Now, Public! tho' slow—that you're grateful to show
(If you are not a stingy, mean sinner),
The least you can do, is to just buckle to,
And give the Committee—a dinner!
Then, though it's uphilly, &c.
THE BRITISH CONSULATE AT BOULOGNE.
(From our Travelling Contributor.)
The British Consulate at Boulogne still "hangs out" over the "tinnery, leadery, and zincery," at the end of the port, as we have ascertained by a recent visit. The ground floor is occupied by a sauce-pan shop, while British diplomacy has taken the floor above, and the frontage of the premises displays a rivalry of attraction between the "British Consular Office for Passports" and the "Bazar des Quatre" something or other, which the tinman adopts as the name of his domicile.
We recognise no change in the arrangements since we noticed the establishment two years ago, except that the individual who represents British diplomacy has got a new cap, is rather more civil spoken than he was, and the boy who runs to call him when he is in another room is grown bigger than he used to be. This is all natural enough, and so far unobjectionable, though we are not quite so well satisfied with a rope that has been attached to one side of the staircase by way of bannisters. On the day of our visit there was a consular torchon, or diplomatic dishclout hanging to dry on the landing, which we thought savoured of anything but dignity. The rope was well enough as far as it went, and the Consul has given the public just rope enough to hang itself, or rather to pull itself up by, in ascending the staircase. We presume that all this homeliness is as much as the passport fees will afford, and we can only regret, for the credit of British diplomacy, that it is as much dignity as can be sustained upon the four-and-two-pences that pour in on the establishment at Boulogne.