They were out for a Day in the Country—were late at the Station—He left it to her to take the Tickets—a Horrid Crowd—Frightfully Hot—and she was Hustled and Flustered considerably when she reached the Carriage.
He (cool and comfortable). "How charming the Yellow Gorse——"
She (in a withering tone). "You didn't 'xpect to see it Blue, I s'ppose!" [Tacet!
SALUBRITIES ABROAD.
Thirteenth day of Cure at Royat. Hotel Continental.—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 charitable 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?