They slacken their talk a little, to exhibit the national politeness. A lady, young, charming, and dressed to perfection, though a little more sumptuously than is usual with us for the promenade on foot, must descend into the kennel (a little river) if these Messieurs will not give place. Ah, bah! do not derange yourselves. Jules puts his head under her bonnet, and perfumes her exquisite coiffure with tobacco smoke. Adolphe and Horace exchange bon mots with a coarse laugh, and the poor lady makes her escape as she may. Oh, French politeness! truly thou art a thing of the past. The modern Gaul has still the trick of taking off his hat; but the spirit of courtesy is evaporated, leaving nothing but dregs behind.
Your correspondent leaves this last sentence as he wrote it in the heat of indignation (if his temper is capable of heat) at what could not have happened in England. Mindful, however, of the danger of drawing general conclusions from particular premises, he wishes to limit his censure to French officials and French Boulevard flâneurs, the only persons that have as yet shown themselves to deserve it, and who may be unfavourable specimens of their countrymen. Certainly he has met with an obliging good humour in waiters and shop-keepers, that contrasts favourably with the reserved and almost sullen air of the same classes in England. On the other hand, carters and cabmen seem brutally cruel to their cattle, and will drive over a foot passenger (especially, perhaps, if an Englishman) without scruple. Who shall correctly appreciate these things?
A LION RAMPANT MAD.
That troublesome quadruped the British Lion, generally supposed defunct, turns out to have been Scotched not killed; as he is now roaring and bellowing more ridiculously than ever, in the character of the Lion of North Britain or Scotch Lion. He is clamouring not only for what he conceives to be his proper corner on the Royal flag, but also, on behalf of his baronetage and some other connexions, for the whole territory and fishing-grounds of the Royal Province of New Scotland, as he calls it; that is to say, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and the adjacent regions. We expect very soon to hear this foolish old Lion roar for the moon, in a state of second cubhood. To humour him, however, it might be advisable to depict him wherever he wishes in that state of rampancy which he chooses to figure in, that is, in an attitude of rampant absurdity.
Honours to Palmerston.
It is determined that Lord Palmerston—who goes in attendance upon the Queen to Scotland—shall have the freedom of Perth. Had Pam had his own way, we take it, long ere this, he would have had the freedom of Turkey.