D. F. On the contrary, I have only recently acquired the English word, "Yes." Curiously enough, this is my first voyage of discovery to your shores. I had, of course, often heard of England, and your literature is not unfamiliar to me. My secretary reads to me the works of your popular poet, Robert Browning.

Int. Do you not, with your—er—limited knowledge, if I may so say, of our language, find that writer's meaning somewhat obscure?

D. F. Oh no; for my secretary translates him into idiomatic French verse at sight.

Int. M. Zola has also only recently discovered us. How do your novelists find the necessary models for their English types?

D. F. Nothing simpler. Tradition, voilà tout. The Englishwoman, with her large feet, projecting teeth, and execrable French—we know her because we have always known her. It is not necessary to have seen her in the flesh. Indeed, it is only a marvel to me that I find the type so rare in its own country.

Int. Might I dare to ascribe such traditional views to the prejudice of ignorance? Your Press, I believe, does not educate itself by foreign travel.

D. F. I cannot speak for others, but personally, if I do not offend the laws of courtesy by saying this in the city whose hospitality I now enjoy, I detest your race. I regard you as insular.

Int. We cannot, of course, help being born on an island. But we correct this defect by constant visits to the mainland, and from these we have learnt a profound respect for the tastes of our neighbours.

D. F. I am greatly gratified by this. Nothing has impressed me so favourably here as your cordial appreciation of our people. I met a distinguished British novelist who was actually acquainted with the literature of my own Provence!

Int. May I ask what other features of our comparatively inaccessible island have attracted your notice?

D. F. Above all things else, the sinister silence of your city. On the Stock Exchange, down Cheapside, among vendors of journals, you can hear a pin drop. Everywhere the taciturnity of the tomb.

Int. And what of our institutions and types?

D. F. Nothing has impressed me so deeply as the Great Wheel at Earl's Court. It is a monument of national ardour and aspiration. This, and Mr. Stanley, and your guardsmen, and your way of cooking meat, have left the most indelible impression upon my sentiment and constitution. I dislike the last two of them.

Int. In cooking, we freely yield you the saucepan. But how has our military given you offence?

D. F. I object to the size of its chest, and its manner of occupying the pavement. I have seen a guardsman in Whitehall against whom, in the heyday of my youth, I should indubitably have projected my person.

Int. It would have been a rash and perhaps irreparable act. But tell me more. Kindly hold up once again the veracious mirror, that we may see ourselves as others see us. We are so apt to be blind to our own national defects, unless the impartial observer, like yourself, throws a flood of light upon our idiosyncrasies.

D. F. I should like a few more days in which to complete my study, and verify my anticipations, of your interesting city. Meanwhile, let me refer you to M. Gabriel Mourey's new work—Passé le Détroit. The Ulysses of our century, he has gained a wide knowledge of your race, having been a fearless traveller in L'Underground, and seen some of your most typical fogs. You may learn much from him. He is read eagerly at home, where the thirst for books of romantic travel and exploration grows hourly. I wish you the good day. Yes.

A Teetotal Tip.—How to Live Long—Never take "something short."

Scene—A Restaurant near Leicester Square.

Jones. "Oh—er—Garsong, regardez eecee—er—apportez-voo le—la——"

Waiter. "Beg pardon, Sir. I don't know French!"

Jones. "Then, for goodness' sake, send me Somebody who does!"

'ARRY ON DERBY DAY.