Grand, 
 where they have a dinner-party. 
 
 I return to Uncle Tamplin and explain. The ladies call on Mrs. 
 Dordly Tapp, and hear from her the Doctors' account of the salu- 
 brity of Monte Carlo, and in another hour or two the scare will be 
 heard of no more — that is, not until some one has lost heavily, 
 and is in a general way disgusted with everything and everybody. 
 
 in plein." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 LAST NOTES AT MONTE CARLO — ON TO ROME. 
 
 T^VERYONE has a System which is almost infallible. I 
 
 Ld note down a few " Systems " for the economical and timorous 
 
 Monte-Carlist : — 
 
 First System — The Imaginative Player. — To all those whom 
 
 Providence has not blessed with opulence, and who wish to play 
 
 at Monte Carlo, I recommend the following system : — Go to every 
 
 table in turn. Think of a number. Imagine you've got a five- 
 
 y 2
 
 324 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 franc piece on it. Watch it. If it turns up, you have the satis- 
 faction of knowing that your judgment was correct. If it doesn't 
 turn up, you can congratulate yourself on not having been such 
 a fool as to put on that particular number. This can be repeated 
 as long as you like, varying from colour to number, and vice 
 versd, and visiting every table in the room. You'll have most 
 of the fun, and none of the risk. When friends and acquaintances 
 meet you and ask "how you're doing?" you can say, "You're 
 about as you were," or any other formula. 
 
 Second System. — If you like to hear the jingle of the five-franc 
 pieces, when you've won them, in your pocket — and it is fascinat- 
 ing, I admit — go to the btireau, change a sovereign into five " cart- 
 wheels," and walk about jingling them. Visit the tables, act on 
 the Imaginative Player's plan (First System), and when your 
 opinion is correct rattle your five-franc pieces forcibly, and smile 
 as if you'd won a big coup. When your opinion is wrong, — don't 
 rattle them, but purse up your lips, frown desperately and shake 
 your head. When the question is put to you, " Doing any good, 
 eh?" you can jingle your coins, replying, "I've got a few left," 
 and pass on. 
 
 Third System. Hoto to reduce the Loss to a Minimum. — Put one 
 five-franc piece on pair and another on impair. Then your only 
 chance of losing is when zero turns up. But, when this happens, 
 as your pieces are imprisoned for a second turn, depending upon 
 which colour comes up, you can then only lose one piece and must 
 gain on the other. This system includes a certain amount of ex- 
 citement, and leaves you quits at the end of the evening. Even 
 with the safest of safe Systems it is possible for you to lose both 
 pieces ; that is, if dishonest persons arc sitting near you, bold 
 enough to declare that your five-franc pieces belong to them, and 
 to pocket them accordingly. 
 
 Last System. Hoiv not to Lose at all ! — Don't play. This is too 
 evident to need explanation 
 
 When you have resolved not to go into the Casino, the next 
 best thing is to stay outside, and watch the people going in at any 
 time during the day, and coming out at eleven at night. The life 
 and soul of Monte Carlo is the Casino. The Avhole of Monte
 
 DUE SOUTH. 325 
 
 Carlo is really the Casino. All its word is trente et quarante and 
 roulette, and, as Shakspeare says, who was of course writing of 
 Monte Carlo, 
 
 "All the men and women merely players." 
 
 They go in like lions, they come out lika lambs : in many cases, 
 like shorn lambs. 
 
 It is midday or any time you please in the afternoon. Look at 
 the gamblers entering. They arrive by train, or by carriage, or 
 in a fiacre, or on foot, and up they go, like men of business 
 bustling towards "the House" in Capel Court, or with that air of 
 preoccupation which marks a new Member of Parliament who has 
 come determined to catch the Speaker's eye, ascending the steps 
 at Westminster. A few among them saunter in, assuming listless- 
 ness, and a very few smartly-dressed men and women chatter and 
 laugh as they pause on the top step to finish their conversation, 
 evidently wishing to draw the line sharply between pleasure and 
 business. See them leaving between half-past ten and eleven, 
 when the Casino shuts for the night, not separately, but in groups. 
 Some chatting, very few laughing, but all most decorously, as if 
 they were coming out of Church after a sermon, and their good 
 name depended on keeping up appearances. 
 
 After a time, whether winning or losing, life even at Monte Carlo 
 becomes monotonous, and, taking for granted that you have ex- 
 hausted all the usual excursions, your amusements are limited to 
 the following programme : — 
 
 1. The reading-room, where a couple of hours may be fully 
 occupied by waiting for the paper you particularly want to see. 
 Here also you can write letters. 
 
 2. Watching the pigeon-shooting from the terrace. This is gratis. 
 
 3. The Concert (admission free), every afternoon. 
 
 4. Watch the people entering and leaving the gambling-rooms. 
 
 5. Walking up and down the atrium, talking to friends and 
 acquaintances, and, once a day, trying to feign some curiosity as 
 to the contents of the latest telegram posted up in the hall. 
 
 6. See trains arrive ; see them depart. 
 
 7. To walk down several times a day from your hotel to the 
 Casino with a view to consulting the clock over the portico, and
 
 $26 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 then, comparing its information with the two Railway clocks, and 
 then with that given by your Hotel clock : finally to regulate your 
 own Avatch by striking a fair balance. 
 
 8. Walk up .to Monaco Gardens (lovely!) and back. Wonder 
 at the variety of smells. Try to arrive at a satisfactory solution 
 as to their cause, whether drainage, or harbour, or gas-works," or 
 
 a combination of any two or of all 
 three. 
 
 Private Opinion of Monte Carlo in the 
 Season. — For the robust, — lovely, de- 
 lightful. But beware the Mistral, the 
 Wandering Mistral. For the invalid, — 
 lovely, seductive, treacherous ! 
 
 Uncle Taplin's niece, Mabel, has been 
 attacked by the Wandering Mistral. 
 She is temporarily disabled. Uncle 
 Tap decides not to go to Rome. Offers 
 me his ticket there and back. I accept. 
 Can I refuse? if only to see St. Peter's? 
 My holiday is finishing. 
 
 "You will zee," says our worthy 
 Italian Hotel-keeper, " ze carnival. Do 
 not go for ze confetti— no — for zey jomp 
 you in ze eye. He 'urt." I promise 
 him that having had quite enough of 
 "jumping in the eye " at the Battle of 
 Flowers, I shall not go in for confetti- 
 I complain to him that last night it 
 He reluctantly admits the inconti'O- 
 
 \ -^ 
 
 throwing at Rome, 
 was actually snowimr. 
 vertible fact; "but," he goes on in his own peculiar English, 
 for which he has a patent, " ze snow," here a contemptuous shrug, 
 "he was nozing,— he did not lay on the floor." Beautiful expres- 
 sion this. But, whether the snow " lies on the floor " or not, oft" I 
 go. To Rome ! Riviei-a !
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 327 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 FROM MONTE CARLO TO ROME, VIA VINTIMILLE, GENOA, 
 
 AND TISA. 
 
 IRST nuisance, — change of time, 
 from French to Roman time. Second 
 nuisance, — examination of baggage 
 at the frontier, which I am bound to 
 say, Italian officials make as easy as 
 possible. It may be exceptional ; I 
 hope not. We are not in a particularly 
 good humour, — 1 forgot to mention that 
 Johnnie Spofferd is my travelling com- 
 panion, in consequence of the tables 
 having turned against him, which makes 
 him fancy that a little change will do 
 him good, — and therefore, any raihvav 
 rudeness would jar upon us. 
 
 The eighteemhour journey is pleasant 
 
 enough ; and then we both exclaim, 
 
 " Now we are approaching Rome ! ! The City of the Caesars and 
 
 the Popes ! ! " We approach it very slowly, through a dreary, low, 
 
 marshy country. 
 
 "Is that the Tiber?" I ask, on catching sight of a muddy 
 stream. 
 
 " S'pose so," replies Johnnie.' " Beastly dirty, isn't it ? Worse 
 than the Thames. P'raps," says Johnnie, after a pause, "P'raps 
 it's the Rubicon. Where was the Rubicon 1 " 
 
 I can't exactly say. " Cassar crossed it," I observe. 
 " Oh, I know that ! " replies Johnnie, pettishly. He is not in a 
 good humour. 
 
 Nothing of Rome can I see from the windows. It is raining 
 heavily, and all is fog and vapour in the distance. Some peasants 
 are out under big umbrellas.
 
 328 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 "But," says Johnnie, grumbling, "not a single Roman nose 
 among them. As far as I've seen, those that ain't turned up or 
 Grecian, are as flat as the surrounding country. Bah ! " he says, 
 with an air of the deepest disgust, throwing himself back in his 
 seat, " I believe the whole thing's a swindle. P'raps there's no 
 such place as Rome after all." 
 
 The other day in the Times I saw advertised a book entitled 
 Some Features of Modern Romanism. I can confidently assert that 
 
 Roman noses won't be promi- 
 nent among these "features." 
 Not a Roman nose at the 
 station, among the Roman 
 legions of guards and porters. 
 Pouring with rain. " City 
 of the Popes and Cresars be 
 blowed!" growls Johnnie, as 
 we sit in the small omnibus 
 that is to take us to the hotel. 
 Everything about us looks as 
 muddy, damp, murky, and 
 miserable as if we were wait- 
 ing; for our luiXii'ao-e on a 
 thorough wet day outside 
 Fenchurch Street Station, in- 
 stead of being in the metro- 
 polis of Christendom, Rome. 
 "We arrive at the Albergo Bristolini, Piazza Bristolini, 
 which looks clean and comfortable enough, even on such 
 a day as this. It is, I have been informed, the best-drained 
 Hotel in Rome. Our room, a double one, for the hotel is 
 full, is large and, we hope, comfortable. There is no pro- 
 spect from the window, which "gives" on to a narrow, noisy 
 street. This, after the beautiful view and the quiet of our 
 Monte Carlo home, is most depressing. It is raining canes 
 fdesque — ("Must be classic in Rome," says Johnnie, trying 
 to cheer up a bit) — which does not tend to enliven us. We 
 descend to the Restaurant Department. Considered as a 
 Restaurant, it is the dreariest room possible. 
 
 The Roman Noses we expected to see.
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 329 
 
 " What a place ! " exclaims Johnnie. " Why," the commercial 
 room of an old-established provincial hotel in England is quite 
 l'arisian in its gaiety compared with this. City of the Caesars ! 
 I should think this place was started when Caligula was on the 
 throne. Ugh ! " 
 
 I am too depressed to contradict him. Let us breakfast. 
 Let us have a Roman breakfast. Not a Roman dish on the 
 menu! We order a good French dejeuner. "At all events," 
 I say, brightening up a bit, " we can have some Italian 
 wine." 
 
 " Let's have some Montepulciano," says Johnnie, regarding 
 the waiter severely, as though warning him beforehand not to 
 attempt passing off any 
 Italian wine of an inferior 
 quality upon him. 
 
 The waiter, in perfect 
 English (I having ad- 
 dressed him in French, 
 and Johnnie in Italian), 
 wishes to know what wine 
 it was the gentleman de- 
 manded? 
 
 "Montepulciano," 
 Johnnie repeats, only this time in a less certain tone, being 
 evidently a trifle distrustful of his pronunciation, and his eye 
 falters before the waiter's calm, but not unsympathetic, gaze. 
 The waiter has never heard of it. " What ! " exclaims Johnnie, 
 " never heard of Montepulciano 1 Why, in Horace's time- 
 But the waiter was not here in Horace's time. 
 
 "Wasn't that Falernian?" I ask, rather siding with the 
 waiter, who, as an Italian, at least so I suppose, ought to 
 know. 
 
 "Well," returns Johnnie, ceding the point, "let's have 
 Falernian." 
 
 No ; Ave cannot have Falernian ; we can have some chianti, 
 which the waiter can highly recommend, or some Barolo, of which, 
 he tells us, they have a remarkably fine specimen. 
 
 We decide on chianti. 
 
 The Roman Noses we actually did see.
 
 330 
 
 VERY MITCH ABROAD. 
 
 It is some time before Johnnie can get over the waiter's never 
 having heard of Montepnlciano. 
 
 "Of course," he says to me, "ycw've heard of it." Yes, I 
 fancy I have ; but, trying to recall it, I cannot quote my 
 authority unless it's somewhere in the Bon Gualtier Ballads 
 The line, I fancy, is " Regal Montepulciano drained beneath its 
 native rock." This is unsatisfactory to Johnnie, who is just 
 beginning to express his doubt as to whether Montepulciano 
 is in Italy or Spain, when the breakfast arrives, and we cheer up 
 a bit. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 rome — no smoke dark ages — jupiter pluvius — morning call 
 
 — st. peter's. 
 
 iREAKFAST restores us to fairly good 
 spirits. If it were not muggy and close 
 indoors, and raining and generally filthy out- 
 side, we should be rollicking. " However," says 
 Johnnie, leaning back and pulling out his cigar- 
 case, as the waiter brings in the coffee, " the 
 great charm of a foreign hotel is that you can 
 smoke your cigar immediately you've finished, 
 without leaving the table." And he strikes a 
 light. " Beg pardon, Sir," interposes the civil 
 Waiter, " but smoking is not allowed here. Only in the smoking- 
 room." 
 
 " What ! " exclaims Johnnie, in a voice of thunder. The Waiter 
 shrugs his shoulders ; such is the case ; he, the Waiter, per- 
 sonally would wish it otherwise, but Monsieur the gentleman will 
 understand that he, as only Waiter, is not responsible for it. 
 « I3 u t " Johnnie restrains himself, and, with suppressed fury, 
 
 requests to be shown to the smoking-room. 
 
 The Waiter, coffee in
 
 DUE SOUTH. 
 
 331 
 
 hand, motions us to follow him. " Of all the, etc.," I hear Johnnie 
 muttering as he walks* along, anathemas not lond but deep, and I 
 perfectly agree with him. We enter a small room, commanding a 
 view of the Piazza, which is something, but in all other respects a 
 mere repetition of any old-fashioned smoking-room in the hotel of 
 an old-world English cathedral town, with the usual " writing- 
 materials," consisting of half a sheet of measly-looking blotting-paper, 
 a small cheap inkstand, with very little ink in it, and a steel 
 pen that looks as if it had been used as. a pipe-picker, the 
 inevitable Bradshaw of a date long past, one or two advertising 
 books on the table, and some advertising pictures on the walls. 
 "And this," exclaims Johnnie, "is civilization in Rome!! Not 
 smoke in the Res- 
 taurant after din- 
 
 ner ! ! Bah ! I've 
 
 got a precious good 
 mind to chuck the 
 whole thing lip, 
 and !i - o straight 
 back to Monte 
 Carlo." And so 
 great is the upset 
 to his habits and 
 ideas of social en- 
 joyment, that, but for my undertaking to interview the landlord 
 on the subject and obtain some concession, he would, as he 
 expresses it, chuck up the whole bag of tricks, winch includes 
 St. Peter's, the Vatican, the Coliseum, and all that makes Rome 
 Rome, and go back hie et nunc to Monte Carlo, " Where," as 
 e says, " at all events a fellow is in a civilised place, and can 
 smoke at his own table, in his own hotel, and take his ease at his 
 inn." 
 
 I promise further, on condition of his remaining, to undertake 
 all the ciceroning trouble, and to personally conduct him every- 
 where. " And first of all," I say, " as it's raining, let's drive to 
 St. Peter's, where we can spend the afternoon." Agreed. Is this 
 Rome, as seen from the Roman Car, under a hood, on a pouring 
 wet day ? If it is, the streets are scarcely wider than Chancery 
 
 First View of Rome from Triumphal Roman Car.
 
 332 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 1 
 
 , 
 
 J 
 
 ^ i 
 
 j«jl 
 
 & 
 
 m 
 
 
 ^S| 
 
 tf 
 
 Lane, and the slush and mud arc far worse. But for the pros- 
 pect of seeing St. Peter's, we— both of us being in the same 
 sweet humour — would pack up our things and return to Monte 
 Carlo. 
 
 En route it occurs to me that I have to leave a card on a 
 distinguished Monsignore dwelling within the precincts of St. 
 Peter's. As Johnnie speaks Italian, limited, but apparently 
 intelligible, I propose that he shall accompany me. He will, with 
 pleasure. We ascend the steps on the Vatican side. We are 
 challenged by one of the Swiss Guards. The Merry Swiss Boy, in 
 
 canary-coloured uniform with zebra 
 stripes over it, is six foot two and very 
 courteous. He indicates where we 
 may find the Monsignore's door. 
 Ascending the stairs, we encounter a 
 gorgeous officer in a mediaeval costume. 
 Johnnie is of opinion that he is a 
 "noble guard." The "Nobil Signor " 
 — (I remember this from the Page's 
 Song in Gli Uguonotti — " didicisse 
 fideliter Italianas Operas" — making 
 " Opera " feminine — is ' evidently of 
 some use to a stranger in Pome) — the 
 Nobil Signor cannot be too courteous. 
 The Monsignore, he informs us, lives on 
 the "primo piano" — sounds as if he 
 were a music-teacher— and thither we go. We are admitted 
 by Monsignore's concierge, a little snuffy man in threadbare 
 black, like a second-rate lawyer's clerk, into a comparatively 
 unfurnished apartment, where he is keeping himself warm 
 with snuff and a small charcoal fire in a brasero, — at least, such 
 Johnnie tells me is the name of the large frying-pan without 
 a handle, filled with charcoal at a white heat. I intrust the 
 letter for Monsignore to him, and am rather relieved at being 
 informed that Monsignore is not at home. We leave the pruno 
 piano, and descend the steps. After passing with great politeness 
 the last of the Merry Swiss Guards, we once more breathe freely, 
 and having so far done our duty, we turn towards St. Peter's. 
 
 "Nobil Signor!"
 
 DUE SOUTH 
 
 333 
 
 Grand ! Then we mount the steps. Then timidly and cautiously 
 we push at a door, and in another second we are in St. Peter's. 
 For a minute or so we can only look about us, dazed, then we 
 regard each other, curiously, as if we had expected some transfor- 
 mation of our personal appearance. No ; here we are, the same 
 that we were outside — and yet . . . well . . . awestruck is the 
 word. Overpowering ! I have been told I should be disappointed. 
 Disappointed ! If it were only to have come here for this one short 
 visit that I had travelled from London, I should have been more than 
 repaid by the coup d'oeil on first entering this marvellous temple. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ST. PETERS SOLVITUR AMBULANDO — MASONRY WAYS AND MEANS 
 
 " BOCK AGEN " — MONTE CARLO — LONDON. 
 
 THE SIZE of St. Peter's! I ment- 
 ally compare it with everything big 
 I have ever seen. Johnnie, having 
 partially recovered his self-possession and 
 the use of his voice, says, " Look here, 
 I'll step it. I measured my back draw- 
 ing-room for a billiard table by stepping 
 it, and so I can easily get an idea of its 
 size." He at once sets to work in order 
 to give practical effect to his theory of 
 measurement, and he sets about it with 
 as much care, caution, and " strict atten- 
 tion to business," as if he were giving an 
 imitation of a man walking on a tight- 
 rope without a balancing-pole. After thi'ee attempts, each of 
 which signally fails, on account of his inability to preserve a 
 straight line, when he, as it were, topples off his imaginary rope, 
 comes to the ground, and loses his reckoning up to that point, he 
 gives it up, shakes his head solemnly, and says, "Oh, it's enormous! 
 Why, St. Paul's is nowhere compared with this!" I recall to mind 
 the monumental effigies in St. Paul's, any one of which is a doll by 
 
 Balbus and Caius, A.U.C. 89.
 
 334 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 the side of any one of the figures in St. Peter's. And then the 
 London grubbiness of St. Paul's, its dinginess, its lecture-room 
 benches crowding the centre, and its chilly dreariness ; whereas 
 here all is space, colour, light and life. Glorious ! Everyone 
 knows, by hearsay at all events, about the size of those chubby 
 little boys who support the- holy-water stoupa at the entrance. 
 Come up close, and though you are perfectly prepared for a 
 .surprise, yet your astonishment is not a whit the less at finding 
 the stoups baths, and the little boys a couple of giants. I can 
 scarcely believe my eyes, but so it is, and Johnnie and myself are 
 never tired of walking up to these deceptive full-grown cherubs, 
 coming on them unexpectedly as it were, and patting them on the 
 hands and arms to ascertain whether they are playing us any 
 trick, and whether they are the Anakim they seem. Yes, there is 
 a deception ; it is the deception of perfect proportion. Every day 
 we go into St. Peter's, but these happy - looking baby - giants 
 exercise an unaccountable fascination over us, and on our last 
 visit we are quite sad at the idea of leaving them behind, but 
 being unable to take them with us, we pat the backs of these 
 chubby Brobdingnagians, and bid them affectionately good-bye. 
 And the last souvenir of St. Peter's that will remain indelibly in 
 my memory, is the sweet-tempered smile on the faces of the two 
 giant-babies — the holy-" water Babies " — nearest our door of exit 
 craning towards us, saying as plainly as dumb action can speak, 
 " We should so like to come with you, only we can't leave this 
 great big heavy basin, or it would tumble down. But mind you 
 come and see us again ; you'll find us here, always on duty, — 
 don't forget." 
 
 Pouring rain. The streets of London not " in it " with those of 
 Pome for slosh and mud. Here in this museum of antiquities, 
 the home of classic Art and ancient frescoes, the principal mural 
 decoration that catches my eye at almost every turn is that 
 charming picture of a fine and fascinating decolletee female, with 
 yellow hair streaming dow T n her back, — the fair one with the 
 golden locks, — so well known to all Londoners as the pictorial 
 advertisement of Mrs. Somebody's Hair Restorer. This, ap- 
 parently, is the most striking fresco in the City of the Popes 
 and Caesars, but. as the Caesars are defunct, they can't interfere ;
 
 DUE SOUTH. 335 
 
 and, as the Pope's daily constitutional is unconstitutionally limited 
 to the Vatican grounds, His Holiness possibly is not aware how 
 the city is being vulgarised. Yet the obtrusive presence of this 
 leering woman representing Mrs. Somebody's Hair Restorer on 
 the Avails of the Eternal City, does recall to my mind a proverbial 
 saving, which seems peculiarly applicable in this instance, namely, 
 " See Rome and dye." 
 
 The truth of another proverb, that " Rome was not built in a 
 day," is borne in upon us with irresistible force at every turn. 
 " Rome built in a day ! " cries Johnnie. " Why, they're at it 
 now ! " Balbus and Caius, who were always building walls, by 
 way of Latin exercise, in our youth, are still at it, still building 
 Rome in A.U.C. 2640. They're making quite a new Rome — a 
 1 laussmannish Rome — of it. In another ten years Rome will 
 possess splendid streets (at least I am inartistic enough to hope 
 so), and ample pavement (also my sincere wish), and in its main 
 thoroughfares it will be as like Paris as the Balbi and Caii, 
 carrvincr out their orders and contracts, can make it. 
 
 " ' Masonry ' is condemned at Rome," says Johnnie, " and so it 
 ought to be, until the streets are widened, and pavement-makers 
 have been set to work." 
 
 " It's wonderfully picturesque, though," I say, referring to the 
 old gate, old streets, old walls, and old houses. 
 
 " V T ery," returns Johnnie, coming cautiously out of a dark hole 
 in a wall where a small Roman greengrocer carries on his trade, 
 and in which Johnnie has taken refuge from the dangerous 
 proximity of a recklessly -driven cab; "only I do object to there 
 being no pavement for foot-passengers." 
 
 As to the environs, on a pouring day like this, we might as well 
 be walking in a ploughed field. Fortunately we don't attempt it, 
 and having hired a Roman car with a hood and apron, we are 
 driven to "St. Paul's outside the Walls," — ("I thought it 
 couldn't be ' without the Walls,' " says Johnnie, " or how on 
 earth could it stand up % ") — which is almost as great a wonder 
 as St. Peter's. 
 
 During our short stay, we see everything that is possible to be 
 seen in the time ; but Johnnie is thoroughly upset by the fact of 
 not being permitted to smoke after breakfast and dinner in the
 
 33G 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 restaurant of the hotel, and what with the heat of our bed-rdom, 
 which is next to the kitchen chimney, the noise of the street at 
 night, and the almost incessant rain, he is dissatisfied with every- 
 thing — except a dinner at the Caffe di Roma, and the chianti in a 
 magnum flask — and anxious to return as soon as possible to Monte 
 Carlo, and so home. 
 
 We take a walk on the Pincio, and delight in a view. In these 
 gardens there are so many ecclesiastics of all sorts, sizes, and ages, 
 and such a large proportion of them evidently only students, that I 
 am forcibly reminded of the College grounds of Cambridge or 
 Oxford in term time. The youths are enjoying themselves with 
 all the soberness that characterises such reading men at either 
 
 University as affect their cap and gown 
 at all times, even when taking their con- 
 stitutional. I suppose if one of these 
 Roman students is out without his acade- 
 micals, there is no Roman Proctor and 
 Bulldogs to stop him and ask him for 
 his name and college, and then fine him 
 six-and-eightpence. 
 
 Cabs are wonderfully cheap in Rome. 
 In order to compete with the recently- 
 introduced omnibuses and tram-cars, the 
 cab-proprietors have reduced their tariff 
 to half-a-franc for a course, " but," says 
 Johnnie, cheering up a bit, "no one gives 
 less than a franc as a matter of course." Nopour-boire is expected, 
 and if given, it is received with gratitude. The price for driving 
 about is two francs the hour, their pace is generally good, and if 
 the thoroughfare be crowded with pedestrians and the street more 
 than usually dirty and narrow, then you may rely upon his going 
 at full speed merely for the humour of the thing, and you'll have 
 plenty of excitement for your money. 
 
 On our last morning we go to see the pictures and the statuary 
 in the Vatican. We have no catalogue. 
 
 " Don't want one," says Johnnie. " All the names are on the 
 things, and I can make mems as I go along." 
 
 So, with a big note-book and pencil, he walks through the 
 
 Balbus and Caius, A.D. 1889.
 
 DUE SOUT'H. 337 
 
 galleries, as if the Pope had been sold up, and he, Johnnie 
 Spofferd, were the man in possession taking an inventory of the 
 plate, ornaments, and fixtures. " Look here ! " he says, suddenly 
 drawing my attention to a small bust in the Hall of Philosophers 
 and Muses. " Fancy this being Socrates ! " Yes, fancy ! " And 
 yet," says Johnnie, " I seem to know the face. Yes, It's un- 
 commonly like the bust of Darwin in one of the Kensington 
 Museums." 
 
 In the Sistine Chapel we see several tourists lying supinely at 
 full length on the seats. "So irreverent, in a chapel, too ! Just 
 as if they were resting after a Turkish bath," says Johnnie. 
 "Though," he adds, as he glances round, "it isn't much like 
 a chapel to look at," No, it is not. More 
 like a decorated Concert Hall. We gradually 
 become aware of the fact that the sprawling 
 tourists are only deeply interested in the 
 work of Michael Angelo on the ceiling, and 
 have discovered that the only way of study- 
 ing it satisfactorily is on their backs. 
 Johnnie is tired, and pines for Monte Carlo. 
 I rather think that a telegram which he 
 receives on re-entering our hotel is a bogus 
 one, only intended to give him a fair excuse 
 for saying he must return at once " on business." As I must 
 make the best of my way to London, I decide to accompany 
 him, hoping for another opportunity of seeing Rome at my 
 leisure, and having a month to do it in. We start. 
 
 Monte Carlo Revisited. — " Great attraction ! ! For one nijrht 
 only ! ! ! " That is as far as I am concerned, only a day and a 
 half and one night. Lovely weather. Beautiful N.E. wind. 
 Johnnie, who has recovered his spirits, says jocosely, " Rather 
 have had N.E. other wind. But better than Rome. One can 
 breathe here," and he disappears into that unhealthy hot-house the 
 Casino. At dinner, he tells me he has met a man who has been 
 awfully lucky playing only on the thirties. That's his system. 
 Meeting subsequently at Zero's, Johnnie is looking weary and 
 worn. Anything the matter? Yes, his system is upset. He
 
 338 
 
 VE11Y MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 wishes be had never met the man who told him about the 
 " thirties." He will leave Monte Carlo with me to-morrow 
 morning. After all, no place like London. 
 
 London. — Black Fog. Certainly no place like London. We 
 lose sight of each other in the fog- Johnnie goes due East. I 
 due South once more, only not farther than South Kent Coast* 
 End of holiday.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 Z2
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE — FIRST SKELETON ROUTE — GENERAL 
 
 DIRECTIONS. 
 
 
 NE thou- 
 sand ques- 
 tions hav- 
 ing been 
 daily put to 
 us just be- 
 fore the va- 
 cation sea- 
 son of the 
 year, as to 
 "when to 
 go, how to 
 go it, where 
 to go to, 
 and what 
 to wear 
 where you 
 go ; " we 
 drawing 
 largely 
 
 upon our own travelling experience, are now about to give a full 
 and sufficient answer. The third point is the one to which wc 
 must first give our serious attention, and therefore let it be our 
 cheerful task, before entering into the details of expense and so 
 forth, to suggest a few pleasant routes for the consideration of the 
 still dubitating tourist. Home circuits will not of course come 
 under our present notice.
 
 342 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Let us suppose then that you want to be away for ever such a 
 long time : very good ; then we will commence by reducing that 
 period to three weeks at the outside. This phrase " at the out- 
 side," will fairly exhaust the first part of our subject ; while, " at 
 the inside" will relate merely to the pocket, and we shall soon 
 exhaust that. 
 
 Now then, Ladies and Gentlemen, for our 
 
 GRAND PATENT THREE WEEKS' TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 
 CONDUCTED ON THE MOST ECONOMICAL PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Let us begin at the beginning ; alphabetical order of places by 
 all means. Let us say you want to go to Antwerp. By the way, 
 you must say you don't, or else we're done, and won't play any 
 more. 
 
 Very good ; then you do want to go to Antwerp. Now here is 
 a nice little three weeks' jaunt for you : 
 
 Antwerp. Athens. Berlin (where the wool is). Copenhagen. 
 Dresden (calling at China). Ems. Florence. Gottingen and 
 back again, vid Leipsic, Hong Kong (if time), Madeira, Paris and 
 the Margin of Fair Zurich's Waters Tullaliety, and so home. 
 
 This will suffice for the first journey. You can start from any- 
 where you like, say Brunswick Square by Moonlight. 
 
 While we feel inclined, permit us to make three observations : — 
 
 1. The Tourist's Best Pocket Companion is,— MONEY. 
 
 2. Bank clerks and others (specially "others"), should not 
 leave England without their employers' permission, lest they be 
 caught tripping. 
 
 3. Don't be extravagant ; but if you're going very far, it is, 
 perhaps, as well to be " a little near." 
 
 If, in the course of these directions, any abbreviations are used, 
 let it be understood, once for all, that r means rail, and that s 
 doesn't ; that o means nothing, p means something, q anything, 
 and so on. 
 
 First, catch your Passport. This must be signed by all the 
 Crowned Heads of Europe. On being asked your name, reply "N. 
 or M. as the case may be." 
 
 Having procured this necessary document, packing up before 
 packing off is the order of the day. So now we must consider —
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 313 
 
 Wluit to take? — The simple answer to this regular puzzle is, "Take 
 time ; " don't flurry yourself or " take on " if you find matters going 
 unsatisfactorily, and take off your coat and waistcoat, if filling a 
 portmanteau be warm work ; and, finally, end by taking your- 
 self off altogether. If you take this idea, you'll commence 
 excellently well. 
 
 Another important question is, " What quantity of Ltiggage shall 
 I require ? " We are prepared for this or any other emergency : — 
 
 Necessary Luggage. — One portmanteau, full ; another empty, in 
 case you lose the first. A hat-box, with hat inside. A bag con- 
 taining " Things." A large sandwich-box to hold muffins, straw- 
 berries, and slices of roast beef, which you can't get abroad. A 
 packet of collars, silk neckties, and an Alpine stock, much worn 
 among the mountaineers. Don't bother yourself about taking soap ; 
 if you were to spend much money in this article, you'd soon be 
 cleaned out. Carefully provide yourself with blankets, table nap- 
 kins, sheets, candlesticks, snuffers, and panes of glass, in case any 
 of the windows in your bedroom at the hotel are broken. A knife, 
 fork, and spoon are indispensable. A barrel organ will amuse you 
 on the road, but we scarcely recommend your carrying it, unless 
 there's a donkey to take it about, which, by the way, there 
 probably would be. 
 
 Glasses, &e. — You can always obtain plenty of glasses on the 
 journey, at the various refreshment rooms ; some people can, how- 
 ever, see better without them. Cany a telescope about the size of 
 Lord Ross's ; or hire it for your tour. If you can get on fast with 
 a walking-stick, take two, and then you'll get on faster. Umbrellas, 
 belonging chiefly to other people, you will be able to pick up on 
 the road. Perhaps, however, it is better to carry one, as when 
 hungry you will always have a spread ready. 
 
 So far, so good. The next point is money. Procure this from 
 a banker, before four o'clock. The best time, however, is when he's 
 not looking. If this is impracticable, ask him to sing a Round, 
 and then catch some of his circular notes. 
 
 So much for the present ; there remains quite as much for the 
 Aiture. We ourselves have not travelled for nothing ; and, by the 
 way, on referring to that admirable publication, " Our Banker's 
 Book," we devoutly wish that we had.
 
 344 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TRAPS FOR TRAVELLERS RAILLERY FOR THE RAIL. 
 
 ORTHY of the gravest con- 
 sideration to the tourist is the 
 subject of Dnss. The choice 
 of costume, especially as re- 
 gards the adoption of old 
 clothes, must depend a great 
 deal upon previous habits. 
 Provide yourself, however, 
 with — 
 
 A Reversible coat, black one 
 side and white the other, with 
 tails to hook on, in case you 
 want to go to an evening party. 
 Reversible Boots, so that 
 you may be able to retrace 
 your steps with ease. Let 
 them be very neat, for it 
 always is a point to turn out 
 your toes well. 
 
 Travelling is dull work, 
 sociably speaking, or, we 
 should say, not sociably speaking. Take our advice, and break 
 through any bashfulness and awkward reserve in opening a 
 conversation with a chance companion. 
 
 Before you step into the train, a carriage must be selected. 
 Choose one where the only available seat is filled with the boxes, 
 rugs, sticks, &c., belonging to the occupants. Insist upon these 
 being immediately removed. When this operation has been per- 
 formed, and everyone is more or less uncomfortable, say you've 
 changed your mind, and sha'n't come in. Walk a little way from 
 the door, then return to request them to keep the seat for you. 
 Wait until three minutes before the train starts, then lose no time 
 in shoving your fishing-rod, desks with unpleasantly sharp corners, 
 
 Hooky Walker.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 345 
 
 telescopes, sticks, umbrellas, and curiously impracticable hat-boxes, 
 under the seats. You must be very careful in looking after your 
 luggage ; therefore, at frequent intervals during the journey, 
 rummage about among the passengers' legs with your stick, iu 
 order to ascertain the safety of the various articles. If you miss 
 anything, at once charge your travelling companions, individually 
 and collectively, with the theft. Even if they haven't stolen it, 
 'twill serve as a pleasant little ruse for breaking the ice, and navi- 
 gating a north-west passage to conversation-point. If they won't 
 second you in your laudable endeavours, whistle, hum, sing, eat 
 oranges, and let the window perpetually up and down, in order t<» 
 dispose of the peel. Should you happen to be shut in with ;i 
 solitary companion, say, for instance, an elderly gentleman, sleepily 
 inclined, the following will be found an excellent 
 
 Scheme for a Railway Conversation with an entire stranger 
 (elderly, First Class) : — 
 
 How do you do, Sir 1 I hope you are pretty well ? It is a 
 very fine day, a very wet day, a queer day, a tooral-li-day, &c, as 
 the case may be. Seen the new Hamlet ? — [Here give a succinct 
 account of the plot, finishing with, of course, an imitation of 
 Mr. Fechter as Hamlet. 
 
 Been to the Opera 1 Heard Lucca and Patti ? — [Here give imi- 
 tations of Lucca and Patti : this is the xvay to get on in the world, 
 and to make yourself a pleasant companion. 
 
 Of course you've travelled by the Underground Railway 1 No ? 
 Dear me ! well then, &c, &c. — [Here give imitations of the Under- 
 ground Railway : say sssssssssssssh, to imitate steam, and shriek when 
 representing the passage through a Ttinnel ; these embellishments to 
 your discourse will render the account graphic and life-like. 
 
 Seen Pepper's Ghost, I mean Dircks' and Pepper's Ghost ? No ! 
 I have. Look here, this is the way it's done. — [Here show him the 
 way it's done. 
 
 Been up in a Balloon] No! Dear me! What, never been 
 up in a Balloon 1 Not with Glaisher ? Lor', Glaisher goes up in 
 a Balloon with Coxwell, and when they've reached an altitude of 
 300,000,000,000 feet, their breath is taken away, and, &c., &c. — 
 [Here sho-w him June Coxwell and Glaisher reach an altitude cf 
 300,000,000,000 feet, and take his breath away.
 
 340 VERY MUCH A B MO AD. 
 
 Ah ! Stopping at a station ! Hungry, eh ? No — dear me. 
 Thirsty ? No ? — What are you going to stand ? — [It will now 
 be his turn to show you what he's going to stand ; only, if he stands 
 this sort of thing much longer, he will be a greater muff than we take 
 him for. 
 
 Adapt yourself to your company ; if your fellow traveller be a 
 Bishop or Archdeacon, the following scheme will serve your 
 turn : — 
 
 How are you, eh ? Like wearing Gaiters and Shovel Hats % I 
 saw you at Ascot. You old doo, you ! — [Here dig him in the ribs. 
 
 I'll write to the Archbishop, you sly dog, I will. I say, did you 
 see the last Fight for the Belt ? You didn't — my eye ! — well, you 
 must know that when Jem's Novice drew the claret from the 
 Dustman's smeller, Arc. — [Here illustrate the action of drawing 
 claret from smellers, and so on through the several rounds. 
 
 Good Ballet at Her Majesty's this year ! fine gals — rather. I 
 
 say, do you know that capital story about [Here tell him that 
 
 capital story about 
 
 I'm told the Bishop of London isn't going to shoot this year — 
 eh, why ? — because he was seen drawing his Charge — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 had you there, &c, ad libitum. 
 
 All this is very cheerful, sociable, and sprightly, and will carry 
 you down* to Dover, Newhaven, or S'thampton Water aa 
 pleasantly as possible. 
 
 * " Carry you down" a mere fagon de parler, in no way depreciative of 
 the advantages of steam locomotion. N.B. — If you wish to obtain your 
 journey gratis, talk in a flippant and insulting manner before your assembled 
 fellow-travellers in any waiting-room ; some one will be pretty sure to 
 " take you down." Do not forget this.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 347 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 TWO FEET FOR THE POETRY OF MOTION SECOND 
 
 SKELETON ROUTE. 
 
 OW is the time to give 
 Pedestrians a few little 
 hints and advice to go 
 upon when travelling. We 
 therefore obligingly in- 
 form — - 
 
 Pedestrians that they 
 should not go upon our 
 hints, but follow our ad- 
 vice, and go upon their 
 own Legs. 
 
 Our readers must not 
 be frightened when we 
 speak of " Skeleton 
 Tours ; " we have merely 
 appropriated one of Mur- 
 ray's phrases, or, so to 
 speak, boned it for our own 
 purposes. 
 
 The first projector of 
 visit to Spa. Skeleton Tours was the 
 
 Original Bones. 
 Before proceeding any further, we must advise the reader 
 as to more abbreviations and certain signs to be used in 
 this work, which have been rendered necessary in order to 
 save repetition, and to increase the already generally acknow- 
 ledged usefulness of the only really successful competition with 
 Murray and Black. Therefore let it be remembered, that you 
 mustn't be frightened when you see a Dark Line thus ^—m—mmm 
 for it doesn't mean anything like what it does in a transpontine 
 playbill, where you read —
 
 348 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 AWFUL DENOUEMENT! 
 
 THE DYING VILLAIN REMORSE THE COMPACT FEARFUL APPEAR- 
 ANCE OF THE ■ ■■ ■ ■ , WHO COMES TO CLAIM HIS PREY ! 
 
 Which he does, with a lot of red and blue fire, that makes you 
 sneeze for at least five minutes after his disappearance. If you 
 ask what the line means when it occurs in our type, suffice it to 
 say that we don't intend any harm, but we're not going to answer 
 merely impertinent questions. 
 
 Y. and N. will mean yes and no ; that is to say, if you like, but 
 we don't insist upon it. 
 
 In all ground-plans of towns, cities, and public buildings, R. H. 
 will mean right hand, R. standing for right, and H. for hand, and 
 H.R.H. means the Prince of Wales, who knows all about travelling 
 by this time : L. H. means left hand : 0. L. H.. means Over the 
 Left ; and in every instance the reader is supposed to be on the 
 stage or diligence, as the case may be, facing the audience. In 
 paying a bill, where the R. and L. hands are used, the reader of 
 the little account will merely have to face the landlord. 
 
 Once more, if X. occurs suddenly in the middle of a sentence, 
 you will be as much astonished as we shall. 
 
 Now for our second Skeleton Route. This series provides you 
 with a skeleton key to the Continent, so look out for the Police. 
 Now Away ! Away ! 
 
 Amsterdam. Boulogne, of course. Strasbourg, stopping to see 
 Patti. Le Mans, where the celebrated City h scuits are made. 
 O. L. H. Lyons, stop to see the Lady. Montargis, one day for 
 the Performing Dog. Up the Rhine to the Tyrol. Bacharach, 
 Balancez, Hands across and back to your places. 
 
 Now then, adopting this scheme, let us say you land at 
 Amsterdam. 
 
 Tlie Language. — On disembarking at any Foreign quay, you 
 will first of all be struck by the language, which is, generally, 
 Bad. Do not therefore attempt to learn it. And at this point, it 
 will be as well to draw your attention (what a subject for an artist, 
 by the way !) to 
 
 Foreign Tongues. — There's the Russian tongue, the Reindeer's
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 349 
 
 tongue, the Ox tongue, and so forth. But this is not exactly what 
 you want, is it ] No. Very good : then as a beginning let us 
 remark that je suis means " I ham," which is the French tongue,, 
 and that's as much as you can swallow for the present. 
 
 Now let us see where we are, Boulogne, or Amsterdam 1 
 "Wherever you like, my little dear, so we'll make a few more 
 general observations. 
 
 There are a certain number of objects of interest in every 
 Foreign town. The first being — 
 
 The Banker's or Change-the-money Office, where you'll cash a 
 circular note in order to square matters. The generic name for 
 the clerk at these places is Billy de Bank ; so be careful to address 
 him by his Christian, which in this case, is his proper name. If 
 you want to get full change, don't go to the nearest banker ; the 
 nearest is invariably the dearest. The Clerk (Billy) will ask you 
 " How will you have it ? " Don't be bullied, square up and say,. 
 " Now, where'W you have it ? " Billy will subside, and probably 
 alter his question to " "What'll you take 1 " When immediately 
 choose the light wine of the country. Their light wine is better 
 than their light money. If Billy further inquire, Dans quelle de 
 monnaie desireriez vous recevoir la somme ! which means, " What'll 
 you take it in?" say "A glass of course, and a good large one 
 too," whereupon you'll receive your draught in due form. 
 
 The next, or, when you are either expecting a remittance, or to- 
 hear from Her (ahem !), the first object of interest is in every 
 town — 
 
 The Post Office.— Doors R, H. L. H. Window in flat; and 
 when you happen to look out, flat in Window. If you've any 
 brains, now's the time to get a head ; you're certain to require 
 one. If you don't know how to ask for it in the language of the 
 countiy, or of the town, adopt a system of expressive pantomime, 
 thus : — Take an envelope, wet a corner, put your own head on it, 
 and stamp your foot ; you will get what you want, unless you are 
 at once taken to a Maison de santd, where you'll gst a great deal 
 more than you want. 
 
 We should advise the tourist to go straight to Boulogne. This 
 is a capital starting point, because from Boulogne you can go any-
 
 350 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 where, as of course you can from any other place. And again, 
 from anywhere you can go to Boulogne ; this is another point in 
 its favour, though on second thoughts the advantage is equally 
 shared by Ramsgate, Scarborough, and other spots on the English 
 •coast. We must here caution the reader, that whenever in the 
 course of this work the word " spot " is used, we do not mean that 
 the place so indicated is any blemish to its particular situation. 
 Do we make ourselves understood ? Clearly so ; then on we go, 
 which is a rhyme, but it can't be helped, and so let us not say 
 another word about it. 
 
 II fcl)/a;/v£ p^— 
 
 "Nice piece o' biled mutton, sir*;
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 351 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FRANCE — LANGUAGE — DOOS AND DOUANIEItS. 
 
 IN FRANCE the French language is chiefly spoken; and 
 this, on consideracion, is not surprising. At first you will be 
 astonished to hear the smallest, dirtiest, little boys in the 
 gutter addressing one another in French gutterals ; and the 
 thoughtful traveller will immediately note down in his pocket- 
 book that the education of the lower classes on the Continent is 
 very much superior to that in England. The traveller, however, 
 on becoming more thoughtful, will probably erase the note soon 
 after it has been made. Now, we must at once ask you Parlez- 
 vous Franpais ? Your answer may be, " What's that to you ? " 
 But that's rude : so you will politely reply to the interrogator, 
 "I can read and write it, but don't understand a word of it." If 
 a Frenchman makes the inquiry, be ready to say " Bang poo, may 
 john tone/," which means, " I don't speak it much, but I know 
 what you are talking about," and after having thus delivered 
 yourself, walk off quickly in the opposite direction. Let us here 
 pause to make one remark about — 
 
 Comfort. — Always make yourself quite at home, remembering 
 that, by pursuing this course, you have the advantage of the poor 
 ignorant foreigners, who are always " abroad." 
 
 Choice of Hotels. — At Boulogne there is very little choice. 
 They are mostly kept by an English proprietor of the name of 
 Bains ; at least, we so gathered from having seen Hotel de Bains 
 inscribed over the doors of several large houses. The best hotel 
 is the Hotel de Ville. To be taken in here, however, requires 
 a certain amount of personal interest with the native police. 
 They will sometimes show you the inside of this building for 
 nothing. On the occasion of our visit, in company with a 
 gendarme, w r e were obliged to make several complaints, to which 
 no attention was paid ; and we cannot, therefore, recommend the 
 place to our friends. 
 
 While upon the subject of complaints, it would be as well to
 
 352 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 mention that any communication about faults in the cuisine must 
 be made by letter to the Minister of the Interior. This General 
 Regulation applies to every part of France. 
 
 Walks. — Your first Walk at Boulogne will be from the steam- 
 boat to the Custom House, and during these few steps you will 
 have great opportunities of noticing the physiology of the Lower 
 French Classes, who speak a very different language to the youth 
 of both sexes who are ranked under the same title in our English 
 schools. The voyage will probably have improved neither your 
 I >ersonal appearance nor your temper. In case the observations 
 made as you pass between the two lines of the Mob thus assembled 
 to welcome you, should be unintelligible, we will translate them 
 for the benefit of the traveller, who is supposed to be walking 
 ulong feebly and wretchedly, as after a bad passage. 
 
 Our cheery lively neighbours are assembled to greet you : — 
 
 First Lively Neighbour {addressing himself generally to lots of 
 lively neighbours). " Oh ! look there ! There's a white roast beef!'* 
 ( This means you, you know). 
 
 All (laughing). " He ! he ! he ! he ! he ! " (Ad lib., till they 
 think of something else to say). 
 
 More Lively Neighbour. " I say, Mister, ain't yer well ? " 
 
 All (laughing at you again, you know). " He, he, he, he ! " 
 (Ad lib.) 
 
 Small Neighbour (livelier than ever, pointing distinctly at you, 
 with a very dirty finger). "He wants some 'portare beer.'" 
 
 All (immensely tickled by this witty homethrust). " He ! he \ 
 he ! he ! he ! he ! " &c, &c. (Ad lib.) 
 
 Somebody in the Crowd (ivho has a slight acquaintance with our 
 language, says in French- English. " He's a grrrreat long strrrrong." 
 ( The mother tongue attracts your attention, and you turn round, 
 and the speaker arrives at the end of his limited vocabulary with) 
 " Oh, ye-ees ! " 
 
 All (highly relishing the joke, which the traveller cannot of course 
 at first be expected to see). " Oh, ye-ees ! Oh, ye-ees ! He ! he I 
 he ! " &c, &,c. Which will be continued, until the last voyageur 
 has disappeared within the doors of the Douane. 
 
 The Custom House. — You will be asked if you've anything to
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 353 
 
 declare. Now's the time for the traveller to assei-t himself. If it 
 is a lady, let her say, " Well, I declare ! " and then refuse to utter 
 another syllable. If a gentleman, let him declare that he'll write 
 to the Times. Don't give up your keys. They've no right to ask 
 you, at least they would not dare do it if they were in England, 
 the cowards ! Mind you say all this, adding the line about what 
 
 Prevention better than cure. A sketch at Milan. 
 
 your native country is in the habit of expecting the conduct of 
 everyone to be with regard to Duty. They will want to inspect 
 your hat-box ; always make a difficulty about your hat-box, and 
 then take good care that there is nothing inside when you open 
 it, A hat-box lined with red has a deep political signification ; 
 so has black and white ; blue and yellow are also the signs in 
 constant use among the carbonari;* so take care. The punish- 
 
 * Carbonari, Italian name for the Secret Society of Coal Heavers ; so 
 called from the carbon in the coals. — Vide " Black's Guide." 
 
 A A
 
 354 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 inents, even now in vogue in France, are hanging, drawing, 
 (quartering, whipping, scourging with fish-hooks, branding on the 
 nose ; hot-ironing and mangling are still done here. For a minor 
 offence, say, for instance, a smaller hat-box with a less deep lining 
 you will render yourself liable to be loaded with chains, and 
 blown up by a magistrate. Do not tremble, be sweetly polite, 
 address each of the Douaniers as " Milor," and all will be well. 
 
 Precautions. — To save all the above mentioned trouble, and 
 any further annoyance, write over to Boulogne generally some 
 days before and say you're coming. If you can't write, get some- 
 body to go over instead of you, or Don't Go. The observance of 
 this last precaution will, at some future time, lead us to give 
 some advice as to what is to be done by the Traveller who stays 
 at home. At present we are on the Continent. 
 
 Geographical Position of the Continent. — The Continent is a neck 
 of land, divided from every other place by something or other 
 which is not surrounded on all sides by water. To bring the 
 definition nearer home is impossible, as it would involve moving 
 France, Russia, Spain, Austria, &c. ; however, the reader may bu 
 sure, that, whenever there is a movement in any one of these 
 places, we will take advantage of it. 
 
 The Continent then is not simply Boulogne, howbeit, many 
 to this day are of that opinion. What then is the Continent ? 
 It is a Tract of Land ; and being a Tract, is imagined by a 
 few to belong to some proselytising society. This idea has no 
 foundation in fact. After these few but useful remarks we will 
 proceed.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 355 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TRANCE CONTINUED JOHN BULL AT BOULOGNE PLACES OF 
 
 AMUSEMENT. 
 
 M REFERRING 
 
 to our skeleton route 
 No. 2, the tourist, stay- 
 ing at Boulogne, will 
 find that lie ought to 
 have commenced with 
 Amsterdam. If, how- 
 ever, there be ladies in 
 his part}', he will have 
 acted with touching 
 delicacy, in avoiding a 
 place, whose name pos- 
 sesses so profane a 
 termination. We will 
 therefore, for the pre- 
 sent, remain at Bou- 
 logne, and give a few 
 broad pieces of advice, 
 upon which the Travel- 
 ler may, or may not, act, 
 as he thinks proper, 
 foreign barber's in order to get shaved. The 
 very evident reason for this is, that, when abroad, it is always 
 remarkably unpleasant to get into a scrape. 
 
 You will, of course, frequent a Cafe' during the daytime. Now 
 these places are of two sorts : there is the Cafe Gnaw, which is, 
 as the name implies (very like English by the way, eh 1) entirely 
 for eating; and the Cafe oh Lay, where, as may be gathered 
 
 * The Female Barbers in this place form a Religious Sisterhood, under 
 the patronage of St. Barbara, who was taken from Life many years ago : 
 they are known as the Lather-day Saints. 
 
 A A 2 
 
 St. Barbara. —Taken from life. 
 
 Never go to
 
 35G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 from the title, you lay yourself down and devote the time to 
 singing. The proprietors of either place do not interfere with one 
 another, and business is thus carried on upon the most amicable 
 principles. 
 
 If you do not understand the language, always on taking your 
 seat at a Cafe, amuse yourself with the contents of a French 
 newspaper. In this case, no article however bitter will disturb 
 you, and you have the advantage over other people, in being able 
 to read it sideways, or upside down, with equal gratification. 
 
 You will notice, that when foreigners have finished their little 
 cup of coffee, they invariably empty the contents of the sugar- 
 basin into their pockets. As it is always well for a visitor to be 
 more French than a native, you should not confine yourself to the 
 sugar, but appropriate the spoon, cup, saucer, or plate, or any- 
 thing else that suits your fancy, and is adapted to the meanest 
 capacity of the pocket. Always go to the best hotel ; of course 
 you will be obliged to try several, before ascertaining which is the 
 one that can fairly claim the honourable distinction. 
 
 In many places you will be told that the waiters " speak 
 English." So they may, but they probably don't understand it. 
 
 We once heard a damp tourist, on arriving in steaming haste at 
 an hotel where "English was spoken," cry out to the waiter as he 
 was hurrying to his room, " Waiter bring me some hot water ; " 
 whereupon the intelligent garg.on readily answered, " Leg of 
 mut-ton, yaas sare," — and smiled cheerfully, being evidently 
 highly pleased with this ingenious interpretation of the visitor' s- 
 wish. You should have a few sentences always in stock ; first, 
 for instance, on entering the hotel : Avay voo day shombrr ; this 
 means " Got any rooms 1 " But mind you do say this, before the 
 Landlord or Boots, or anyone else has the chance of addressing 
 you ; as they may make some remark which you don't under- 
 stand, and which will utterly upset any scheme for a French 
 dialogue that you may have previously formed. In order not to 
 be thrown out you must force his reply with your question, and 
 should the former not be the one required, pretend to blow your 
 nose, feign a sneeze, or a cough, which would of course prevent 
 your catching what he said, and then return to your ow r n pre- 
 arranged conversation.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 357 
 
 On entering your apartment immediately take up your carpet, il 
 there is one, and order the dust to be swept away. 
 
 To avoid the repetition of that useless form of regret, com- 
 mencing with the phrase, "I wish I'd brought (whatever-it-may- 
 be) with me," we will here give a list of actual necessaries, which 
 you should have about youi, as few rooms abroad possess them. 
 Seldom, for instance, will you find shutters to the windows.: 
 provide yourself with these. See also that you do not travel 
 without — 
 
 20 Pegs for coats, dressing-gowns, Ladies' gowns, &c. 
 
 2 Venetian blinds. 
 
 1 Wardrobe. 
 
 1 Chamber-pail for slops. 
 
 1 Cheval glass. 
 
 2 Pairs of Snuffers. 
 1 Bell. 
 
 Several different kinds of soap, and baths for hot or cold water, 
 which you can turn to account by letting out to brother or sister 
 Tourists who have forgotten to bring them. You will find the 
 beds small and comfortable ; and if otherwise, they will do for a 
 mere night shift very well. A couch three feet wide may some^ 
 times serve your turn, but when you do turn, you should, like the 
 late Duke of Wellington, turn out. 
 
 Now let us say that you've prepared your sentences, according 
 to the plan contained in this Guide, and you ring your bell in 
 order to summon the (jargon. You must ring as a rule several 
 times, but do not be afraid of a multitude of servants being 
 attracted thereby ; though it would probably follow, that if the 
 ringing of one bell resulted in one servant, the consequence of two 
 bells would be two servants, three bells three, and so on. Such, 
 however, is not the case. The servants will be a long time before 
 they reply to your summons. This you must expect, remembering 
 that as — Time is made for Slaves, they of course, have a perfect 
 right to as much of it as they like. 
 
 Take plenty of exercise in order to get up an appetite for the
 
 358 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 pleasures of the table. With a view to real gastronomic enjoy- 
 ment, it is well to study beforehand the bill of fare. Unite the 
 occupations, thus : — Some time previous to the appointed dinner- 
 hour, ask the waiter for the Carte, and go out with it. 
 
 Now let the Tourist open his eyes and be taken aback, almost 
 aback to England by the information, that, in nearly all parts of 
 France, every chambermaid is a man. The only place where we 
 ever heard of anything like a real English chambermaid, was at 
 the Railway Station, when a guard directed lis to the Salle 
 d'Attente, which so many travellers, in common with ourselves, 
 have mistaken for " Sarah or Sal the Attentive," but which turns 
 out to be the Waiting Room ! Yet it is to such impositions 
 that the English uncomplainingly subject themselves upon the 
 Continent. The word Continent must, when you are travelling, 
 be pronounced Continong, or you'll display an amount of ignorance 
 not to be tolerated in an enlightened Briton. Do not forget this, 
 but you need not give your authority. 
 
 What shall we do to-day ? Why, you must look at some list of 
 entertainments, and you will probably find that the places of 
 amusement for day visitors are the Burial Grounds, the Hospital 
 for Incurables, the Maison de Sante, the Prison, and the Police 
 Station, ifec, &c. 
 
 There is always a Church and a Church Tower to be seen. 
 From top of the latter you will have a splendid view ; but before 
 the aspiring sight-seer can go up lightly, ha will be forced to come 
 down pretty heavily. 
 
 Before quitting Boulogne, we would remind our readers not to 
 forget to ask after the notorious Bore de Boulogne. He became 
 such a social nuisance as to be ultimately sent to Paris., where he 
 is now located.
 
 ROW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 359 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BELGIUM ANTWERP — FIRST SIGHT OF THE LAND OF GROSCHEN — 
 
 FINANCIAL HINTS VERY DISTANT VIEW OF THE RHINE: 
 
 DARMSTADT RULES OF THE ROAD. 
 
 S TA N D S for Antwerp, 
 and therefore We starts for 
 that place. 
 
 As of course you will have 
 arrived at the quay, per 
 steamer, one or two hints will 
 save vou a vast amount of 
 trouble. You will be re- 
 quested to remunerate the 
 Steward for the sustenance 
 that you've consumed during 
 the voyage. Economy, mind, 
 is the first thing to be con- 
 sidered ; reply, therefore, to 
 this demand by telling them 
 confidentially " that you'll 
 look in another time," or 
 1 you'll be coming that way 
 again in a few days, and 
 then you'll settle your little 
 account." If, after getting 
 over the sea passage, you 
 can also get over the boat's 
 crew, you will be a happy and 
 a fortunate man. The vessels 
 where, of all others, very 
 high prices are charged for 
 a very low sort of diet, are, 
 as their name implies, the 
 Screw Steamers. The British 
 
 -=TK 
 
 A view from the boxes. 
 
 stranger will now cast his eyes (he must not throw his glances
 
 3G0 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 away, as they will be wanted subsequently for several parts of the 
 journey, where you must keep your eyes about you) upon several 
 distinguished military-looking gentlemen, to whom the untutored 
 impulse would take off its hat, deeming them to be at least second 
 cousins to general officers. It at first appears that these exalted 
 personages have come on board to welcome the Little Stranger, 
 and the Enthusiastic Tourist should, if he have the heart of a man 
 and a brother in his breast, rush forward and give way to his 
 feelings. Such conduct will mollify the otherwise obdurate hearts 
 of these Superb Foreigners, and, on being safely escorted from the 
 ship to the land, as, under the circumstances, you would doubt- 
 lessly be, you will find that you have executed that marvellous 
 gymnastic feat known to travellers as Clearing the Custom-house 
 Officers. 
 
 Porterage. — Your first care must be to procure a fly, cab, 
 hackney-coach or omnibus, wherein to take youi-self and luggage 
 to an hotel. Stand on the noisy quay, and in a much noisier key 
 shout for a vehicle. You may shout as long as you like. There 
 are none. Now then, say, " Hi ! Here ! you fellow ! " to one of 
 the gentry idling about the place in the dress of a Continental 
 butcher out of work. These be the porters : and if your porter 
 has anything like a head, he will tell you the best hotel to go to ; 
 and thereupon he will put your baggage on to a truck and wheel 
 it away, and you on it into the bargain, if you approve of that 
 mode of entering the town. 
 
 You will probably be taken to the Hotel of St. Antony (not 
 because, as a feeble creature might say, there "arit any other," but 
 because it is the best), and, in order to save all discussion about 
 the fare, hold cut to the conscientious porter a handful of coins, 
 consisting of groschen, kreutzers, francs, sixpences, florins, dollars, 
 and thalers, and let him select as many of them as may suit his 
 fancy. Don't begin your journey by quarrelling; but regard, with 
 feelings of unmixed pleasure, the gratification of this humble son 
 of toil on leaving you, at the door of your hostelrie, with one 
 silver groschen in your hand. 
 
 Before we proceed further, it would be well to offer a few 
 remarks upon the rate of exchange in the various towns and 
 countries.
 
 IlOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 3G1 
 
 The rate of exchange in a fashionable Continental town is 
 very rapid. You are always purchasing something as a keep- 
 sake to take home to Fanny, or somebody else whose name isn't 
 Fanny, as of course there is no reason why it should be. 
 
 Fourpenny-bits will pass as threepenny-pieces anywhere. This 
 is useful and important. Threepenny pieces may, among a 
 
 Clearing the Custom-House Officers. 
 
 quantity of other money (when naturally one expects a reduction 
 on taking a quantity), pass for fourpenny-bits • but this is only 
 successful, as a rule, when you are actually, and at the very 
 moment of disbursement, quitting the place. 
 
 A farthing, well polished and brightened, may, among the 
 very simple mountaineers of Switzerland, the Tuilaliety and 
 Hilliho sort of people pass for a sovereign ; but most of these 
 mountain passes are attended with a certain amount of difficulty.
 
 3G2 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 On board ship, or when travelling by tidal service boat, always 
 pay for your passage with the current coin of the river. 
 
 Should you pass through the kingdom of Bohemia (celebrated 
 for the beautiful tea called Bohea, whence the name), the follow- 
 ing coins are at present in circulation : — - 
 
 Bohemian 
 Bohemia. Relative Value. Germany. English. French. 
 
 Joeys = one Kick — 3jj Groschen = Four pennies = 31^cts. 
 
 Tizzies — one Bender = 5 Groschen = Six pennies = 52^ cts. 
 
 Bobs = two Tizzies = 10 Groschen = One shilling = 1 fr. 20 cts. 
 
 Benders = one Tizzy = 5 Groschen = One sixpence = 52^ cts. 
 
 Kicks = one Joey = ISjj Groschen = One fourpence = 31 {u cts. 
 
 Tanners = one Tizzy = 5 Groschen = One sixpence = 52^ cts.* 
 
 If you carry any change, be careful to take more kicks than 
 halfpence. You'll always get them for the asking. In Cologne 
 the cent is chiefly used. As, however, these are not punctually 
 paid, the Owe de Cologne cent has passed into a proverb, so as to 
 make the place smell in the nostrils of Tourists. Paper money, 
 known as Flimsies and Bitsostiff, are seldom seen in Bohemia ; 
 while sous and straw-papers are common. When a Billet de 
 Banque is unnegotiable everywhere, it is called a Billet Boo. 
 
 Rhino is the general term for all species of coin passing up 
 and down the romantic river between Cologne and Mayence, and 
 may be termed the floating capital of Rhenish Prussia. Another 
 example of this existing fund may be found in the South, where 
 Venice is the floating capital of Europe. This, however, by the 
 way, and rather out of our way at present. In many places, 
 Tourists have found brass an excellent substitute for tin. The 
 Cosmopolite should always carry a plentiful supply of coppers 
 with him, and then he can do all his " washing " in his own 
 room. 
 
 Another point is the computation of distance, and the applica- 
 tion of correct measurement to the hiring of vehicles. Mind ; 
 when you hire a voiturier, lower his price. Now, it must be 
 
 * Time is Money. True : but this will scarcely warrant the Tourist in 
 using the above as a Time Table for Railways, &c. We mention this to 
 prevent disappointment.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 363 
 
 taken as a general rule, to which there are but very few excep- 
 tions, that every object, when divided from the traveller by an 
 interval of several miles, is further removed from his particular 
 locality, than is another object which is within a few feet of his 
 touch. Very good. In the latter case a carriage will not be re- 
 quired. In the former, let us suppose you're going to drive tv 
 Darmstadt, which is ten miles off from anywhere you like. Well. 
 if you know this, all you've got to ask is, " How much a mile ? " 
 and, when the coachman has given you the information, you will 
 have added to the stock of knowledge which you already possess. 
 You can thank him for the information, and retire. If, how- 
 ever, jou are uncertain of the distance, rise early in the morning, 
 procure a short, or long piece of tape, go over the ground, cheer- 
 fully reflecting the while, that one day you'll have to go under 
 it, and measure carefully : this will give you a nice walk before 
 breakfast, of course to Darmstadt, and then you'll be in a 
 position to withstand all attempts at extortion. To enable you 
 to measure correctly, provide yourself with a Two Foot Rule of 
 the Road. 
 
 Consideration for those millionnaires who can afford to be carried, 
 shall not prevent us from turning our attention to the poor 
 pedestrians. 
 
 General Precautions to be observed by Pedestrians and 
 Others : — 
 
 When it rains, let the traveller stop at some inn on his road, so 
 as not to get wet ; 
 
 And, when the warm Sun is shining, let the traveller stop at 
 several inns on his road, so as not to get dry.
 
 304 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ANTWERP — THE CATHEDRAL A LOOK AT ST. LUKE'S VISIT TO THE 
 
 CONSUL. 
 
 w 
 
 HAT with our driving and our walking tours, we find our- 
 selves rapidly leaving Antwerp. We therefore, if you 
 please, and if you don't please it can't be helped, will return to 
 the Hotel of St. Antony. 
 
 On your arrival, let it be your first endeavour to prove to the 
 as- regards - English- manners- benighted -and-totally-uninstructed 
 citizens, that yoit, at all events, have none of that phlegmatic re- 
 serve and dulness of spirits which are the characteristics, we hear, 
 of so many of our travelled countrymen. 
 
 Proceed thus : never leave off whistling or singing, except 
 when you're shouting, speaking, laughing, eating, or drinking ; 
 this will show lightness of heart and head, innocence of disposi- 
 tion, and cheeriness of manner not to be surpassed by the most 
 volatile of our liveliest neighbours. Get rid of your vigilant 
 that means a cabman, when there is one, by giving his horse a 
 sharp cut with the whip and saying, " Hoop ! tchk ! come up ! " 
 and off" he will set, as hard as he can lay legs to the ground, 
 down the street, and, of course, his owner after him. Now then 
 for a good old practical joke, which, however, being quite new 
 here, will establish your reputation for hilarity from the very 
 minute of its execution. 
 
 Begin thus : — Tell the crowd who are looking on that you're 
 going to " play at Pantomimes." They won't know what you 
 mean, but that is of no consequence ; and, by the way, this fact 
 is equally true as regards the majority of people who, during the 
 season, are intensely interested in listening to the poetical 
 libretti of Italian operas. Commence humming, " Rum turn tiddle 
 tiddle" any words you like here, to give the idea of the never- 
 ceasing music in the orchestra at Christmas. Knock with your 
 open hand three times at the door of the hotel, and then lie 
 down flat on your face in front of it. If the proprietor is up to 
 the business (and if not, why is he in that situation, we'd like
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 365 
 
 to know 1) he will wait until after the third knock ; when he will 
 open the door, look straight before him, smile blandly, rub his 
 hands, and at the first step of his advance fall over your 
 prostrate form. You yourself must be up on your legs as nimbly 
 as possible, and lose no time in belabouring the weak-minded 
 tradesman with one of his own advertisement boards. "When he 
 does rise, he will only shake 
 his fist at you, and will 
 immediately allow himself 
 to be mollified by your 
 putting your hand on your 
 heart, bowing politely, as- 
 suring him that " you didn't 
 do it," and then intimating 
 that "you are willing to pay 
 for accommodation in his 
 house." 
 
 You will be shown to 
 your bedroom, when it will 
 be as well at once to ask for 
 a tallow candle to rub the 
 floor with, and make a slide, 
 on which the proprietor will 
 be the first to fall : then 
 
 ring for 
 
 warming-pan, a 
 
 'Business" with shopkeeper. 
 
 kettle, a large box labelled ^ 
 Pills, concluding the per- 
 formance by jumping into 
 bed with your clothes on. You may now consider that you have 
 done enough to prove yourself several degrees removed from those 
 proud, cold, say-nothing-to-nobody sort of Englishmen, who are 
 so generally to be met upon the Continent. 
 
 In the morning, and also during the entire day, you will hear 
 the Chimes of Antwerp Cathedral. The ambitious Tourist may 
 scat himself upon his portmanteau, and interpret the language of 
 the bells as "Turn again, Robinson" (Jones and Smith are out of 
 the question), "Lord Mayor of Antwerp." They don't of course 
 say anything of the kind, and there is no Lord Mayor.
 
 36G VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 The name of this town is, as we have said before, Antwerp ; but 
 the French, with their usual perversity, will call it Anvers. The 
 pronunciation of this name reminds us, that the tune, which the 
 Cathedral clock plays, may possibly be 
 
 " Anvers and Anvers is my Hieland Laddie gone 1 " 
 
 However, this is simply interesting to the man who winds up the 
 works : on second thoughts we remember, that the economical 
 authorities have provided themselves with a permanent winding 
 staircase in the Church Tower, which saves the expense of 
 employing a clockmaker. 
 
 There is an ancient society in Antwerp called St. Luke's, to 
 which the artists belong : it corresponds, we believe, to St. Luke's 
 in London, of which several Royal Academicians might be 
 distinguished members. 
 
 Be the weather fine or wet, the Tourist may walk about the 
 streets of Antwerp all day free of charge. 
 
 Gratis Exhibitions. — The Exterior of the Cathedral can be well 
 seen from earliest dawn till quite dark ; also, the outside of several 
 Churches ; and from the same side, an excellent view can be 
 obtained of the Museum. 
 
 The Theatre, we are informed, is only open for a part of the 
 year ; and that part is always well filled. 
 
 The British Consul may be seen for twopence a head through a 
 glass-door. Feeding time at one o'clock, when the price of ad- 
 mission is raised. No one is admitted after the Consul is once 
 quite full. There is no deception, he is alive, and will shake 
 hands, talk affably, and answer any questions that may be put to 
 him. Sticks and umbrellas must be left in the haU. 
 
 The Post Office in this town is not the same as the Post Office 
 in another town, and is, on this account alone, worth the trouble 
 of a visit. 
 
 We now consider that the time has arrived when, previous to 
 quitting Antwerp, we may give a few more — 
 
 General Hints for the Tourists. — Always shout out your English 
 sentences at foreigners. They're all deaf. Your only other chance
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 367 
 
 of being understood is by talking broken English to them. For 
 what is the good of speaking your perfect mother-tongue to those 
 who cannot understand it 1 It's simply a waste of words. 
 
 imJI 
 
 -' i> 
 
 A pushing acquaintance.— An Anglo Gallican sketch. 
 
 Take it for granted that every one is trying to cheat and 
 impose upon you. 
 
 Dispute every item in every bill separately. 
 
 To ensure civility and respect, see that all your portmanteaus, 
 bags, and hat-boxes be labelled MURRAY in the largest capitals.
 
 368 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GERMANY LANGUAGE COIN THE BU RE AU— ME YERBEEH KANT 
 
 HARZ MOUNTAINS WESTPHALIA — POLICE ! 
 
 HE Tourist will now leave 
 Antwerp with a view (which 
 can be purchased at any 
 stationer's shop) of going up 
 the Rhine. He probably 
 will have determined upon 
 walking up several moun- 
 tains, and so, by way of 
 practice, he should have 
 begun by running up a con- 
 siderable bill at his Hotel. 
 
 Now, if you are a mere 
 machine in the hands of 
 Murray, your attention will 
 be attracted by the name of 
 the next place, Turnhout ; 
 but if you'll take our advice, 
 you will not turn out of your 
 way to go there. There is 
 merely a monastery to be 
 seen, where dwell the Monks 
 of La Trappe. The chief of the order resides in Paris, and is called 
 Pere la Chaise. As may be gathered from these titles, their 
 occupation is to let out flys, broughams and saddle-horses. 
 
 Cologne is to be our next point? Yes? very good. Then 
 Cologne be it. For Germany ! Away ! away ! Music, and scene 
 changes to. 
 
 Germany. — This country is bounded on every side by a lot of 
 places, but that it has any connection with the German Ocean is 
 a mere German notion that must be at once dispelled. The male 
 
 The tourist's glass.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 3G9 
 
 population are called Germans, the female, of course, Gerwomans ; 
 the rest of the family Ger-boys, Ger-girls, Ger-babbies, and so ou. 
 
 The natives call their country Fatherland, and it therefore 
 follows that the Mother-tongue is never spoken. The enterprising 
 Tourist having to reach many farther lands than Ger-many Father- 
 
 The official in his bureau. 
 
 land, must not be stopped too long by etymological considerations. 
 
 The money of the country is simply divided into good and bad. 
 To the former description, however, belongs the current coin. 
 
 Asa General Rule for Economical Travellers the ordinary English 
 .Sixpence will go a very long way if, for instance, you carry it with 
 you from London to Constantinople, or any other distant spot. The 
 Prussian dollar was, some time aso, of so little value as to be 
 
 B R
 
 370 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 merely nix in the market. Hence the proverb, musically ex- 
 pressed by that ri-tooral Tourist, Mr. Paul Bedford, in the words, 
 " Nix my dollar ! " 
 
 All Germans have long or short light-hair, to which natural 
 ornament you will often hear them make allusion by saying 
 " Yah, mine hair." 
 
 Their habits are simple, being coat, waistcoat, and continuations, 
 as worn in England. 
 
 The use of a parry-pluie. 
 
 Their language possesses only one word of any importance, and 
 that is " zo," which monosyllable, according to the tonic inflexion 
 given to it, means everything and anything you like. 
 
 Passports. — The traveller in Germany must have a passport, 
 that is, an Order to see the place. No orders are admitted after 
 seven. Evening dress is not now rigidly insisted upon, unless 
 you're going to stop the night in a city or village ; when, of course, 
 you would adopt it for your own comfort. If you are a member
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 371 
 
 of Oxford or Cambridge, it is considered a graceful compliment on 
 entering such a town as Heidelberg at eleven o'clock p.m. to appear 
 before the authorities in your University nightcap and gown. 
 The official who sits in his Bureau (you'll find him in the top 
 drawer, left-hand side) will ask you if you're going to sleep there, 
 to which you can reply by going to sleep there and then. English 
 ladies travelling need not be in the least degree shocked at the 
 mention of the officer in the drawers of his Bureau. There is no 
 
 Carrying out your directions. 
 
 breach of decorum here, and everything is conducted with due 
 regard to propriety. 
 
 German Hotels.— If you are going to stop, and if you arc not 
 going, you will, of course, stop, it will be as well to come to some 
 understanding with the landlord. If he doesn't speak English, 
 and you do not speak German, and neither know French, an 
 understanding will be a difficult matter. There is some legend 
 attached to almost every old house in Germany, and all the ancient 
 hostelries are full of long storeys. See that your bed-room window 
 commands a pretty view, which is invariably an object with us ; 
 if you fail to get such a prospect, that's your look o\\\ not ours. 
 
 b b 2
 
 372 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Beds. — " The German bed is only made for one." This is what 
 Murray says, and consequently the simple Tourist, acting correctly 
 as he imagined, upon this information, has, on arriving at a German 
 town, immediately ordered a bed to be made for him. This is, 
 we need hardly point out, an unnecessary expense ; as, even after 
 the bed has been actually made for you, you cannot take it away. 
 This rule does not in any part of Germany or Prussia apply to a 
 hat or coat, which article, once made to order, becomes your own 
 property. 
 
 Drinks. — You will find that the Germans are far ahead of the 
 English in the point or pint of beer. We have hop gardens, such 
 as those of Cremorne and Highbury. They get a step beyond this 
 and encourage Beer-gardens. The beer, of which they are most 
 justly proud, is Meyerbeer. The pedestrian journeying along the 
 high roads will encounter a number of beggars who will address 
 him in canting tones : this is the worst specimen of the whine of 
 the country. These mendicants, by the way, are generally 
 Philosophers, and disciples of Kant. 
 
 Geography. — The celebrated Harz Mountains are not in Ger- 
 many, as is the common supposition. These heights are in Scot- 
 land ; and, in proof of this, every one will recollect the words of 
 the national melody 
 
 " My Harz in the Highlands." 
 
 The natives in the eastern districts are known as a race highly 
 successful in everything they undertake. In the west, however, 
 the reverse of this is the case, and from the unhappy results which 
 have attended all their efforts at an improved cultivation, the 
 district has long been known as that of " West-failure." 
 
 Manners and Customs. — If five Germans are walking in a row, 
 and meet a lady with whom only one of the party is acquainted, 
 all the five take off their hats. If you meet five Germans you will 
 raise your hat five times. The Englishman must take his polite- 
 ness with him to the uttermost parts of the earth ; he can never, 
 in our opinion, carry it too far. If you ever refuse to take your 
 hat off to German strangers, you had better take yourself off im- 
 mediately afterwards. A.« a stranger you will be expected to fight
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 373 
 
 all the German students, who may be residing in the same town 
 with yourself: if you do not conform to this rule, you will find 
 every one for whom you have any regard turn away from you ; 
 and surely 'tis better to be cut by a few students than by many 
 friends. At dinner you will be careful to convey peas, beans, and 
 gravy to your mouth by means of your knife. The feat requires 
 some practice, and for some time your meals will have the dangerous 
 
 The "slips." 
 
 character of a "Sensation" entertainment so popular now-a-days. 
 
 Now then on we goes to Cologne. Your luggage, mind, must 
 be weighed, to send that baggage on its weigh as speedily a? 
 possible. 
 
 At railway stations every one, except the railway guard, is 
 uncivil, and though there are plenty of porters, you will find it 
 necessary to c?rry your boxes yourself. Take them all at once, as 
 you must never on any account part with your luggage. Sup-
 
 & 
 
 374 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 posing that you are not well up in the language, keep on shouting 
 out the name of your ultimate destination : this will attract the 
 guard's attention, and he will put you into the proper compart- 
 ment. Wherever you are going, you will have to change carriages 
 three times at least on the road. Take this for granted, and change 
 carriages at every station. ■ Show your passport and railway-ticket 
 to everybody, so that there may be no mistake. If you can't 
 smoke, always travel second-class, and you'll soon get in the way 
 of it. 
 
 Be careful to observe all police regulations. On your arrival 
 at any place, you, being widely suspected, are narrowly watched. 
 Two policemen in plain clothes dog your steps day and night. 
 The man who attends you as a laquais de place is a Govern- 
 ment spy, who, unless you fee him well, reports everything 
 you say, and plenty that you do not say, to his employers. If 
 you want to go out for a walk by yourself for more than two 
 hours, you must procure a "permit" from the police. The charge 
 for a walk by yourself is seven-and-sixpence for the first hour, five 
 shillings, for the second, half-a-crown the third and the rest. The 
 Rest would of course naturally come after the third hour's walk, 
 If you wish to take an umbrella with you, notice must be given 
 two days beforehand. 
 
 Very good. Now having got your ticket, you've taken your 
 seat in the carriage by the kind permission of the police, and in a 
 few hours you will be at Cologne. 

 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 375 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 COLOGNE OX THE DEUTZ SIDE — THE GARDENS — THE INTERIOR OP 
 
 THE CATHEDRAL— ARTISTIC NOTE NOTICE TO QUIT THE 
 
 BILL— QUITS — THERE AND BACK FOR NOTHING !— TRINKGELD 
 — EISENBAHN TELEGRAPH. 
 
 ERE we are at 
 Cologne, a German 
 Cologney. Yon will 
 stay a short time ; let 
 us say that you will 
 stop for the space of 
 a semi-Cologne. Cross 
 the bridge, taking care 
 however not to go over 
 it, and take up your 
 abode at Belle-vue the 
 Hotel, Dentz side. 
 
 It is said to be the 
 " largest and wealthi- 
 est city on the Rhine." 
 So far Murray ; but 
 if this is so, what does 
 he mean by saying 
 "Pop. 10 0,00 0'?" 
 " Pop " is, of course, a 
 delicate way of hinting 
 at the existence, in this place, of that number of Pawnbrokers. 
 
 You will dine at the table tVlwte, unless for privacy's sake you 
 like to order the table d'hote all to yourself in a separate apartment, 
 in which case the hungry visitors will be rather astonished. You 
 would probably fill yourself, but you would empty the hotel, and 
 very soon there would be — 
 
 The railway belle. 
 
 " No one in de house wid Diner."
 
 S7C VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Howbeit, you must remember that he who stops to eat, remains to 
 pay. 
 
 Iu the evening, sit out in the gai'den overlooking the moonlit 
 Rhine, and become poetical. "Wine" rhymes to " Rhine ; " and 
 in the mouth of any affected demi-swell, the roll of whose pedigree 
 is probably as slight as the roll of his R, the word is precisely the 
 same. You have seen the tableau n the opening of an Opera. 
 Here you have the original. Peasants, priests, soldiers, and 
 travellers, grouped about the grounds, drinking, laughing, and 
 talking while the band is playing. Mark your time, and by way 
 of showing your appreciation of the scene, come forward to the 
 lights, cup in hand, and give them a time. The libretto might be, 
 for instance — 
 
 Wine ! Wine ! Wine ! 
 
 Liquor of Rhine. 
 
 Ichor divine. 
 
 Mine ! Mine ! M ine ! ) 
 
 Thine ! Thine ! Thine ! ] and 
 
 Oh, it is pleasant, 'tis pleasant, 
 
 At present, at present, 
 
 To drink The Wine. 
 
 Spar-ar-ar-kiling Wine ! Spar-ha 1-klingwine ! 
 
 This may be followed by a short dance, very short, and you 
 will then be, probably, kicked out. This will not prevent your 
 returning in order to show that you bear no malice, and can enter 
 into the fun of the thing. 
 
 Sights in the City. — The best sight is unfortunately hidden from 
 view. It is the sight upon which the City of Cologne stands. 
 After this, the Cathedral. Cologne Cathedral is older than the 
 Nelson Column, but is even in a less finished state. The order of 
 architecture to which this noble pile belongs was probably " Build- 
 ing by contract," and one of the parties failed. To describe it 
 minutely would be tedious ; Ave will therefore say that the doors 
 have a good deal of open work about them, and great panes have 
 been taken with the windows. The only pointed style in the 
 Cathedral to attract the Tourist's notice, will be that of his 
 Cicerone, by whom everything inside will be pointed out to him. 
 
 Caution. — Beware of the Suisse, that magnificient Esquire-
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 377 
 
 Bedell in the Cathedral. For all he looks so grandly harmless, 
 his hat is cocked, and may, by way of a salute, go off. Beware ! 
 
 The Choir is about 161 feet high ; more than a hundred treble 
 octaves above the level of the C. The Base of the Cathedral 
 assists on Sundays, and tones down what would otherwise rise into 
 a screech. 
 
 In one of the side Chapels, where you'd naturally expect a 
 
 f <$> 
 
 "Spar-ar-ar-klling Winel Spar-ha l-klingwine 1 
 
 piece of sculpture by Chantrey, you will find an old painting in 
 Distemper. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals 
 ought to remonstrate with the Foreign Ecclesiastical Authorities 
 on the subject of this picture. Poor thing 1 in Distemper since 
 1410 ! 
 
 There's plenty more to be seen, but you've got a pair of eyes 
 we suppose, and we really cannot stop here talking all day. We 
 saw everything in the place, why shouldn't you 1 Do you give it
 
 378 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 up 1 If you do, come along somewhere else. As we suppose that 
 you have, of course, lost your luggage, it is not necessary that 
 you should return to your hotel, where you'd only have to pay 
 your bill, and thus make yourself uncomfortable on that score. 
 
 Notice. — There are many books published now-a-days informing 
 the tourist how to see the Continent for five or ten pounds in as 
 many "weeks. We can tell him how to see it for nothing. Insist 
 that the steamboat brought you by mistake while you were saying 
 good bye to a friend ; go away saying you'll bring an action 
 against them, and they'll offer to take you back again ; disdain 
 their proffered courtesy ; they'll be frightened and offer you money 
 not to tell ; if they do, take it ; if not, they'll be only too glad to 
 put you on shore and get rid of you. After this, unencumbered 
 by packages, your course is easy. The hotel is not built that can 
 hold you for any length of time. You can tell the various land- 
 lords that you are going out to look for your luggage, and this 
 search may reasonably take you many miles away from the place 
 where your last little bill was run up. The trains go so slow, 
 that, with very little practice, you can easily get out during the 
 journey and thus avoid all those absurd forms and ceremonies 
 attendant upon rendering up the ticket, which, as you, when 
 travelling economically do not possess it, would simply waste time, 
 and would materially retard an otherwise rapid progress. Your 
 foreign fellow-travellers, will, if asleep, not see you ; for they have 
 a way of closing their eyes when in a somnolent state, and, in this 
 particular, resemble Englishmen. If their eyes are open, the 
 fumes of tobacco will be an effectual cloak for your exit. Should, 
 however, any one of them see you and tell, the chances are that 
 the rest won't believe him : and if they do, they'll merely laugh 
 at the eccentricities of the English, and consider your conduct as 
 the ordinary mode of travelling adopted in your own country. 
 The railway carriage is your only difficulty, and we've shown you 
 the way to get out of it. In this manner a great deal more of 
 the country will be seen than if -you were shut up in a close com-^ 
 partment. 
 
 The man who prodigally pays his way and tips the servants, is- 
 sometimes remembered ; but the man who doesn't is never for-.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 379 
 
 gotten. They will be looking out for you everywhere, they will 
 be even anxious about your health, and be desirous of seeing you 
 again as soon as possible. This is affecting, but don't stop for it. 
 Hire some conveyance that will gallop past the well-remembered 
 windows, whence are peering the old familiar faces. Be open- 
 handed with them as befits your generous nature, and wave adieux 
 
 A cocked hat going off. 
 
 from your fast disappearing vehicle. You can always get rid of 
 the driver by asking him to ' get down and pick up that parcel 
 you've dropped in the road. When he has retraced about three 
 hundred feet of the road, jump into the box-seat, crack your whip, 
 cry " Tchk ! " and then once more urge on your wild career. You 
 can sell the carriage and ride the horse, which, after carrying you 
 some distance, will fetch a sum that will enable you to travel like 
 a gentleman when you get back to England. If any Economical
 
 3S0 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Tourist's Companion can show us a better method than this, we 
 should be glad to know it. We will tell you How to go to Cologne 
 for Nothing ! Well, you see, if you've nothing to go for, why, 
 there you are. This advice is only applicable to a minority of 
 loungers. 
 
 Now we've seen everything that can be seen, and we're going to 
 quit Cologne. Let us turn our attention to post-travelling and 
 payments appertaining thereto. 
 
 German miles are different to English or Irish miles. In olden 
 times there was a league of barons, counts, and dukes, which must 
 have had as queer an effect as seven-miles' worth of the aristocracy 
 would have in England. By this league all other distances were 
 measured ; and the greatest distance was between the last baron 
 and the first shopkeeper. Leave your card upon the Chief Baron 
 before the long vacation commences, and he will tell you all 
 about it. 
 
 Postmasters are empowered by Government to compel their 
 passengers to carry the horses and drag the carriages up all the 
 hilly places. When you hear and see a high hill you will doubt- 
 less exclaim " Hillo ! " 
 
 Trinhgeld, drink -money, is the sum given by way of liquidating 
 your debt to the postilion. 
 
 Before journeying by carriage take the number of your horses : 
 this ensures civility. 
 
 Purchase, for your own private reading, all the back numbers of 
 the Eisenbahn Telegraph which is a German Bradshaw ! With a 
 very slight knowledge of the language you may derive considerable 
 pleasure from the daily study of this delightful work. The only 
 man who ever attempted it, was ultimately found all alone in his 
 room at the hotel, trying to set the railway guide to music, mark- 
 ing each bar with the time of the different trains. He is now 
 quite harmless, and passes his days in playing elaborate fantasias 
 from Bradshaw'8 Raihvay Guide for the current month, on the 
 bassoon or violoncello.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 381 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 UP THE RHINE — OBERWESEL — STEAMERS — ST. GOAR — TO THE LURLEI 
 
 BERG TO LUR-LI-ETY BEATE MARTINE ! — ASSMANHAUSEN 
 
 BINGES — RUDESHEIM — STOLZEXFELS — RAT'S CASTLE — LEGEND 
 
 MAYENCE. 
 
 P AND down the River 
 Rhine, In and out the vessel, 
 that's the way the money 
 goes. Stop ! Oberwesel ! and 
 there we are at a half-way 
 house on the Rhine. We 
 may call one of the inns by 
 this name, as it is partly 
 hotel, partly dairy or as it 
 may be termed, half-beer 
 half-whey house. 
 
 "While bateau-a-vapeto'-ing 
 up the Rhine, we will make 
 a few observations on Steam- 
 boat travelling. 
 
 The one general rule that 
 governs all 
 steamboat is, 
 
 must speak to the Man at the "Wheel ; " but you may 
 whistle at him, howl at him, shout at him, or dance before him as 
 much as you like. It is the part of genius to break through rules ; 
 therefore, if you would not be set down for a mere commonplace 
 Tourist, take pity upon his isolated condition, and commence an 
 animated conversation with the steerer. "Whisper soft nothings in 
 his ear ; tell him that " good thing you heard the other day," and 
 point your jokes with your forefinger under his fifth rib. 
 
 You may wave your hat and halloa in front of him ; this is 
 a very good way of cheering him upon his lonely voyage. 
 
 An you understand not his language, nor he yours, make faces 
 at him until he roars with laughter, and finish by singing to him 
 
 "Now I'm Comfortable!' 
 
 voyagers by 
 "No one
 
 382 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 in your best style, " Wkeellie, we have missed you ! " when 
 he, being of a sympathetic soul, will join you in the melody, 
 playing rhapsodically upon the spokes of his wheel. Others on 
 board may laugh and be jolly, but he remains throughout 
 the one stern passenger, unless, as we have suggested, you can 
 overcome his unnatural reserve. He seldom moves from his 
 position, yet is he perpetually taking a turn on deck. We never 
 
 met anybody who 
 knew one of these men 
 "at home." We can- 
 not help thinking that 
 they have run away 
 from the domestic 
 circle. Maybe, for 
 some dark crime, they 
 are undergoing a self- 
 enforced silent system, 
 rendered all the more 
 difficult of endurance 
 by the opportunities 
 of communication with 
 their fellow-men which 
 their situation offers. 
 In consequence of the 
 Helm obeying the will 
 of this roving recluse, 
 the Germans have but 
 
 »o wheeiiie, we have missed you i » one generic name for 
 
 the class, every indi- 
 vidual member of which they address as Will-Helm Meister. 
 
 Steamboat travelling differs from Railroad travelling, inasmuch 
 as the authorities of the former take you on trust, not demanding 
 your fare until they have carried you for some distance upon the 
 voyage. The first feeling produced by this system in the breast 
 of an honest Englishman is gratitude to the beneficent beings who, 
 apparently, are going to give you a trip for nothing. On the 
 approach of the inevitable money collector, this sentiment is 
 entirely superseded by a desire to avail yourself of those facilities
 
 HOW, WREN, AND WHERE. 383 
 
 of personal locomotion which a deck affords, to dodge the official, and 
 avoid that mutual unpleasantness and misunderstanding which 
 must result from one person demanding as a right that which 
 another person is unwilling to concede of his own free will. 
 
 The Collector, you will notice, is closely followed by another 
 wary official, who is doubtless set as a watch upon his superior 
 officer, lest that individual, having collected the money, should 
 suddenly collect himself for a spring and violently abscond by 
 leaping over the side of the vessel, and by a bold stroke of genius 
 swimming to shore. 
 
 Here we come alongside of the bank, and for a minute or two we 
 must touch upon this point. 
 
 It is a dear, or rather cheap, at least we found it so, old place 
 called St. Goar. You will perhaps smile at any of the Rhine 
 show-places being cheap, and will say, ironically, " Go-ar-long ! " 
 but nevertheless such is the fact. 
 
 Hereabout there is a whirlpool which tumultuously eddies round 
 a horrid rock. Hence the proverb, "Tis the Lurlei Berg catches 
 the Whirl." We heard a Cockney drop an H and a remark, to the 
 effect, that, it "made him quite 'eddy to look at it." 
 
 The Church of St. Martin is a specimen of one of the very 
 earliest churches, in consequence of the service commencing $very 
 morning at 4 a.m. The ancient and well-known legend can, we 
 believe, be found here, if you look very carefully for it, commencing 
 " mild, Beate Martine" &c. , 
 
 Then you come to Assmanhausen, so called because the donkey- 
 man has his house in this place, whose animals can be hired by day 
 or hour, by your or our party, as the case may be, for the sake of; 
 making excursions into the vineyard country. The public 
 conveyance, in this part of the world, is called the Van Ordinaire. 
 "Don't be offended w r ith the captain if he tells you to "get 
 out " at Bingen. You'll want to go to Riidesheim. There is 
 a regular charge for donkeys at this place, so you had better keep 
 Out of the way ; or, if in your own country you are a Volunteer, 
 prepare to receive the charge with your umbrella. It was at this 
 place, that we saw the heart-rending spectacle of a French tourist 
 arriving too late by a minute and a half for the departure of his 
 steamboat An Englishman in a similar position, after a few
 
 384 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 words of very old Saxon, would have inquired for the time of the 
 next boat, and would have waited at the nearest Hostelrie for its 
 arrival. Not so Mossoo ; he anathematised his hard fortune and 
 the day of his birth. He dashed* his hat on the ground, and 
 danced on it : he tore his hair, and at length in a passionate burst of 
 tears he sat down on his portmanteau, and consented to listen to the 
 voice of reason issuing from the mouth of a stolid Prussian porter. 
 
 " Paddle on all," and away we go again. 
 
 To keep and find your place in " Murray," and at the same time 
 find the corresponding places on the Right and Left Banks of the 
 River, is a feat of no ordinary difficulty. You should read it 
 thoroughly before starting, and you will then be able to enjoy 
 yourself and benefit your companions. 
 
 " What is that place 1 " inquires a fellow-tourist without a Guide 
 Book, attracting your attention to Stolzenfels. 
 
 " That 1 " you reply, pretending that you haven't been cram- 
 ming up the Rhine history over-night. " That is Bishop Ratto's 
 Castle, so called because when he was refused by the Fair Guda, 
 he made the child Werner eat all the rats in his barn, while 
 every one was shouting out ' the Rhine ! the Rhine ! ' as with the 
 voice of one man. For this barbarous deed he was thrown into the 
 river, where he was subsequently interred and canonised." 
 
 The only newspapers published in the Vineyard Country, are 
 issued from the Wine Press. In the fruitful season, which is also 
 the shooting season, you will often see a poor peasant, who is 
 unable to buy a gun in order to keep off the small birds, watching 
 for the tiny depredators of the vines, having previously loaded 
 himself with grape. 
 
 In Steamboat travelling, a rug, a great coat, a portable bath, a 
 carpet-bag, a hatbox, a portable writing-case, race-glasses, an um- 
 brella, a camp stool artfully compressed into a peculiarly incon- 
 venient walking-stick, are absolutely necessary to the tourist who 
 wishes to make himself thoroughly uncomfortable. He sits on 
 his camp-stool, wraps himself up in his rug and great coat, places 
 his portable bath on his hatbox, and his feet on the portable bath, 
 settles his writing-desk on his knees, puts his umbrella up to pro- 
 tect him from the sun, and saying to himself, " Now I'm comfort- 
 able ! " vainly tries to read his " Murray." Whenever he would
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 385 
 
 turn over a page, down must go the umbrella, and on getting tho 
 race-glasses out of the case in order to look at the scenery which 
 can probably be seen a great deal better with the unclothed e} r e, 
 down goes umbrella and "Murray." If you leave the things, and 
 walk up and down the deck, you will be nervously suspicious 
 about every one who goes near them, and will keep on returning 
 to the spot, until rinding them on every fresh occasion in their 
 original position, you will say to yoxirself, " Away, base suspicion ! 
 Hence, fear!" and giving yourself up to the allurements of the 
 Nymphs of the Rhine, will gradually cease to remember your en- 
 cumbrances, and upon disembarking, in the anxiety for the safety 
 of your trunk or portmanteau, will forget the lesser properties alto- 
 gether. In this state we get out of the boat at Mayence, and not 
 having as yet found out the loss, proceed in ignorant bliss to the 
 Rheinischer Hof, Hof which you have probably heard a very good 
 account, and will certainly, on leaving, receive at the hands of 
 the disinterested landlord, a very moderate account indeed 
 
 The juice is in it. 
 
 C O
 
 386 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE RHEINISCHER HOF — ARRIVAL AT AN HOTEL WITHOUT BOOTS 
 
 OPERATIC — MONEY-LENDERS' OFFICES AND OTHER OBJECTS OF 
 INTEREST IN MAYENCE — MANNHEIM SPIRES. 
 
 THE serenely happy 
 Tourist will now re- 
 member that he has 
 just arrived at Mayence, 
 without his rug, hatbox, um- 
 brella, carpet-bag, portable 
 bath, race-glasses, walking- 
 stick-campstool, and writing- 
 desk, all of which he has 
 accidentally left on board the 
 steamer that is now bearing 
 his treasures to Mannheim. 
 As he reaches the door of 
 the Rheinischer Hof, the sense 
 of the fearful loss comes 
 upon him like a flash of 
 lightning. He claps his 
 hands to his pockets, not 
 meaning as it were to ap- 
 plaud them for having done something clever, but with a vague idea 
 that the portable bath, campstool, and carpet-bag may not be so far 
 off after all. What before were luxuries, now assume an importance 
 that makes them appear absolutely indispensable. " Everything,'" 
 he cries, " was in my carpet-bag ! I can't get on without a rug ! and 
 what the dash can I do at Baden-Baden if I haven't got a hatbox 1 
 My soap's in my carpet-bag, so's my brush, and comb and — and 
 — my other boots ! " By the way, those other boots, always 
 carried and not required, or if not carried, invariably wanted, are 
 sure to be lost during the trip. A propos de Boots, however, we 
 will just stop for one minute to say that, if any traveller, fond 
 
 1 Now I'm'appy."
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 387 
 
 of grandly romantic scenery, wishes to make certain of seeing 
 a good fall of water he had better trip up the Rhine with his 
 boots. 
 
 To return to the missing articles. 
 
 As landlords and waiters everywhere are supposed to know 
 everything, the obvious course will be at at once to question 
 them on the subject. 
 
 " Were the articles directed 1 " asks the host. 
 
 "O-o-h his portable bath I" 
 
 The Tourist patiently explains that he doesn't generally label a 
 rug, great-coat, and an umbrella, but inwardly regrets that he had 
 allowed the direction, "Mr. Smith, Passenger to Bristol," t<> 
 remain upon his portable bath. 
 
 " Monsieur knows the name of his bateau a vapeur ?" the land- 
 lord suggests, mixing a little French and English, in order to 
 show that he is prepared for his customer whatever he may 
 say. 
 
 Monsieur however hasn't got the slightest notion w r hac was the 
 name of the " battue a vampire," and prides himself upon having 
 pronounced the name right that time, anyhow. 
 
 <; o 2
 
 388 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 " Ah ! " says the landlord, " Monsieur knew the Captain ? " 
 
 " Good heavens ! No : nor the Stoker, nor Boiler, nor Man at 
 the Wheel, nor anybody connected with the steamer." 
 
 " Did they see where you got out 1 " asks the landlord. 
 
 The tourist had been so engaged with his large luggage, 
 that he had not noticed if, in stage phrase, " he had been 
 observed." 
 
 "The boat stops at Mannheim," the landlord remarks. 
 
 " Well, there, I suppose," suggests the traveller, " they take 
 out all the luggage." 
 
 "Yes," replies the proprietor of the Rheinischer Hof, "and if 
 the things are not claimed at once " 
 
 "Well 1 ?" inquires our friend, anxiously noting a slight hesi- 
 tation on the speaker's part in arriving at the catastrophe. 
 
 " Well," resumes Rheinischer Hof, slowly, " if they are not 
 claimed at once — they sell them." 
 
 " Tourist ! a blight is on thy path — 
 What'U become of the portable bath ! " 
 
 Whistle the air of the " Mistletoe Bough " and sing, — 
 
 " Oh, my portable bath ! 
 O-o-h ! My por-tar-blebath ! " 
 
 Chorus, in which the sympathising landlord and waiters will (if 
 not otherwise engaged, and if conversant with the air,) join, — 
 
 " O-o-h his portable bath ! 
 O-o-oh his port-tar-blebath ! " 
 
 After this, order dinner, see your room, shake hands with the 
 landlord, and determine to let byegones be byegones. 
 
 The most remarkable object in Mayence will be, of course, 
 yourself. Do not let the knowledge of this importance prevent 
 you from visiting the Cathedral. Protestant though you may be, 
 you will be here received into the Church by the Suisse, who is 
 generally a fine handsome-looking man, of whom the ladies say in 
 Suisse- whispers, " Do look at his Suisse-whiskers ! " The French, 
 ever attached to the lightest possible literature, once converted
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 389 
 
 this Cathedral into a Magazine. It soon, however, fell to the 
 ground, and now-a-days very little that is original remains, as the 
 people subsequently took all their articles from the French. 
 
 Even though you, or any other tourist, may have given up all 
 idea of lying hands upon the lost baggage, yet should you, as a 
 pedestrian, walk to Mannheim. At this place you'll halt, and 
 probably begin to limp as one maimed by the unwonted exer- 
 cise, unless you have been previously accustomed to do the 
 same thing, or as the French call it, mam-chose, or shoes, as in 
 this case. 
 
 A pleasant wet day may be spent at Mannheim, by trying to 
 find out, by the aid of the Mannheim Directory, the address of 
 your old friend who has performed the Samson-like gymnastic 
 feat known as "Taking up his Residence," in this ancient town. 
 We've often heard of Dramatic critics being able to " give a 
 theatre a lift with their pens," and we suppose that these expres- 
 sions are the results of a strong muscular creed. 
 
 But to the Directory. 
 
 Mannheim houses are not as other houses. They are arranged 
 in blocks, chiefly blocks of stone. The streets intersect one 
 another at right angles wherever they can, and at wrong angles 
 wherever they can't, and by generally interfering with one 
 another in the most unaccountable manner, produce upon the 
 mind of the stranger the feeling that he might as well be in Fair 
 Rosamond's Bower, or the Maze at Hampton Court, without the 
 sweet little cherub who sits up aloft and sings out "To your right 
 — To your left," and other intelligible instructions to help him on 
 his way. 
 
 The streets have no names, though they will have, and pretty 
 hard ones too, after you've been puzzling and meandering about 
 them. 
 
 The simple direction for finding out where anybody lives is, ask 
 him himself on the first opportunity ; but if you can't see him, 
 and haven't got time to write, take the Directory, and obseive 
 that all the blocks are arranged alphabetically, that the housa_ 
 are numbered, and that there are many blocks more than the 
 Alphabet has letters, and that then you begin again and make 
 the best you can of it. That's plain so far, isn't it ? Well, let's
 
 300 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 say you want to call on Mr. B. Very good. Mr. B. you find 
 lives at A., now on this point you will not be at Sea. Then A, 
 being a block, you find the number ; now, we forgot to mention 
 that each block is numbered as well as every house, so that when 
 you've ascertained the number of the house, you must take care 
 not to confuse it with the number of the block, and when you've 
 carefully arrived at a knowledge of both numbers, your next step 
 
 "Lightest possible literature!" 
 
 will be to retrace your former ones, and see whether you were 
 correct in the first instance. After this, take care that the block 
 is the block in the Alphabet and not one out of the Alphabet ; 
 then see that the number is the same as the one you had fixed 
 upon, and finally learn whether or no B. lives at this number or 
 not. After this it will be time for you to brush your hair and go 
 to bed. 
 
 Visit the Theatre, which was once reduced to a mere shell by
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 391 
 
 the Austrian bombs. Ever since then all the Pieces have gone 
 
 off well. 
 
 The Cathedral was pretty considerably knocked about by the 
 French, who chipped and clipped pillars and statues and sepul- 
 chral monuments. Here some Margraves are buried ; the 
 iconoclastic French, however, appear to have been the principal 
 mar-graves. They compelled the ecclesiastics to fly for their 
 lives, and each one of the good monks was forced to take up his 
 breviary and mizzle. 
 
 There is no inducement for the traveller to follow the Rhine 
 above Mannheim, and the Rhine might look upon such a pro- 
 ceeding as going rather too far. You're not Grant and you're not 
 Speke, so none of your sourcey observations, if you please. Come 
 move on ! will you, and just drop in at Spires. This place was 
 built by the same ingenious architect who raised the one spire in 
 Langham Place, Regent Street, of which this town is merely (as 
 the name implies) an ample development. Keep your eyes open 
 and you will be Spyers too. Mind you ask for the celebrated Diet 
 of Spires at the table d'hote. Don't be put down by the unseemly 
 jests of the landlord, or the gibing of the Kellners. Very interest- 
 ing place, Spires, full of historical reminiscences, so on we go to 
 Heidelberg.
 
 392 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HEIDELBERG THE UNIVERSITY THE CASTLE A TUN AND A HALF 
 
 TOXICOLOGY BADEN-BADEN THE BOARD OF GREEN CLOTH. 
 
 EIDELBERG, or the 
 
 Bridge, the Town, and the 
 Tower ! This is our next 
 point. A lazy old place, sure 
 enough, with all the H'Idle 
 burghers lounging in their 
 shop doors, if there's nothing 
 doing. 
 
 Every one here seems to 
 have suddenly, in printers' 
 phrase, been set up in smaU 
 caps, for caps of all sorts, 
 sizes, and colours, ornament 
 the heads of the University 
 youths. They are very free 
 with their swords, and the 
 following University rules 
 are found necessary : — ■ 
 
 1. Any Student refusing 
 to give his name to the 
 Proctor in the streets, may 
 be immediately cut down by the bulldogs. 
 
 2. That in cramming for examinations, the armed Students in 
 statu pupillari shall run through several authors. 
 
 3. That every candidate at Matriculation shall be able to trans- 
 late Arnold's Roman Sword Exercises. 
 
 You will be considered a great man among them if you appear 
 as a Professor of the Noble Art of Self Defence, and give Lectures 
 on the New Cut, Lambeth. 
 
 Of course, the first thing you'll want to go and see is the Castle. 
 Well, you'll have to go up a hill. This Castle was taken once by 
 the French, and once by Mr. Turner, the celebrated artist. The 
 
 Pique and re-pique.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 393 
 
 Electors Palatine, who used to live here, were people of bon Tun, 
 as may be seen if you visit the cellar, where stands the celebrated 
 Tun, on the top of which the peasants, when they were very jolly, 
 used to dance. This was when the vintage had been a good one, 
 and the happy rustics were living on the vat of the land. There 
 is some trick connected with a fox's brush, that starts out of some- 
 where suddenly, and 
 
 hits you anywhere when 
 you pull a string, of 
 which we have some 
 vague and unpleasant 
 recollection ; if you 
 don't want to know 
 anything about it don't 
 pull any string, and 
 you'll be safe. This is 
 of course the jest or 
 rather the Butt of the 
 place ; the good folks 
 ought to get a second 
 like it, on the excellent 
 principle that " one 
 good Tun deserves 
 another." 
 
 Of course, while you 
 are at Heidelberg you 
 will stop at an Hotel. 
 Now the mention of 
 
 an hotel naturally leads us to the subject of pickles. You 
 will be in a hurry to see the sights of the town, and desirous 
 of making a rapid act of feeding. No more rapid act can be 
 made than an attack upon cold beef and pickles. Tourist, 
 beware in every place of pickles. Few and far between are the 
 instances of jars of these luxuries being unadulterated. Avoid 
 them as you would Jars in your own family. As a rule, 
 these pickles are. adulterated, and specially in Germany, with 
 copper. Now copper in this form is first cousin to poison, and it 
 is admitted on all hands that it is unpleasant to be poisoned any- 
 
 Cold Steel I
 
 394 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 "O 
 
 where, but specially in Germany, and more particularly in Heidel- 
 berg. Now then the question is, do you understand the science 
 of Toxicology 1 If you can't pronounce this word, use any other 
 you like ; such names are but arbitrary ; but bear in mind that 
 this science has nothing to do with bows and arrows. On arriving 
 therefore at your inn, immediately inquire of your landlord if he 
 is a Toxicologist ; the word may be sung or said, according to 
 fancy, powers of vocalisation, or special opportunity. He may 
 stammer out a reply, or he may not understand you : in either 
 case, Tourist, beware, and having ordered at once your cold 
 
 collation, immediately attempt to detect 
 the presence of copper. 
 
 Now, the first way to detect the pre- 
 sence of copper, is to offer the lowest 
 silver coin in your possession, and to ask 
 for change for that amount. If they are 
 unable to give it you, be on your guard, 
 lest all the available copper may have 
 been invested in pickles. If the sum in 
 the metal is given you, remember that it 
 may be but the residue of what has already 
 been sunk in pickles. Cold steel will always 
 attract copper : and a celebrated Italian 
 brigand, when in a genial and communica- 
 tive mood, once informed us that he had 
 been able to detect the presence of copper in a landlord's 
 pocket by introducing a small and exquisitely shaped dagger 
 into the corporeal vicinity of that region. This is a method 
 which we would hardly advise the ordinary Tourist to adopt, but 
 as he loves his health, and would avoid dyspepsia, let him study 
 Toxicology, or whatever he likes to call it, and give his earnest 
 consideration to the subject of pickles. Exjierientia docet, and he 
 who doesn't take warning by our experientia, will have to " dose 
 it" pretty considerably. After this we need hardly say that 
 you'll leave this romantic town as quickly as possible. For our- 
 selves, having found that we were treading upon this mine of 
 copper, we, nearly exploding with indignation, took a light 
 luncheon, nnd then went off with our present report. Away to 
 
 J^S 
 
 Tullaliety !
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 395 
 
 Baden-Baden, merely observing that the railway by which yon 
 travel has all its seats ("Murray" says) "comfortably stuffed 
 full," and therefore it must be very difficult to procure a place to 
 yourself. Be careful to say " That's the Ticket " to the railway 
 clerk, when you take your billet for Baden-Baden. You know 
 the reputation of this place for gambling, of course, and therefore 
 you will not be surprised on entering the town, at once to be 
 asked by the Inspector of Police, " How much you'll stake on the 
 black?" or, "What are the odds against red turning up three 
 times running 1 " 
 
 Whether you look black or turn 
 red upon being thus addressed 
 the surrounding natives will call 
 at your hotel, leave their cards 
 upon you, and subsequently give 
 you their hands. Beware of such 
 friendship. Baden-Baden is a 
 very damp place, and one of the 
 chief residents, the man who 
 keeps the Bank at the Tables, 
 suffers with the croup all the year 
 round, and is therefore known 
 as the Croupier. You will see 
 plenty of Rakes on and about this 
 Board of green cloth. When you 
 have lost more than two florins, 
 go away, take a pocket-pistol, and 
 
 treat yourself to a " blow out " at the nearest restaurant's. When 
 we visited the Tables there were plenty of Americans playing at 
 Itouge et Noir, and, we suppose out of compliment to their pre- 
 judices, the Croupier so managed the colours that the Black was 
 invariably beaten. Whether you back Noir or not, you must be pre- 
 pared with sufficient Ready. Having finished all your gambling 
 in the town, you can leave the valley and gambol on the hills. There 
 are some very pretty walks about the place and some nice runs, the 
 best being a good run of Luck in the Conversationshaus. 
 
 The excursionist, although personally objecting to the monastic 
 system, should not refuse to take the vale of the Murg. Here you 
 
 Merry Swiss Boy I
 
 396 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 get a foretaste, or rather a one taste, of the coming Switzerland. 
 Sing TuUaliety, Tulla li-he-ho, and prepare to be marching to the 
 Margin of fair Zurich's tvaters, TuUaliety, da capo. By the way, 
 the first Merry Swiss Boy we ever saw had taken a great deal more 
 fruit than was good for him, and was bemoaning his sad fate at the 
 hands of a peculiarly grim Swiss, or as she appeared in this in- 
 stance, Swish matron. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 SWITZERLAND DIET MONEY CONVEYANCES ARTH BASLE BERNE 
 
 — BY THE MARGIN OP FAIR ZURICH'S WATERS SCHAFFHAUSEN 
 
 FALLS A PRETTY PASS. 
 
 going 
 
 A!' • / 
 
 <)iA\ 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 The face of the Country. 
 
 OW here we are 
 into Switzerland as quick 
 as possible, if you please, 
 seeing that there's not much 
 time to be lost, for the Vaca- 
 tion is just coming to a close, 
 and some of us must bo 
 back to our griefs and briefs 
 in the Classic Aula Pumpeii, 
 
 1 otherwise known as Pump 
 Court, Temple, or else- 
 where. 
 
 An air of repose character- 
 ises vhe face of Switzerland, 
 and the observant traveller 
 may gather that the country 
 is rather inclined to sleep, 
 from the fact that he will 
 continually see ranges of 
 mountains rising and stretch- 
 ing away in the distance. 
 
 The Tourist intends to ascend the steeps? Does he, indeed?
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 397 
 
 then, once for all, we don't ; albeit we may give some good 
 advice ; and first and foremost, as the unaccustomed traveller 
 may possibly catch cold in the Alpine heights, he should be 
 careful to provide himself with an Alpenstock to wrap round 
 his easily-affected throat.* Beside this, you should carry a Swiss 
 pipe, whereon to play as you walk lightly o'er the eternal snow, 
 and a good collection of magic-lantern slides, to take you rapidly 
 over the seas of ice. 
 
 Talking of ice, you must not be disappointed at not finding 
 much of the Wen ham Lake material up here. The Railway will, 
 i >f course, make some difference in this respect after a time, and 
 Mr. Gunter may be inclined to speculate. A Lake or Tarn of 
 Fresh Strawberry Water, by Sunset, would be a fine subject for 
 Mr. Telbin's brush, and, as every spoon of a Tourist is accompanied 
 by a Tourist's glass, we want but some pretty girls to hand wafers 
 and sponge-cakes to us, and the thing is done. 
 
 In regard to dress, adopt a gentlemanly evening suit : you will 
 never require a change of boots ; as after an hour's walk over the 
 ice, they will of their own accord become slippers. A false nose 
 and burnt cork, wherewith to make moustachios, and playfully 
 frighten the mountaineers, as usual. 
 
 Diet. — For Breakfast, ask for stewed zwanzigers and cotelettes 
 it la pommade. There is no other meal during the day, but you 
 can repeat this one as often as you feel disposed. During the re- 
 past, the good-natured waiter will read to you, sing one of the 
 songs, or dance one of the enlivening dances of his own native 
 land. You must, unless you w T ould be accused of rudeness, encore 
 every one of his performances separately. 
 
 Money. Swiss Batz. — This coin is no longer a legal tender, in 
 consequence of so many Swiss Batz having been given in exchange 
 for the English Kites, which had been flown by certain of our 
 unprincipled compatriots in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Conveyances. — Recollect that your driver being a poor boor of a 
 fellow, always requires some pour boire money, by way of a parting 
 
 * As you are apt to be tender with yourself, get some vicious friend to 
 «vrap the Alpen-stock smartly about your head. As a homoeopathic cure 
 for headache this can be recommended.
 
 398 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 gift. The travelling lawyer will observe that, in all countries, an 
 intimate connection exists between a conveyancer and his draughts. 
 
 One of the first places to which you will be taken, will probably 
 be Arth. So rare is the stranger's visit in this quarter, that even 
 the most civil officer, meeting the Tourist in the street, will start 
 back with astonishment, and ask, " What on Arth he's doing 
 there ? " Being a man of spirit, you will at once quit the place, 
 and proceed to Basle. The distance of Basle from anywhere is 
 just three Basley-corns and a half. At the hotel called the Three 
 Kings, you will find the servants very attentive, so don't say any- 
 thing before them that you do not wish them to hear. They are 
 so attentive, that it will be well for the visitor to blow through 
 the keyhole of his bed-room door every five minutes, to see if the 
 waiter is listening outside ; then to search well the chest of drawers, 
 rattle his umbrella up the chimney, and look in every corner for 
 these attentive inn-dependents. Of course, you do not want to 
 follow the regular route, but intend to go backwards and forwards, 
 and round and round, as suits your fancy. While on the subject 
 it would be as well to state, that no steamer ever sailed round 
 Switzerland in six hours. Berne is the quaintest of places. There 
 was not much to be seen when we were there ; but this fact was 
 probably owing to our arriving at eleven o'clock on a very dark 
 night. Go early, and you'll be delighted. The clock is the most 
 striking object in the town. As the Tourist cannot possibly be 
 satisfied with anything until he has seen Zurich, let him hasten 
 there at once, and put up at the hotel on the Lake. 
 
 One of the curiosities of this spot is the garden attached to the 
 hotel ; it is so much attached, that, although for years it has been 
 perpetually going down to the water, it has never yet been able 
 to take the last steps necessary for the separation. A touching 
 site this, touching the Lake ; and, by the way, touching the Lake, 
 words are wanting to convey to the absent traveller any idea of 
 its beauty. Let us see ; you know the Serpentine, or the orna- 
 mental water in St. James's Park ? Well — no, it won't do ; our 
 powers of description fail us. 
 
 Now is the time and place for a romantic adventure. There are 
 plenty of Zurich's fair daughters living on the borders of the Lake. 
 This mode of existence is, however, not exclusively confined to
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 399 
 
 these delightful creatures, but is also adopted by two or three 
 landlords and lodging-house keepers, who also live on the boarders. 
 By the way, here is a curious phenomenon for our astronomers, 
 Late at night the fair damsels come out to look at the moon on the 
 water in a boat. All you've got to do is to hide under a ripple, 
 and gently rise from the stream, like a river-god decked with 
 
 Zurich's fair daughters ! 
 
 weeds, with a short-pipe in your mouth, whence shall issue sounds 
 most dulcet ; and the fair ones must be a most dull set indeed if 
 they do not at once yield themselves captive to the fascinations of 
 your voice. 
 
 In a charitable spirit visit Schaffhausen, but do not make any 
 severe observations on The Fall, remembering that we are all 
 liable to err ; and also recollecting that, if the landlady of the 
 Falls Hotel provide luncheon, you will be liable to her. We did
 
 400 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 not think much of the food here, but this isn't the place to cut it 
 up. Go back to Zurich. In the morning patronise the bath in 
 the hotel garden. Plunge bravely in, headforemost, but you 
 must be able to swim, for there is a depth of at least four feet of 
 water. 
 
 Your next point will be the Righi, if you want to " do " the 
 Kighilar thing ; if you do not, you will cross the lake and try to 
 get over the mountains to Interlachen. The mountains are not 
 to be got over by soft words, persuasion being, in this case, less 
 useful than force with a good thick stick. 
 
 Do you want to see one of the great beauties of mountain 
 scenery without much trouble 1 You do ? Very well, then ; loso 
 all your luggage, ready money, clothes, and circular notes, and 
 you'll then commence by being brought to a very Pretty Pass, 
 
 The Righilar thing.'
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 401 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE RIGHI HINTS TO MOUNTAINEERS THE ALPINE CLUB THE 
 
 GHOST— nOTEL RIGHI CULM A BRUSH WITH THE GUESTS. 
 
 UR own experience, which 
 has led us to give the fore- 
 going invaluable advice for 
 going as far as the Pughi, will 
 now furnish the Tourist with 
 a rule to be observed by every 
 one who seeks this usually 
 sunny climb. A great deal 
 has been written at divers 
 times, and in divers places, 
 concerning the actual neces- 
 saries to be taken during an 
 ascent. One thing, and only 
 one, is it necessary for even 
 the hardiest mountaineer to 
 take while toiling up the pre- 
 cipitous steep ; let his pace 
 be slow, or let his pace be 
 fast, walk he with tottering 
 steps or firmly-planted feet ; 
 the Tourist, be he high or 
 
 low, tall or short, who goes up the Righi must take — Breath. 
 
 Sit down awhile, and behold above you the broad expanse of sky ; 
 
 this will exalt your mind to the contemplation of the lark ; and 
 
 what says the Poet, — 
 
 " Hark, hark, the dogs do bark, 
 For the lark at Billingsgate sings." 
 
 Open your heai't to your friend, if one be near you, but forget 
 not to open your chest, and carp the vital airs. Ah ! If you know 
 any of the musical compositions of Dr. Blow, now is the occasion 
 for whistling them. Walk up ! walk up ! walk up ! To your left 
 you'll see the black-beetling crags ; these will remind you of the 
 
 D D 
 
 Having a blow on the mountain.
 
 402 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 strange creatures that came up to look at you, and followed in 
 your wake, when you paid an unwilling nocturnal visit to the 
 kitchen, under the impression that you were about to bring a 
 couple of burglars to account for a wrong double entry. To your 
 right you'll see ever so many things that did not meet your vision 
 on your left, whereupon you will exclaim, " Beautiful ! Beau- 
 tiful ! " somewhat after the well-known, time-honoured manner of 
 the talented German siffleur, Von Joel, evergreen, ever Green's ! 
 Walk up ! Walk up ! 
 
 The agile admirer of the " beautiful for ever " (this line is not 
 meant by way of a toast or sentiment, though, apart from the 
 context, it may be adopted by membei's of the Alpine Club for 
 that purpose) will probably take a short cut, in order to reach the 
 bird's-eye view sooner than his fellow-travellers. Our own personal 
 remembrance of the short cut that we chose, is, that it began very 
 pleasantly, during which gentle progress and halcyon time we 
 congratulated ourselves upon our superior cunning : that, after 
 half an hour, the ascent became more decided, and we, being in a 
 broiling sun, jokingly comforted each other " that we shouldn't 
 have much of this ; " that, in the course of an hour, the inclination 
 "f'the ascent increased inversely as our inclination for the ascent; 
 that, in an hour and a half s time, we sat down helplessly and 
 bemoaned our happy childhood ; that, being parched with thirst, 
 we induced a little peasant boy to give us a drink ; that he 
 brought lis lirschwasser of such a strength and old shoe-leathery 
 state that Ave couldn't drink it, save when qualified with water, 
 which water he, for a few small coins, procured for us ; our grate- 
 ful remembrance of this boy is that he was a wonderful boy, the 
 most wonderful boy we'd ever seen ; that, despite the fact of the 
 descent to the limpid stream being of the very early perpendicular 
 style of mountain architecture, this boy, this wonderful boy, 
 holding in his hand the broad-mouthed shallow wooden bowl of 
 kirschwasser, executed, after the manner of his English brethren in 
 the London streets, "three Catherine wheels a penny," without 
 spilling a single drop (was he not a wooooonderful boy ?), and in this 
 way arrived safely at the running stream. Here he filled the bowl, 
 and safely ascended to our place of session, walking or jumping, 
 as far as our memory serves us, upon his head. We rewarded
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 403 
 
 him handsomely, and he disappeared down somewhere as suddenly 
 as he had risen before us ; a grin, a kick, a leap into the air — and 
 he was gone ! There was no smell of brimstone ! Could he have 
 been the lubber fiend 1 The Kobbold of this country ? A 
 Brownie, maybe ; aud, now we recall the colour of his skin, we 
 hesitate no longer to decide that we on that occasion did see a 
 veritable Brownie. 
 
 Perpendicular becomes the ascent of the short cut, and he who 
 takes this road will never use his feet as the sole mode of progression, 
 until within a few yards of the Righi Culm. 
 
 Think you, Tourist of the nineteenth century, that in 
 Switzerland you can be free from The Ghost ! * * * 
 
 Not a bit of it. If you're in luck's way, you'll see the spectre 
 of the Righi. Of course it is patented. Give the waiter at the 
 Righi Culm Hotel a noble gratuity, and he'll tell you all about it. 
 Albeit, the only spectre we came across was the landlord of the 
 above-mentioned hostelrie with his little bill, which shook our 
 nerves fearfully. We were nearly running away, but were 
 prevented by no matter what. 
 
 Joyful is the moment when the golden spire of the Inn, efful- 
 gent, shines on the sun-scorched face of the weary travellers. 
 Let us stop here to remark that, when we arrived at the top, we 
 found that our short cut had taken us exactl}' two hours longer 
 than going round by the ordinary route. This discovery at such 
 a moment is calculated to act upon the temper even of the most 
 angelic. You come late and can't get a room. Ha ! ha ! (Stage 
 lirectixm. laughs sardonically.) "Waiter!" "Yes, Sir." (Exit 
 waiter in the opposite direction.) You turn and find him gone, or 
 rather don't find him, because he has gone. Another menial in a 
 blouse. Ha! "Waiter?" 'tisn't the waiter, but no matter. 
 u Gar$on!" " Ouim'sieu." (Exit second waiter, hurriedly, through 
 a small door in the passage.) In desperation, you open it in 
 order to follow him. The door leads apparently nowhere, or 
 to fifteen other doors, which means the same thing. "Ga?°con/ 
 Kellner I Waiter ! Hi ! Here ! anybody — I w r ant to wash. 
 Hot water — donney more o show. No, I mean eau sucree — 
 
 no, that's swearing — I mean ." Never mind what yot 
 
 mean, the table d'hote is nearly ready. Rush into the kitchen 
 
 n d 2
 
 404 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 regard not the screams of the men-servants or maid-servants, nor 
 the stricken cook, but wrench the boiling kettle from its brooding 
 o'er the coals, and make for the first dressing-room at hand ; stand 
 not upon the order of your going, but go it ! Should Kellner 
 interfere, cry, " This to decide ! " One, two, three, four, under : 
 one, two, three, four, over — thrust, and he falls. You reach n 
 chamber. Lots of queer-patterned crockery about, seize and take 
 
 i%4 % << 
 
 " Donney more o show!" 
 
 anything to wash your hands in. Soap and nail-brush in your 
 pocket of course. "Garron! Femme de Chamhre ! Hi done ! ici 
 towels. What's towels in French 1 Donney more assets — my assets, 
 you know." Go through the pantomime of rubbing your hands, 
 and the attendant will probably say, " Oui, M'sieu, e'est tres bit n 
 froid" or something equally to the point, and leave you, which 
 isn't exactly what you wanted. You want to get a glimpse of the 
 
 Rush out. Nothing but mist. 
 
 view 
 
 before going to dinner. 
 
 Wonderful ! Beautiful ! A friend tells you that you should have
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 405 
 
 been up there two hours ago and seen "the voo" then. "Ha !" 
 you return, "we had much better voos coming up here. "We came 
 by an unusual path ; not in the common track ; so hackneyed. 
 You should try it, it's worth going down again, merely to come up 
 by it," Here's an opportunity for romancing — but now the dinner. 
 Ha ! soup. Carried in triumphantly. Take off the cover ; a thin 
 steam ascends. The landlord commences ladling. Consternation 
 is on his face, horror on the waiters' countenances ! "What is it 1 
 The guests tremble. They are in a foreign land : and one crusty 
 old o-entleman already pulls out his note-book, and commences a 
 letter to the Times. Poison 1 A pint of very dirty lukewarm soap 
 and water, with a nail-brush in it. Tourist, be careful where thou 
 dost in future wash thy hands. 
 
 Dropping in for a nice thing.
 
 400 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ZURICH TO INTERLACHEN THE RIGHI AGAIN— THE GOLDAU SIDE- 
 GUIDES— AMUSEMENTS — WILD SPORTS NEEDELPIN CRAG. 
 
 W ] 
 
 fH E RE are we now 1 Just about to 
 start from Zurich to Interlachen. 
 The Tourist can, if sufficiently 
 strong, take the Righi on the road. He 
 mustn't take it very far, or it will 
 be missed; as it happens, the top 
 part of this mount has been mist 
 more than once, but has never been 
 entirely lost. 
 
 You intend to make the ascent 
 from the Goldau side. Now, the 
 question is, how do you get there 1 
 Take the first turning to the riuht 
 on leaving Zurich, the second to the 
 left, and then anyone will tell you ; 
 if they won't, implore the sulky 
 peasant to reply ; taking care to 
 offer him a sou, or you will sou in 
 vain. 
 
 Guides. — Always take a guide with 
 you. One who knows the way is to be preferred. 
 
 The best guides, who move in the very highest society, have a 
 speaking acquaintance with all the principal mountains, and in- 
 variably obtain very civil answers from the most distant echoes. 
 They also address themselves to their journey in a manner that 
 makes the journey answer. They are very straightforward and 
 honest on the road ; at all events, whatever wrong they do, during 
 the excursion, is kept secret, as the steeps and heights never seem 
 to tell upon them. 
 
 If you go without a guide choose the safest path. 
 
 Amusements in the mountains. — If you want money, and can 
 
 The Ascent.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 407 
 
 draw, now is the time to turn the art to account : thus, make 
 friends with a Foreign Banker, take him up into a lonely spot, 
 then, when nobody's looking, take out your snicker-snee, and draw 
 upon him for any amount. 
 
 Never be unprovided with pencils, brushes, and paints ; if you 
 can execute light rapid sketches, you can do what our travelling 
 artist did, and turn your tour into ;i 
 carica-tour. 
 
 Maps. — Never travel in Switzer- 
 land without a Map ; never mind 
 what map, any one you've got by y<>u 
 will do. Don't forget a knapsack to 
 serve, as the name implies, for a sac 
 de nuit to sleep in. 
 
 Carry a flask made on tiie prin- 
 ciple of Houdin's inexhaustible 
 bottle. How's it done? Mustn't 
 tell ; it would be Robbin' Hoodin 
 the Conjuror of his secret. Come 
 along, will yer ! 
 
 Away ! Tourist ! Away ! 
 
 Hire a mule that will leap lightly 
 up the perpendiculars ; if you don't 
 fancy a mule, you'll find lots of 
 crev-asses all about the mountain. 
 
 Light your pipe and show the 
 donkey boys how to go up a mountain. A pipe is the 
 most independent companion that a traveller can have ; it 
 goes out with him, and it goes out without him. If you're a 
 great smoker it becomes a nuisance when you're riding, as, 
 though you want to keep on the mule's back, yet must you be 
 perpetually a-lighting. Gee up ! 
 
 Now for some sport. A shrill cry from a neighbouring bush 
 apprises you of the approach of the Wild Strawberry. Strike 
 spurs into your mule. Over ! Oh the pleasures of the chase ! 
 Tf you allow the Wild Strawberry to run to seed, you will lose it. 
 Stole away ! For'ard ! Yoicks ! As when hunting in Devonshire, 
 so here you will have to get off your horse and proceed on foot. 
 
 The bold muleteer.
 
 408 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 In rushing at your jumps, grasp your Alpen-stock, 'twill save you 
 from the Russian, or Rushing, proceeding of falling on your Pole. 
 Here you are at the Needelpin Crag, an ascent of some little diffi- 
 culty ; yet while you, the bold hunter, are shivering on the apex, 
 the Wild Strawberry has sprung up on the opposite of the 
 precipice. 
 
 i he Polar regions.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 409 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TOP OP THE RIGHI THE LAUGHABLE FARCE OF SUNRISE, OR FOUR 
 
 IX THE MORNING VARIATIONS OF DESCENT THE CAUTIOUS 
 
 CROCODILE THE WEGGIS SIDE WILLIAM TELL — MOUNT PILATUS 
 
 LEGEND — LUCERNE THE LION OF THE PLACE GRUTLI TOKO 
 
 THE DANE. 
 
 K 
 
 T FOUR o'clock in the morning the happy peasants on 
 the top of the Righi blow their cow's-horns, and the 
 
 Cold without. 
 
 miserable visitors, who are just dropping gently into their first 
 sleep (for anything beyond a feverish snooze has been utterly 
 impracticable up to this hour), will doubtless " blow those horns " 
 too, but nevertheless they will grumble and get up to look at 
 the sunrise ; not because they like it, but because it is the proper
 
 410 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 thing to do, and is in fact the aim and end they've had in view 
 all along. 
 
 Swaddled in rugs and blankets the shivering Tourist appears in 
 front of the hotel. As a rule, the sunrise is an utter failure, 
 though it ought not to be, considering how many times it has gone 
 through the part before. Like almost all theatrical artistes, 
 Glorious Apollo gets very careless. Stars are not free from 
 fault, and the Sun is suffering from the force of bad example. 
 
 We believe that he has 
 lately got into a very low 
 Sun set. Unless they've 
 improved their arrange- 
 ments with new scenery, 
 decorations, and appoint- 
 ments since we've been 
 there, you must not expect 
 anything more than a con- 
 fused mass of clouds and 
 mist ; and the only rise 
 you're likely to see, is the 
 rise which is pretty certain 
 to be taken out of the 
 angry audience, who, how- 
 ever, if they are free 
 Britons, may use their 
 privilege as such, and hiss 
 the entire performance. 
 The cow-horn players actually have the impudence to go round 
 and ask for money from the assembled Tourists. Of course you 
 will simply say that " you never give to people in the streets," 
 and should they artfully suggest that " you can give it them in 
 the House," you can pretend not to understand ; or, should you feel 
 yourself sufficiently strong for the occasion, you can literally "take 
 them in," and " pay them out " in a novel and unexpected manner. 
 The next movement is to get some breakfast, and then ask for 
 your bill. When you've got your bill, do not at once cut your 
 stick, which would be, what a low-bred woodman might call, a 
 specimen of bill-hooking it. 
 
 No. I.- -"Merrily, oh!"
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 411 
 
 The Young Jack and Jill having gone up the hill must now 
 come down ; and here will be an opportunity for Jack to show his 
 a-Jill-ity. It takes about two hours and a half to ascend the 
 Righi, and it takes a quarter of an hour to descend. There are 
 several modes of downward progression; which would probably 
 be described by any Orthodox Churchman as the Variations of 
 Descent. No. 1 is called — 
 
 The Flying Fluteplayer.—Koldi your Alpen-stock like a flute, 
 and whistle a tune, if you 
 can, to assist the illusion. 
 Stretch out one leg, which- 
 ever you like ; march, quick 
 time, don't stop playing the 
 flute, and away you go. — 
 N.B. Paper, pens, ink, and 
 the usual forms for making 
 your will, can be obtained 
 at the Righi Culm, and the 
 obliging landlord will, for a 
 consideration, be a witness 
 to anything. No. 2 is 
 termed — 
 
 The Venturesome V. — Sit 
 down in the shape of a V, 
 keeping your hands disen- 
 gaged, so as to save your- 
 self from bumping against the sharp projections, which would 
 otherwise annoy the unwary traveller. No. 3 is known as — 
 
 The Cautious Crocodile, and is, perhaps, better adapted for the 
 pi-ogress of invalids and elderly gentlemen than either of the above. 
 
 We advise the Tourist to descend on the Weggis side, where the 
 Lake of Lucerne is. Here you are in the land of William Tell, as 
 the boatman will tell you, and where also you will be toll'd for 
 your boat. The traveller, who understands German, should take 
 Schiller's Wilhelm Tell in his pocket ; and the traveller, who doesn't 
 understand it, will, if he take it, keep it there. Here you will see 
 the giant mountain, Mount Pilatus. There is an old legend con- 
 cerning the derivation of the name which everybody knows, and 
 
 No. 2. Coming down on the Weggis side.
 
 412 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 according to some, the title is only a corruption of Pileatus, which 
 means " Capped," in allusion to the ceremony always observed by 
 the superstitious peasantry on looking in that direction. Be the 
 derivation from the story of Pilatus or the fact of being Pileatus, 
 one thing is certain, that, as the mountain can always give certain 
 
 prophetic signs of a coming 
 storm, surer even than those 
 of Admiral Fitzroy, he, the 
 mountain, not the Admiral, 
 may be considered as the 
 safest Pilot on the lake. 
 
 Land at Lucerne, and 
 heartily admire the memo- 
 rial Lion. Think of Sir 
 Edwin Landseer, the Nelson 
 Column, the Squirts of Tra- 
 falgar Square, the Lowther 
 Arcade, and rejoice in your 
 proud birthright. 
 
 Visit Tell's Chapel on the 
 lake ; then, to his memory 
 drink with spirit in the 
 waters of freedom at Griitli ', 
 but be cautious as to the 
 amount of spirit mixed with 
 the waters, lest, in keeping the patriot's memory, you lose your ow T n. 
 There have been fierce disputes as to the existence of Tell, who is, 
 some captious Prigs assert, a Swiss Mrs. Harris. The same story, 
 they urge, was told of one Toko in Denmark. It is within our pro 
 vince to set them right. The story of the Danish gentleman was 
 promulgated by the friends of Gessler, the oppressive Governor, 
 who, as we all know, got Toko from Tell. Hence the mistake. 
 
 The Tourist in Switzerland who wishes always to be a dandy in 
 dress, should be provided with Murray's invaluable Handbook for 
 Bucks. 
 
 Now then, let us get to Thun, and if we have time, visit 
 Interlachen, which will bring us to the last scene of all that will 
 end this strange eventful history. 
 
 No. 3. — "Again he urges on his wild 
 career."
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 413 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IXTERLACHEX — SWISS VILLAGES VISITORS — -THE JUNGFRATJ — MIN- 
 STREL BOYS HOTELS RIFLE CLUBS DANGER SIGNALS — 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY SIR E. G. LYTTON-BULWER. 
 
 NTERLACHEN is of 
 that picturesque order of 
 Swiss villages contained in a 
 child's toy-box. The plan in 
 its most original construe- 
 tion, is, as is the work of 
 every truly great mind, of 
 the very simplest descrip- 
 tion; consisting in fact of 
 one side of a street and a 
 row of trees, and is in conse- 
 quence admirably adapted for 
 obviating the necessity of a 
 voluminous guide-book, as 
 there is not the smallest 
 chance of losing your way. 
 The residents are hotel- 
 keepers, lodging-house 
 keepers, and purveyors of the 
 necessaries of life. Duringthe 
 season they are busy enough, 
 but -when the Tourists have 
 departed, it is supposed that, to keep themselves in good 
 practice, they stop at one another's houses, going through 
 the pantomime of paying money, and the laughable farce 
 of making out the bill, in the most Inn-correct manner. 
 The visitors in the summer are Americans, English, and 
 waiters. We begin to think that somewhere or other, Heaven 
 only knows where, there is a Cosmopolitan Canton populated 
 entirely by waiters, possessing no nationality in particu 
 lar ; where the children are born waiters, and from the 
 
 I'm monarch of aM I survey."
 
 414 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 moment of their beginning to talk at all, speak five languages with 
 equal incorrectness and facility. Perhaps 'tis this mysterious spot 
 that the retired waiter seeks, when the familiar "Coming" is about 
 to change into the sure and certain " Going." Perhaps 'tis here 
 that there is an Asylum for Dumb Waiters ; a charitable Institu- 
 tion presided over, may be, by a Side-board of Directors. But we 
 are wandering : let us return to Interlachen. Every window in 
 
 front commands sonic sort 
 of view of the Jungfrau, 
 and from the back you can 
 gaze upon the swift-running 
 waters of the Aar, and the 
 steep hill on the opposite 
 bank, called the Harder ; 
 a name evidently given to 
 it by the many English 
 pedestrians, who have found 
 the meadow bank on the 
 Interlachen side the Easier. 
 There is one street-musical 
 nuisance, that comes out in 
 the evening in the shape of 
 a band of five Swiss Min- 
 strels in the national cos- 
 tume who favour the com- 
 pany with what they are 
 pleased to call a song. 
 Shooting the Beaver. Despite the accuracy of the 
 
 "get up," we have our 
 doubts as to the genuineness of these minstrels' nationality, for, 
 coming upon them at an unguarded moment, we couldn't help fancy- 
 ing that we heard the chief singer talking with just the least taste 
 in life of a brogue ; and, but for the assurance of a learned philolo- 
 gist, that there is a close affinity between the two languages, we 
 could have sworn that the speaker was from the County Tip. 
 
 The gardens of the two principal hotels, we forget their names, 
 adjoin one another, which is a very pleasant discovery for Jones, 
 who had purposely gone to the one in order to avoid those Browns
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 415 
 
 who arc putting up at the other — Jones' reason for this being that 
 he cannot put up with the Browns. How charmed then is he to 
 find that there is nothing to divide them ! May be he has 
 whispered soft nothings in Miss Letitia's finely chiselled, in this 
 instance very finely chiselled, ear, or pressed her younger sister's 
 hand, or done both impartially, which is embarrassing ; or there 
 may be that little matter of a few pounds still standing 'twixt 
 
 
 
 u\;\ \ 
 
 The grasshopper monstroserus. 
 
 Jones and Old Brown, which causes Brown to be very glad to 
 meet Jones, but occasions no reciprocity of sentiment in the latter 
 gentleman's breast. The gardens form the stage for the perform- 
 ance of many little comic dramas of every-day life. 
 
 The Tourist who is fond of shooting, or who takes an interest 
 in the Volunteer Movement in his own country, will do well to 
 walk along the banks of the Aar, when the members of the Swiss 
 Rifle Club are practising. The Switzers take up position in a hut 
 about a hundred yards from the river, on the Tnterlachen side :
 
 416 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 the Target is fixed upon the opposite bank of the Aar. The 
 happy and unsuspecting Tourist cannot be too noisy during this 
 walk. We advise him to be constantly shouting out " Hi ! " or 
 " Ho ! " or " Hiho ! " or " Hilliho ! " or in fact anything he likes, 
 and as loud as he can, in order to attract the attention of the 
 marksmen, who, from their guarded position, cannot see anybody 
 coming, and the pedestrian will be lucky if the first inkling that 
 he gets of his proximity to the rifles, is hearing a whirr, and then 
 
 "Strange things come up to look at us." 
 
 The Admiral 
 
 the sharp report at no great distance from him. We say he will 
 be lucky, as the ball may be through your hat or your head before 
 you know where you are. 
 
 One middle-aged Englishman of nervous temperament held up 
 his new hat, and shouted to the riflemen to show that he was 
 there. The Switzers mistook this for a challenge to their skill 
 in hitting a new kind of target, and in less than five seconds as 
 many bullets riddled his bran-new gossamer. To go upon all-fours 
 is no protection, as they might take you for a beast, and though 
 their firing at you under these circumstances would be pardonable,
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 417 
 
 nay, even commendable, yet it is admitted on all hands, that 
 whether you are killed by mistake for somebody or something 
 else, or on purpose, the result to yourself is equally unpleasant. 
 Perhaps, after this, the conclusion to which you will come, if you 
 do not come to any other unfortunately premature conclusion as 
 above mentioned, will be the sensible one of not walking on the 
 banks of the river Aar. 
 
 If the Tourist is fond of Natural History, and for the matter of 
 that, if he isn't, he will come across some curious specimens of the 
 Insect tribe, and some too curious specimens of the insect tribe 
 will come across him. We never realised Spiders until we saw 
 them in this neighbourhood ; neither could we have imagined to 
 what a Grasshopper might come at last, if it once had its own 
 way. There was once upon a time a Pantomime called the 
 Butterfly's Bait, where all the insects were as big as men, but 
 even in those early days of oranges in the boxes to keep us quiet, 
 we knew that they were men, because we saw their legs, and con- 
 sequently did not cry after making that discovery ; and there used 
 to be at the Polytechnic a lecturer of cruel tendencies, who was 
 wont to frighten children under the shallow pretence of instruc- 
 tion, by showing them a drop of Thames water magnified. Do 
 you re«x>ll«et those black, crawling, swimming, darting, jerking, 
 unplea^uut animalcula3 ? They were not nice to look at ; but we 
 swallowed them then, and do now, in spite of a patent filter and 
 the Thames Commissioners. Well, these awful beings are nothing 
 to the sweet creatures inhabiting the fields on the Harder Bank oi 
 the Aar. 
 
 In the heat of the day you go to sleep among the long grass, 
 and are dreaming that her dear face is beaming upon you with 
 love and tenderness, when suddenly you are awakened to a dread 
 reality, to which, in our terrified opinion, the Dweller on the 
 Threshold, in Sir E. Lytton-Bulwer's Zanoni, is not for one in3tant 
 to be compared. 
 
 E K
 
 418 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE LAUTER-BRttNNEN ROAD — UNSPUNNEN — THE LEGEND. 
 
 THE Poetical Tourist will make a point of walking along the 
 Lauter-briinnen Eoad, only stopping at the Castle of 
 Unspunnen, the reputed residence of the amiable but mis- 
 takenly impulsive Manfred, to call for Mr. Phelps.* Somebody 
 writing concerning this castle has observed, that, " from its posi- 
 tion in front of the high Alps, Lord Byron must have had it in 
 his eye." That the noble Poet, not being exempted from the 
 ills to which all flesh is heir, might have had, at some 
 time or another, a stye in his eye, is probable ; that he ever had 
 a castle in it, is simply impossible. A gifted Cockney Tourist 
 however, actually observed, that, " If Lord Byron 'ad a stye in 
 the heye, he might 'ave 'ad a castle in the 'air." The Legend of 
 the Castle of Unspunnen is a very touching one, and will be sung 
 to you by any peasant for a mere song. The following is a transla- 
 tion, adapted to the well-known and once exceedingly popular air, 
 VUWcins and his Dinah : — 
 
 THE LEGEND OF IDA, THE BOLD BARON'S CHILD. 
 
 The Baron. Old Buskard the Baron, the last of his race, 
 Had a very big body, and very red face, 
 That he came of a right Royal Stock, some suppose, 
 
 His nose, From the purple he constantly wore on his nose. 
 
 And Chorus. Singing: tooral li, tooral, &c. 
 
 Hisdomici- In Unspunnen Castle this Baron did dwell, 
 
 lihUffh 
 
 He had but one daughter, a werry fine Swiss gal, 
 The Heiress. Her name it was Ida, with a fortune that seems 
 with air A whole heap o' money when told in centimes, 
 and chorus. Singing : tooral I, tooral I, tooral 1 da. 
 
 * Who took the part of this Immoral Philosopher at Drury Lane Theatre, 
 1863.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 419 
 
 Wh said. He Sai(i the Baron one day, in a very stern voice, 
 " I want you to marry the man of my choice." 
 
 m<U id Sht SayS She ' " I can5t do it; ; " sa ^ s the Baron > " For why ? " 
 
 " 'Cos/ says she, « I love Rudolph," says the Baron, " My I— 
 
 — da," tooral I, tooral I , tooral I da. 
 
 "I love Rudolph." 
 
 ms Wrath. When the Baron heard this he was furious and riled, 
 And he bullied his daughter, who patiently smiled, 
 Which annoyed him so much, that he hit at her crown, 
 
 Eiderdown. And u-pon a feather bed he knocked Ida down. 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 Hisswailoiv. Then he bolted the door and he locked it outside, 
 
 " You shall never come out to be that Rudolph's bride ; " 
 Then he kicked all his servants impartial^, 
 The Menials Till the menials each felt like a vassal at sea. 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 ie2
 
 420 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 Hash Oath. While the Baron was a-swearing just like any think, 
 A Wink. Rudolph, at her window, saw Miss Ida wink, 
 
 He squeezed through the iron bars, being but thin ; 
 A Lovier. "While the Baron " let out," he was being let in. 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 1 The Loviers. 
 
 What They To Zahringen the fond loviers ran away, 
 
 And the Baron -waged war upon Rudolph next day, 
 
 Tactics. It lasted some time, as they went on this plan, 
 Each alternately fought and alternately ran. 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 At the end of two years, p'raps, or rather before, 
 The Door. The B ar0 n one night heard a knock at his door, 
 
 Sharp as hit with the stick that the Scotch use at " Golf," 
 It was Mister and Missis and Master Rudolph. 
 
 Chonisasuc- Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 fore.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 421 
 
 Then his daughter knelt down, and said she, " I'm a Ma' ; " 
 Baby. Then held up an infant, " so like Grandpapa ! " 
 
 And the Baron, who had of real feeling no lack, 
 Emotion andFelt hysterica passio all up his back. 
 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 The Blessing. 
 
 Moral. 
 
 " Oh, bless you, my Ida, my Rudolph and Boy ! " 
 Said the Baron ; and all from that moment was Joy ! 
 And they wrote 'neath the crest that belongs to their kin, 
 " Love locked out of doors by the window gets in." 
 Tooral I, tooral I, tooral I da. 
 
 So much for the Baron and his fair daughter Ida.
 
 422 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 INTERLACHEN CONTINUED LAUTER-BRUNNEN ROAD DISCONTINUED — 
 
 HOTEL EN PENSION EGGS IS EGGS LAKE OF BRIENZ 
 
 GIESSBACH PALLS THE FAULHORN POPULAR ORNITHOLOGY — 
 
 NATIONAL PHYSIOGNOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY. 
 
 UNLESS the Tourist is 
 going to somewhero 
 else, he will not pursue 
 the Lauter-briinnen Road any 
 farther. On his return to the 
 hotel at Interlachen, the 
 pedestrian will probably be 
 inclined to walk into his 
 dinner. The real economist, 
 by the way, will never live 
 en pension. It sounds very 
 nice ; only six francs a day 
 for everything/ You agree, 
 and commence, let us say, 
 with breakfast, Being an 
 Englishman, and accustomed 
 to make rather a substantial 
 affair of your first meal in 
 the day, you are somewhat surprised when the waiter brings you a 
 small coffee-pot holding about a cup and a half, a diminutive and 
 aerial-looking French roll, one small thin pat of butter, and a kind 
 of large earthenware salt-cellar filled with lump sugar. It is true 
 that whatever is deficient in bread and butter is certainly made 
 up to you in saccharine nutriment ; but, eke it out as you will, 
 this is hardly a substitute for the fish, meat, and eggs of the 
 domestic table. The guileless traveller will probably call the 
 waiter, and order a couple of eggs, and some more bread. At 
 midday, the simple Simon will further command a light repast, 
 and, while enjoying himself with a cold collation, will say to a 
 
 "I'm a-looking at you.
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHEBK 
 
 423 
 
 friend, " Capital idea this, you know ; I'm living en pension ; only 
 six francs a day, and it includes everything:' The friend, being 
 perhaps unwilling to disturb this blissful state of ignorance, will 
 perhaps say, in a tone of surprise, " Oh, does it 1" If the Tourist 
 be of a fidgety turn, he will repeat these words to himself in his 
 friend's absence in the form of an inquiry as to " what's he mean 
 by ' oh, does it V " The explanation, which will be given in the 
 bill at the end of the week, will 
 probably cause the simple one to 
 lengthen his face and shorten his 
 stay. " Why," says the indignant 
 gentleman, " I thought en pennon 
 included everything, and here (em- 
 phatically dapping the little account) 
 I find eggs charged extra." 
 
 " Yes, M'sieu," explains the polite 
 garcon, " but M'sieu must understand 
 that everything in an en pension 
 sense means only the regulation 
 breakfast provided by the hotel. 
 Some coffee, a little bread, some milk, 
 some sugar, is everything that " 
 
 " But — surely — Eggs — you know 
 " gasps the Tourist. 
 
 " Ah ! M'sieu, eggs are not every- 
 thing." 
 
 And so the Tourist having learnt 
 that, as at home so abroad, "Eggs "Overi" 
 
 is eggs," and that the comprehensive 
 
 Everything often means almost Nothing, packs up his portmanteau 
 and returns to England a wiser and a sadder man. But he mustn't 
 pack, and he mustn't go back, until he has seen the sights round 
 about Interlachen ; unless indeed his economical living en pension 
 has rendered his departure an inevitable necessity. Seek then the 
 Lake of Brienz and the Giessbach Falls. If you are a member of 
 the Alpine Club, you will take your way to the Lake of Brienz by 
 ascending the Faulhorn, and walking along a pleasant footpath 
 which cannot be attempted without a guide ; so take this Work
 
 424 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 with you, and there'll be nothing to fear. When on a dizzy 
 height, or a dangerous pass, such as the one first mentioned, never 
 look down at the depths below yon — such a proceeding is frauo-hi 
 with danger ; on the other hand, you will find that the method 
 practised by some, of invariably keeping your eyes steadfastly 
 fixed on the sky, is not entirely without its own peculiar dis- 
 advantages. The woods about the Giessbach Falls offer many 
 charms to the naturalist. Here the rare hen Cockeyolly Bird 
 pipes her tuneful lay ; a peculiar note it is, and specimens of this 
 Ornithological curiosity may be seen in the Lowther Arcade, the 
 Pantheon, and the German Bazaar. 
 
 In Switzerland the Physiologist will notice the glorious type of 
 Face, immortalised by the carvers of wooden match-boxes, nutmeg- 
 graters, and ornamental paper-knives. The searcher after Physical 
 Facts may try to ascertain if their heads come off; but we believe 
 they do not, as a rule ; still there's no harm in making the 
 experiment, if agreeable to the peasant. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW TO WINTER AT ROME — JESUITS FRIARS — ROMEWARDS AND 
 
 HOMEWARDS " BOCK AGEN " BUBBLES, TOILS, AND TROUBLES — 
 
 FLEXIBLE BATH ITS ADVANTAGES ST. GOARSHAUSEN ALL 
 
 A-BLOWING A MUSICAL MANIAC. 
 
 THE Tour is finished. From Antwerp to Interlachen has 
 been done, and nothing now remains but to quit. " To 
 those whom Providence has blessed with affluence," we say, 
 winter at Rome ; and as, in that case, the present Guide must 
 unfortunately be absent, let one general piece of advice be given 
 and acted upon ; namely, " ' Do ' at Rome ; as they ' do ' at 
 Rome." 
 
 If an intelligent and enlightened Protestant, be on your guard : 
 such is the ecclesiastical tyranny in this ancient city, that every 
 waiter in your hotel is obliged to take Orders, and you may look
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 425 
 
 upon each one of them as a Jesuit in disguise. Visit the hotel 
 kitchen, and in the man-cook behold a Friar. Being accustomed 
 to see the notice, "You are requested to take off your hat," stuck 
 up in your own St. Paul's, you will make a point of keeping it on, 
 there being no such requirement expressed in St. Peter's. 
 
 Pooh-pooh everything that is not strictly English, and show 
 your own superiority over the poor superstitious Italians by talk- 
 ing loudly in the churches, and criticising in any terms of artistic 
 slang with which you may be acquainted, the paintings that adorn 
 the interiors. The truth of the ancient Proverb will strike any 
 one after a walk round the City, viz., that "Rome was not built 
 in a day." We must not, however, forestall a future trip ; so, if 
 you be bound Romewards, our paths lie in opposite directions. 
 Farewell. Homewards, to the coast ; and we have nearly reached 
 the end, at all events the Ost-end, of our journey. And now, to 
 occupy the time taken up in retracing much of the old ground, 
 we will request the Traveller's attention to a few parting remarks, 
 the result of our own personal experience, which we will call — 
 
 BUBBLES FROM THE BRUNNEN ; OR, CONTINENTAL BATHS. 
 
 The order of the Bath is peculiarly English. None but the 
 cleanliest of nations would possess such an honourable decoration. 
 The terms arising out of the constant use of the bath enter largely 
 into our ordinary converse. A needy Toady, we are accustomed 
 to hear, " Sponges " upon his patron. The sour crab-apple-dis- 
 position'd man "throws cold water" upon every jovial proposition. 
 " How are you off for Soap ? " is an inquiry supposed to relate to 
 the financial resources of the party interrogated. The moral 
 teaching of those excellent institutions, " Baths and Wash-'uses," 
 is conveyed in the dingy chambers of a " Sponging House ; " and 
 many other instances will, we doubt not, occur to the careful 
 observer. Let us not be misunderstood. Foreigners enjoy a bathe 
 as much, nay perhaps more, than wo ourselves : but the domestic 
 matutinal "Tubbing" is, on the Oavtinent, comparatively un 
 known. The Tourist need not trouble himself to con the French, 
 Italian, or German, for " Bring us a hip-bath or saucer-bath," as 
 the case may be, because he won't get one, at least not what he
 
 426 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 wants. To remedy this great inconvenience, a certain cunning 
 artificer in india-rubber, invented a portable bath of that flexible 
 material. 
 
 It was capable of being reduced to the size of an ordinary table- 
 napkin when folded up, and might be carried in the coat-tail 
 pocket with as much facility as a pocket-handkerchief. There 
 were, and ever will be, a few disadvantages accompanying this 
 ingenious contrivance. The first is, that supposing you've got it 
 with you, every one in the carriage begins sniffing and observing 
 that there is " a strong smell of india-rubber somewhere." If you 
 are nervous or bashful, this is unpleasant. If you are neither one 
 nor the other, you will say, " Dear me, yes — these carriages are 
 not well ventilated," and will insist, homoeopath ically, upon 
 smoking a cigar. Again, its receptacle in your coat becomes for 
 ever after a very Pariah of pockets, and impregnates every article 
 that may be placed in it with a faint sickly smell of india-rubber. 
 
 This bath was fitted up with a brazen mouth-piece, which 
 rendered it a somewhat unpleasant companion in the hinder 
 pockets of any traveller, who, forgetful of his treasure, was in the 
 habit of impulsively jumping into railway carriages and sitting 
 down sharply. When required for use, you had to sit down on 
 the floor of your room, cross-legged like a tailor, and applying 
 your lips to the aforesaid mouth-piece, blow into it with the 
 vigour of at least three professional players sustaining a note 
 upon the gay bassoon. When we first travelled, we purchased 
 one of these curiosities, intending to go over the wide world like a 
 cleanly Diogenes. The tale of our tub was brought to a sudden 
 and unexpected conclusion. It was, if we recollect right, at St. 
 Goarshausen, that, while we, orientally squatting as above men- 
 tioned, were engaged in filling our bath with air, the intelligent 
 waiter entered our room, and on seeing our undignified occupation, 
 paused, stuttered out an apology, and quickly retired, leaving the 
 door partly open. Now to get up and shut this door would have 
 been, under the circumstances, a waste of breath, and therefore, 
 as we had still a cheerful half hour's " blow " before us, we pre- 
 ferred keeping our seat. In a few minutes a shuffling of feet in 
 the passage and a sort of " hush-hush-hushing " chorus, made us 
 aware of the presence of the landlord, landlady, his two daughters,
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 427 
 
 and other members of the establishment, not being otherwise 
 engaged, who were stealthily peeping into the room. Our host, 
 on observing that we stopped and probably appeared somewhat 
 angry, stepped forward, and by way of apology informed us, that 
 " he and his family were very musical : and so, hearing that the 
 English gentleman was just going to play a tune upon quite a 
 
 'A Tale of the Tub." 
 
 new kind of instrument, they had taken the liberty of being pre- 
 sent at the performance." This had evidently been the report of 
 the imaginative and artistic waiter. " My daughters," continued 
 the landlord, " have a piano in the house, and would accompany 
 you with pleasure. Does the English gentleman play by ear or 
 from notes 1 " After an explanation of the real use of the machine, 
 we were evidently considered as a harmless lunatic ; an opinion 
 shared in by everybody except the Boots, upon whose shoulders 
 was thrown the onerous duty of regularly, every morning during
 
 128 VE BY MUCH ABROAD. - 
 
 our week's stay, bringing two buckets full of water up to our 
 room, six flights of stairs above the level of the first landing. He 
 went through the work for three days, but on the fourth morning, 
 he, for we have no moral doubt that he it was, wreaked his 
 miserable vengeance upon us. On the previous afternoon he had 
 cut a hole in the bottom of the bath. Of course there was no one 
 who could, or if they could, would, mend it. His vengeance was 
 complete ; for as a bath of some sort was a necessity, we had to 
 take those at the bottom of the house, fitted up in its foundations, 
 to which we had to descend exactly eight flights of stairs. But 
 we were fertile in expedients for torturing the malicious menial ; 
 so we made him come up the usual six flights to fetch our sponge, 
 soap, towels, and hair-brushes ; descend eight flights following us on 
 our way to the bath ; and finally, when we had finished our ablu- 
 tions, he was summoned to ascend the eight flights, bearing the 
 ^foresaid requisites back again to our chamber. We had lost our 
 pet luxury, and now began our travels in search of a tub, with 
 what success shall be hereafter shown.
 
 HOW, WREN, AND WHERE, 
 
 429 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DIOGENES IN SEARCH OP A TUB — PARIS — HYDRAULIC PRESSURE — 
 
 SPIRITUALISM HOME AND ABROAD INFERNAL MACHINERY 
 
 NOBS — TUB THE FIRST NUMBER TWO LYONS A CURIOSITY 
 
 MARSEILLES STUDY FROM THE ANTIQUE FAMILY JAR. 
 
 THE travelling Dio- 
 genes commences his 
 search for a tub, let 
 us say at the Great 
 and Grand Hotel, Paris. 
 This hostelrie is fur- 
 nished with all sorts of 
 luxurious contrivances. 
 For instance, the room 
 that falls to your lot is 
 number one hundred 
 and sixty-five, at the 
 top of the house, ten 
 storeys high : an ob- 
 jection is upon the tip 
 of your tongue con- 
 cerning the number of 
 stairs which you'll have 
 to encounter, when> 
 presto ! up goes the room in which you are sitting, 
 before you can say Jack Robinson (we contend, by the 
 way, that this is far from being a natural exclamation 
 for any one when startled or surprised), you are landed 
 at the door of your lofty chamber. Thus it is that the 
 visitor is conveyed to his apartment by means of Hydraulic 
 pressure, and whenever he wants to descend, he is taken down 
 again by a Pneumatic Dispatch Pipe. Mr. Home, the Medium, 
 might be utilised here, if he could only carry weight, and go up 
 in the air with the Tourist's luggage, whenever required. Your 
 
 " Pneumatic Dispatch.' 
 
 hey 
 and
 
 430 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 boxes are unpacked by steam, and everything laid neatly in the 
 chest of drawers by a similar agency : in short, as far as our 
 
 memory serves us, 
 you are washed, 
 combed, brushed, 
 dressed, put to bed 
 and called in the 
 morning, all by ma- 
 chinery. Those who 
 hear that there is a 
 small Nob in every 
 room will set this 
 place down for a very aristocratic establishment. 
 
 The knob, however, is of brass, and, in lieu of a bell, communi- 
 cates with a battery that sends an electric spark into the waiter, 
 
 Oh, blow it.' 
 
 Fig. 1. 
 
 A plate with two figs. 
 
 Fig. 2. 
 
 who is calmly sitting — it may be, perchance, dozing — at the end of 
 the passage. Another wire jerks the number of your room out of 
 its place on the wall and suddenly obtrudes itself upon his notice. 
 The poor creature's attention being drawn to your requirements
 
 HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE. 
 
 431 
 
 by this really shocking process, he steps upon a sliding board and 
 glides into your apartment like an amiable Corsican brother's 
 ghost with his coat on. Give your order while the waiter's in the 
 
 Another Plate. 
 
 room ; with all these electric foi-ces about, there's no knowing 
 where he will be in another minute. The menial does not go 
 down-stairs to execute your commands : he knows a trick worth 
 two of that ; he sends a telegram to the cook, housekeeper, 
 
 -•\\ 
 
 Another. 
 
 boots, or whomsoever it may concern. Such are a few of the im- 
 provements with which you will meet in the Great and Grand 
 Hotel, Paris. Surely here Diogenes will obtain his matutinal 
 Tub? Let him try. We did, and this is what they sent us. 
 Nothing earthly did it resemble save a tin perambulator without
 
 432 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 its wheels. This curiosity was a tight fit for one, and held, if you 
 could have wedged yourself into it, about three teaspoonfuls of 
 water ; being also of Nautilus' shell shape, it laboured under the 
 disadvantage of not possessing, of itself, any power of remaining 
 in an upright position. We explained (by the Hotel Telegraph) 
 that what we required was a hip-bath, and the master of the hotel 
 returned us the polite answer, also by telegraph, that he had sent 
 us the only hip-bath in the house. 
 
 We changed our quarters, and experimentalised at a smaller 
 
 hotel. An intelligent waiter listened 
 to what we had to say, inquired what 
 amount of water we wished the ma- 
 chine to hold, and the time when we 
 should want it, as it was so often in 
 use. This sounded well, so we told 
 him our usual hour, and went to bed 
 looking forward to the joys of the 
 morning. Punctually came the Gargon 
 and brought us a nondescript copper 
 vessel ; it might have been a sauce- 
 pan, and it might have served for a 
 frying-pan ; for our part, judging 
 from its grimy state, we believe that 
 it had been used in both capacities ; 
 but whatever it might have been, 
 there was. one thing which it most certainly was not, and that 
 was, a bath. The waiter informed us that it was what they 
 called a bath, and would we make haste, as there was another 
 gentleman, an Englishman, waiting for it. We generously gave 
 up our claim, in order to send it on to him forthwith, and we hope 
 he liked it. 
 
 Our next inquiry was made at Lyons. Here they gave us a 
 large flower-pot. This might have served for one foot at a time, 
 had the aperture common to these articles been stuffed up with 
 some more durable substance than mud. 
 
 At Marseilles we were introduced to a very remarkable specimen 
 of the antique. At first sight we set it down for a petrified mitre ; 
 but the bowl and three legs rendered this position untenable. 
 
 A Hip Bath?
 
 HOW, WREN, AND WHERE. 
 
 433 
 
 Being brazen, it occurred to us that it was not very far removed 
 from an inverted helmet ; but here again the legs came in our 
 way and floored us. As to using it for the ablutionary purposes 
 of a sponging bath, that was simply impossible. There was no 
 sitting or standing room in it. We passed about half-an-hour in 
 trying to invent some method of adapting this vessel to our needs. 
 We failed to devise a plan, and ended 
 as usual by either going to the bath- 
 room or taking a dip in the river. 
 
 At Nice all trouble of exercising 
 our ingenuity was saved us by the 
 production of an article which the 
 waiter evidently regarded as an un- 
 equalled work of art. He showed it 
 to us with some pride. "M'sieu wants 
 a bath for his apartment ; here it is, 
 
 see ! " We did see : the thing would 
 
 Mentone" Bath. 
 
 have been nothing more nor less than 
 a fishing-can, had it not borne an 
 equal resemblance to a slop-pail, and 
 was like neither one nor the other, 
 inasmuch as it possessed four up- 
 right handles, which, as far as we could make out, rendered 
 it useless fcr any object save that of ornament, for which, seeing 
 that it was a dirty old green tin, it was perhaps scarcely qualified. 
 
 At Genoa they brought us a tea-urn, with the heater in it 
 complete. 
 
 At Mentone, after a very great deal of trouble, the politest of 
 landlords with much delight, flattered himself that he at all events 
 had succeeded in suiting the English taste, in the way of tubs, to 
 a nicety, and assisted by three civil and obliging waiters, entered 
 our room in great triumph, lugging in a gigantic Oil Jar. Had he 
 wished to put us quietly out of the way, by the landlady playing 
 Morgiana to our Forty Thieves, this would not have been a bad 
 method of accomplishing his design. So far, the tub was not yet 
 discovered. 
 
 F F
 
 434 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 STILL IN SEARCH OF A TUB — ZERMATT — CASUS JELLY — ST. NICHOLAS 
 
 " A FLORENTINE JOKE 
 
 -BOLOGNA TURIN SORROW RESO- 
 
 LUTION ACTION THE CLIFFS OF ALBION THE DISCOVERY 
 
 " REST AND BE THANKFUL " AT HOME. 
 
 HE little village of Zermatt 
 is now a place of popular 
 resort for Tourists, of whom 
 ^v no small proportion are pe- 
 destrians. Each of these 
 gentlemen who foot it merrily, 
 is himself a Diogenes in search 
 of a Tub ; and therefore we 
 sincerely trust that in the 
 course of the next century 
 the supply of sponging baths 
 may equal the demand. The 
 waiter placed no difficulty in 
 the way of furnishing us with 
 our tub, and, after a delay, of 
 some twenty minutes, passed 
 by us in the dreamy antici- 
 pation of coming pleasure, 
 the good-natured server en- 
 tered our apartment carrying 
 a Zermatt sponging bath. It was a jelly mould ! Considered as a 
 jelly mould, it was undoubtedly a fine specimen of its kind, and 
 would turn out a grand angularly-peaked shape, enough to satisfy 
 the requirements of sixteen sweet-toothed people ; but, regarding 
 it, as we did, in the light of a substitute for a hip-bath or tub, we 
 couldn't honestly say very much in its favour. We explained our 
 wants to the landlord, who forthwith upbraided the waiter pretty 
 freely for his stupidity, and finished by bringing us a gold-fish 
 bowl, with the live stock swimming about in it. 
 
 At St. Nicholas they gave us a vase, of the same shape as that 
 one, which every one knows, with the two birds perched vis-a-vis 
 
 The Bill 1
 
 HOW, WREN, AND WHERE. 435 
 
 on the two handles, and evidently bent upon taking the first oppor- 
 tunity of drinking whatever may be poured into it. Well, this was 
 just the same as the one above mentioned, only without the birds. 
 
 At Florence, we, still as Diogenes, were introduced to a most 
 startling pantomime trick in the shape of a castellated washing- 
 tub. It was shallow, but its width compensated for want of depth, 
 and though a sitting position in consequence of the pointed corners 
 was impracticable, yet we really hoped that here at last we should 
 be able to obtain a good sponging bath in our own room. Alas ! the 
 tub was made up of ever so many separate bits of wood, like a puzzle, 
 held together with a belt of the thinnest wood, which, just as we 
 had poured in the contents of our can, even to the very last drop, 
 suddenly snapped asunder, and in another second, boots, stockings, 
 slippers, and hastily thrown-down clothes were a prey to the wild 
 unbounded waters. 
 
 Bologna became memorable in our annals by reason of their 
 having been very indignant at our denying the properties of a 
 sponging bath to a gigantic bread-basket, with a stiff wooden 
 handle. 
 
 T. stands for Turin and tea-pot. 'Twas a curious old specimen, 
 and an interesting object to us at any other time. But when you 
 want a good substantial cut from the Roast Beef of old England, 
 the sight of a Pompeian dish-cover will scarcely afford you an 
 equal amount of satisfaction. 
 
 No, we could bear it no longer ; fairly broken down by so many 
 trials and disappointments, we sat down and wept. At that sad 
 moment the strains of music — soft, soothing music — fell upon our 
 ears ; and, upon the evening draught, which came up through the 
 long hotel passage, in at the chinks of our doer, daintily flavoured 
 from the kitchen, there was wafted to us a melody divinely 
 soporific. We have got some ear for music, and this air reminded 
 us strongly of " Home, Sweet Home," though, for the matter of that, 
 it wasn't a bit like it. 
 
 Dover ! Hurrah ! We would stop nowhere until in the comforts 
 of our own old home, our own dear warm bedroom, we indulged in 
 Our Tub. 
 
 Arrived ! Ring the bell ! down with the luggage ! How much, 
 Cabman 1 Six shillings. Too much, but the rascal thinks I'm a
 
 430 
 
 VERY MUCH ABROAD 
 
 foreigner. Ha ! ha ! ha 
 
 good that. 
 
 Here you are ; off he goes, 
 
 without a sign of gratitude. Ha ! Mary — all well at home 1 That's 
 good. Didn't expect us so soon ? Oh ! no fire in our bed-room ? 
 Then light one — quick. No dinner 1 Then get a steak, 
 
 bachelors resource ; 
 or chops ; or — any- 
 thing. Here we are 
 in our own bedroom : 
 neat and cosy ; fire 
 blazing up. Travel- 
 ling does make one 
 so dirty and mucky. 
 Large tin hip-bath in 
 the cornel' — out with 
 it. We are all alone ; 
 and drag it from 
 its recess ; then pro- 
 ceed to unpack our 
 sponges. Mary, the 
 towels ! Here they 
 arc ; and the hair- 
 gloves. Now for a 
 rubber before dinner. 
 Bring two cans of 
 water, Mary — quick. 
 What's that she says ? Eh ! Can't have a bath 1 What does the girl 
 mean? Why, here itis. Eh! what's that? Somethingthematterwith 
 the cistern ; no water come in to-day. No water ! Do we pay rates, 
 taxes — pooh ! What do you say ? Man has been here ; says there's 
 something wrong with the ball-cock, does he ? Hang the ball-cock ! 
 Oh ! you have got some water from next door ? Enough for my 
 hands — ha ! ha ! But not enough for a bath ! Doesn't Britannia 
 rule the waves ? And this, this is England ! This, this is Home ! 1 
 
 'Go tj Bath." 
 
 BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. I.IMT., PRINTERS, WII1TEFRIARS.
 
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