whip-cracking, which possesses in such fury all the coachmen on the Continent.

Wonder in what century the historian will relate that a Frenchman was seen walking in the country for amusement.

Wonder why it is that when one calls a Paris waiter, he always answers, "V'la, M'sieu," and then invariably vanishes.

Wonder when Swiss tourists will abstain from buying alpenstocks which they don't know how to use, and which are branded with the names of mountains they would never dare to dream of trying to do more than timidly look up to.

Wonder in what age of progress a sponge-bath will be readily obtainable abroad, in places most remote, and where Britons least do congregate.

Wonder if French ladies, who are as elegant in their manners as they are in their millinery, will ever acquire the habit of eating with their lips shut.

Wonder when it will be possible to travel on the Rhine, without hearing feeble jokelets made about the "rhino."

Mrs. Vanoof (shopping in Paris). "Now let me see what you've got extra special."

Salesman. "Madam, we 'ave some ver' fine Louis treize."

Mr. Vanoof. "Trays, man! What do we want with trays!"

Mrs. Vanoof. "Better try one or two; they're only a louis."]

L'AXONG D'ALBIONG

"Oh—er—pardong, Mossoo—may kelly le shmang kilfoker j'ally poor ally Allycol Militair?"

"Monsieur, je ne comprends pas l'Anglais, malheureusement!"

[Our British Friend is asking for the way to the École Militaire.

BREAKING THE ICE

Scene—Public drawing-room of hotel in the Engadine.

The Hon. Mrs. Snobbington (to fair stranger). "English people are so unsociable, and never speak to each other without an introduction. I always make a point of being friendly with people staying at the same hotel. One need never know them afterwards!"

"TIP" NOT GOOD ENOUGH

The Delamere-Browns, who have been spending their honeymoon trip in France, have just taken their seats on the steamer, agreeably conscious of smart clothes and general well-being, when to them enters breathlessly, Françoise, the "bonne" from the hotel, holding on high a very dirty comb with most of its teeth missing.

Françoise (dashing forward with her sweetest smile). "Tiens! J'arrive juste à point! Voilà un peigne que madame a laissé dans sa chambre!" [Tableau!

'ARRY IN 'OLLAND

'Arry. "I say, Bill, ain't he a rum lookin' cove?"

A BATH AT BOULOGNE

Appalling position of Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins, who had a jib horse when the tide was coming in.

"STRANGERS YET"

First Compatriot (in Belgian café). "I beg your pardon, sirr. Are ye an Irishman?"

Second Compatriot. "I am!" [Silence.

First Compatriot. "I'd as soon meet a crocodile as an Irishman 'foreign parts. I beg ye'll not address yer conversation to me, sirr!!"

AN IDYLLIC ISLAND

When we came to Amsterdam, we determined, Pashley, Shirtliff and I, that we would take the earliest opportunity of seeing Marken. Wonderful place, by all accounts. Little island, only two miles from mainland, full of absolutely unsophisticated inhabitants. Most of them have never left Marken—no idea of the world beyond it! Everybody contented and equal; costumes quaint; manners simple and dignified. Sort of Arcadia, with dash of Utopia.

And here we are—actually at Marken, just landed by sailing-boat from Monnickendam.

All is peaceful and picturesque. Scattered groups of little black cottages with scarlet roofs, on mounds. Fishermen strolling about in baggy black knickerbockers, woollen stockings, and wooden shoes.

Women and girls all dressed alike, in crimson bodice and embroidered skirt; little cap with one long brown curl dangling coquettishly in front of each ear. Small children—miniature replicas of their elders—wander lovingly, hand in hand. A few urchins dart off at our approach, like startled fawns, and disappear amongst the cottages. Otherwise, our arrival attracts no attention.

The women go on with their outdoor work, cleaning their brilliant brass and copper, washing and hanging out their bright-hued cotton and linen garments, with no more than an occasional shy side-glance at us from under their tow-coloured fringes. "Perfectly unconscious," as Shirtliff observes, enthusiastically, "of how unique and picturesque they are!"

All the more wonderful, because excursion steamers run every day during the season from Amsterdam.

We walk up and down rough steps and along narrow, winding alleys. Shirtliff says he "feels such a bounder, going about staring at everything as if he was at Earl's Court." Thinks the Markeners must hate being treated like a show. We shouldn't like it ourselves!

That may be, but, as Pashley retorts, it's the Markeners' own fault. They shouldn't be so beastly picturesque.

Fine buxom girl approaches,