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MRS. BROWN ON DOMESTIC SERVANTS. WELL, then, in my opinion he don't know nothin' about it, and didn't ought to write such rubbish. However should he, as is only a stonemason, or something like that, leastways a architect, as is the same thing as a builder, as I heard BROWN say when he was a-readin' to me last Sunday evenin'.

I says, "What rubbish," I says, "a-talkin' about slaves as did used to be all black, and I'm sure I never should fancy my meals cooked by niggers, thro seein' one of 'em once make a curry with his own hands, a-squeezing of it about, as is always unpleasant even when washed constant, as any one as is black would no doubt consider waste of time, as is the reason as I don't hold with black stockings, as never was allowed in service when I first went out, as my dear mother used to say, Dress respectable and not over your station,' words I always kep' in mind when a-layin' out my quarter wages, when things wasn't what they are now for price, and have give tenpence and a shillin' a yard for a cotton dress, as always looked well and washed to the last, with my cap a-coverin' my hair well for to keep out the dust when sweepin', and my sleeves tucked up and a apron as tied round me; but, law bless you, now-a-days there they are with a bit of a fancy rag stuck at the back of their heads, and a nice mess they gets into a-shakin' a bit of bed-side carpet even, and their crinolines, as shows disgraceful when a-cleanin' of door-steps, and on a Sunday they're a sight."

It was only last week as JANE CHALLIN come home to see her mother, as is out in place somewhere westwards, and never did I see such foolishness-a bonnet as looked that bold, with a red rose stuck in the middle, and a fancy shawl, with a dress as is made for to look like silk, bein' nothin' but cotton and worsted.

So I says, "JANE," I says, "it's all very well for to spend every farthin' on your back, a-coverin' it with rubbish, but you might buy useful things, and have a trifle to spare for your mother, as has a hard struggle with seven." She says, "My young gentleman likes me to look like a lady when we walks out on a Sunday."

"Oh," I says, "indeed! then it's a pity if he's a gentleman as he lets you keep in place. Why don't he marry you off-hand?" She says, "He will as soon as he gets a pound a week, as he only haves eighteen shillins now."

I says, "Pray, whatever is he?" She says, "He's in the haberdashery business."

"Well, then," I says, "whatever do you mean by ladies and gentlemen, as is your betters, as you are only a-apin'," for, bless you, that young man he comes out in his patent leather boots, as makes a ugly foot look bad in my opinion, and he's got his fine ties and light gloves, as I suppose he gets for nothin', with a flower in his coat and a beastly bad cigar a-smokin' constant. Them cheap clothes never looks well beyond a Sunday or two, and there they are a couple of fools as will marry to misery on a pound a week, and come to pawnin' the very bed from under 'em.

I says, "JANE, if he's a shopman and you're a general servant (as is the word, for, bless you, she was up in a moment because I said maid-of-all work), why don't you save all as you can; for she's got a good place, as I considers eight pounds a year with everything found her, and only a widder lady to wait upon; but not she, the more she gets the more she'll spend; as certainly I do pity them poor lodgin'-house gals, as gets p'raps four pounds and a turn-up bed in the washus, thro' all the family occupyin' the kitchens, as was nine in all, and let the whole house out, and what that gal had to do isn't for to be reckoned up till she was took with fits, and died in the workhouse infirmary, as was all brought on by bad livin'.

But as to MR. RAGSKIN, or whatever is his name, he must be a downright idjot, not to say a brute, for wherever is the use of talking about beatin' of a servant gal, as he'll find the law don't allow, so he'd better not try it on like the master of the workhouse, as was properly punished, tho' I must say as them creatures in the workhouse is a bad lot, and what aggravates me is to think of the downright wickedness of putting a lot of young gals in the same place as the vilest wretches as disgraces the streets, and the langwidge that awful, as a young Irish gal I once had told me as she'd rather lay down and die than go back, as was a good gal but simple like. No more she didn't, but went out as a emigrant in a family; and as to havin' of servants for ladies to treat 'em like sisters. Oh, indeed! I suppose drink tea and play the pianer together. Why MR. RAGSKIN must have been a-drinkin'.

I dare say, indeed, and whatever is the lady's husband to do. He couldn't set by and see MARY ANN put on coals or go to open the door. It's my opinion that there's some folks as is always a-writin' and a-talkin' about what don't concern 'em.

You can easy tell as MR. RAGSKIN don't know nothin' about servants, and I'm sure he can't have talked it over with no lady as keeps a house; but law, we all know that them old bachelors don't know nothin' as lives in chambers. Not as I'm one for keeping servants down, and well I remembers my own missus, who was a good mother

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and wife, and kept house like a angel, she always spoke proper, but wouldn't have no rubbish, and tho' when alone she'd say to me, place, and would read beautiful to me, and never would allow no MARTHA, bring your work and set with me," I always knowed my followers nor Sunday evenin' church, nor none of that, but would say, If you wants to go out on Sunday evenin' say so honest;" but church was never no excuse for her, as is the greatest rubbish, as I've heard lots of servant, gals say as one went in for to hear the text and told the rest, as was a family where the master always asked 'em solemn of a Sunday evenin' what discourses they heard, as had better have minded his own business and set a good example. Not as I of worship, only it's a pity for to look too close into them matters, as mean to say a word agin discourses, as is proper, nor goin' to a place is people's own concerns, and only causes hypocrisy and lies, as the sayin' is.

as BROWN married me from, and always respected, thro' a-respectin' I've lived as servant seven years in one place and three in another, my betters, and as I've heard my dear missus say often and often when I'd go to see her, "MARTHA BROWN, depend on it good servants makes good places, for people ain't such fools as to part with what pace with, for," says she, "I went to call on my friend, MRS. suits 'em; but now, bless you, there's such servants as you can't keep WENABLES, the other day, and says to the housemaid, 'Is your missus at home?' 'I'll see,' says the girl, if MRS. WENABLES is.' I says, 'Ain't you her servant then?' as made her look foolish." too much readin', as is all very right in its way; but a parcel of idle But it's all the ruin of the servants that cheap rubbish of dress and young hussies out with children in them perambulators, a-lettin' of their heads hang over enough to bring on fits, and a-runnin' into you with that front wheel thro' them a readin' as they goes along, and of all the abuse as ever you heard that young gal gave me till the policeman come up, as pretty soon made her change her tune, as mudded the front of my gown shameful, and it's a mercy as I didn't pitch for'ard on to them babbies, as it might have been the death on. And I'm sure the letters as they're a-writin', with the work neglected, would drive me mad, as was done at MR. BULBY's, as lived

in the Grove, and three o'clock, and not a bed made nor a dish washed of last night's supper, thro' MRS. BULBY goin' out for the day, and a-askin' me to step round, as found the greengrocer there with my own eyes a-talkin' to that gal, and nicely put out she was thro' me a-orderin' the tea to be ready agin MRS. BULBY come in, as don't allow no followers, and gave her warnin' on the spot, with her boxes searched, and things took out as was the family's, a-cryin' bitter for the fault is as none on 'em ain't brought up for servants, as they shame, as did ought to have been persecuted only for the trouble, and considers degradin', as the sayin' is, but likes slop-work, as gives 'em their Sundays free, as seems to me to be all turned upside-down in their notions, and can't boil a potato, and nice wives for a poor man, as is drove to the public-house, and that's the end of most of 'em, as is ways I don't hold with. So if MR. RAGSKIN wants to know about servants I can tell him p'raps as much as any one, not as I'd say a word to them, as is a deal too saucy for me.

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A HINT TO LODGING-LETTERS.

Do leave it off. It never takes anybody in, and only makes them laugh at you. We allude to the conventional fiction in your advertisements, that you let off parts of the houses in which you live because they are too large for you, because you want society, or for any other reason than to get money. Everybody knows that nobody takes houses that are too large for them unless they mean to sub-let (and then they are not too large for them, so we have you there) and as for inviting lodgers for the mere pleasure of the thing, we should as soon expect a man to advertize that, having more room in his coat than he required, he would be glad to hear of a respectable person to help him to fill it.

Do drop this nonsense, as well as other little deceptions (which never deceives anybody) indulged in by the female members of your class -that they are the widows or daughters of general officers, physicians, or clergymen, or have fallen in some way from other superior ranks of life. Circulate announcements of this kind, and then we shall believe you are in earnest :

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"A Respectable Person, who does not pretend to be a gentleman, having a house smaller than he would like if he were well off, wishes, nevertheless, for particular reasons, to let part of it to an eligible tenant. He expects to be properly paid, and in return promises not to thieve from his lodgers, tell lies about himself, or to be more of a bore than he can help."

"The Widow of a Respectable Cheesemonger, who has never seen better days than the present, and was never ever distantly connected with anybody in a better position in life, wishes to let," &c., &c.

In the case of people wanting to add the attractions of a cheerful home, or a family musically inclined, perhaps the additions might be referred to in this manner :

"The Advertizer is too hard-up to be very cheerful, but the family

In Vino Veritas.

A DISAPPOINTED member of the Corporation who was lately invited to a second-rate dinner at the Mansion House, observed that them there light wines was bad enough, but that he couldn't abear that bitter (H)ale.

will keep a grin on their faces if it is considered in the rent, and although not musically inclined, they have a piano which they will help to play on under similar conditions."

It would be only fair, too, to add sometimes a provision of this kind :

"The tenant will not be treated as one of the family, as no lady or gentleman would stand that; the elder children being badgered out of their lives by their parents, and the younger ones usually whipped and put to bed at premature periods of the evening, the parents themselves being continually quarrelling, and venting their spite upon everybody over whom they have any authority."

A little open confession of this kind we can assure you, would be far better for your prospects in life than the present hypocritical pretences which are fast driving people to hotels!

MACBETH AND COMUS.
THREE gentlemen, in various ages born,
By turns the British Drama did adorn.
First SHAKESPEARE came: JOHN MILTON was the next;
The third is FALCONER, who-much perplexed

At not exactly knowing what to do-
Takes Drury Lane, and joins the other two.

A Classical Error.

THE late lamented LEMPRIERE tells us that Io was changed into a heifer; but we have lately gleaned from a doctor's prescription the following piece of information respecting the end of that young person: "Io-dide of Potassium."

OUT-OF-TOWN TALK.

EDITOR,-The worst of Antwerp is that there is so much to see there. Every street has a history, and each of those curious old houses, with the Vandyked gables and carved façades, smacks of PHILIP OF SPAIN, the cruel ALVA, CHARLES THE FIFTH, RUBENS, QUENTIN MATSYS, buxom Flemish rows, and many-trowsered burgomasters. There is a cathedral that would take a week to do thoroughly; and there is a museum of pictures in which a month might be profitably passed. Then there is one of the finest streets in the world, and some of the handsomest quays in the world. There is blacksmith work by QUENTIN MATSYS, and there is painter work by QUENTIN MATSYS also. There is the house of RUBENS, and the house of PLAUTIUS and MORETUS, the grand old printers; and other matters which, if this letter were intended as a guide-book, I should faithfully describe.

I suppose there is no place within a day's sail of England that is so thoroughly unEnglish as Antwerp. Boulogne is simply bad Dover done into French; and Ostend is bad Boulogne done into German. Dieppe is more French than Boulogne, but still it smacks of Brighton. Antwerp is unlike any of these; and, indeed, unlike anything but a Dutch, Flemish, or North Belgic town. I suppose Rotterdam and Amsterdam are still more quaint in their respective characteristics; but as I have not been to either of them, I am not in a position to say. There are but three objections that I can make to Antwerp; and, taking the discontented nature of my disposition into consideration, that is saying volumes in its favour. The objections are these:1. A perpetual carillon of querulous chimes. 2. The objectionable round stones with which the streets are paved; and 3. The interminable lines of linden trees with which the town is surrounded.

Writing of linden trees reminds me to call your attention to a characteristic little pastoral which I have composed, descriptive of progressive growth of the estate of an imaginary landed proprietor in the South Lowlands; it is called

JAN BRÖON.

Jan Bröon had a little linden,
Jan Bröon had a little linden,
Jan Bröon had a little linden,

One little linden tree!

One little, two little, three little lindens,
Four little, five little, six little lindens,
Seven little, eight little, nine little lindens,
Ten little linden trees!

In Antwerp, as in almost all the large towns of North Belgium, the names of the streets, the municipal notices, and other advertisements of a similar description, are published in Flemish as well as in French. This gives you an admirable opportunity of comparing the two languages; and the result of the comparison is that while Flemish isn't in the least like French, it is marvellously like English. An Englishman, leaving England for the first time, would have little difficulty in deciphering the Flemish announcements on the walls; and so great a proficiency did I attain in the course of a twelve hours' residence in Antwerp, that I actually contrived to render into choice Flemish the once popular ballad about Nancy in the Strand.

"Voor soom taime paast I av peen totchin
A nais jung gaal waats cot a lotchin
In de Straandt! In de Straändt!

De vuürst ting daät poot mai heaärte in a vlutter
Waas a Baalmoraal boöte a krossin de Kutter,
In de Straändt! In de Straändt!"

And so on.

There are few more amusing ways of spending an hour than to pay your franc at the cathedral at the time of the exhibition of the " Elevation of the Cross," and the "Descent from the Cross," and take stock of the cockney tourists "doing" these great pictures. Of course, it is out of the question to pass through Antwerp without stopping to see them, and as a franc is charged for admission, people who go feel bound to remain a considerable time gazing at these pictures, in order to delude themselves into the idea that the enjoyment they have derived is a fair equivalent for the franc they have paid. So they take chairs, and seat themselves in front of the pictures and read their MURRAY; and although in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, they would pass the master-piece unheeded by if they saw it hanging in a Wardour-street window, they remain spell-bound for half-an-hour at a time by the beauties they have been told they are to appreciate-just as the vulgar knife-swallowing manufacturer who sits opposite to me at the table d'hôte drinks Liebfraumilch and Chateau Lafitte because they are down on the carte at eighteen and sixteen francs a bottle. During my stay at Antwerp a Kermesse took place, and of course I went to see it. You know the Kermesse scene from Faust? Well, it wasn't at all like that. It was simply a collection of work girls and

ouvriers at various cabarets in the suburbs of the town for dancing and drinking purposes. The price of admission varied from three to six sous a head, and this tariff included "consummations"-which, however, were not describable as "devoutly to be wished." In addition to this, each cavalier paid two sous per dance-a halt being called in the middle of each dance in order to collect the pence. There was no drunkenness, no unseemly romping, not a flavour of cancan, and no quarrelling. Everything was orderly, and although the class of dancers was socially of the lowest, I did not hear a word spoken which (as MR. MADDISON MORTON would say) would bring the cheek to the blush of modesty. SNARLER.

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Answers to Correspondents.

A SCHOLAR.-HORACE evidently alludes to the almost impossibility of brewing hot whisky and water when the fire's out and the kettle cold when he uses the words difficili bile. The tumet in the next lines refers to the fact that there are only two present, the accident usually happening when BENEDICT brings a friend home, "just for one glass," and expects to find his wife up.

ELOCUTIONIST.-Much depends on accent. "Here's a go!" is sug"Here's gestive of perplexity and distress to the best regulated mind. (8)ago!" points at a mild food for the invalid.

R. S. V. P.-Upon the question of domestic servants we really do not know what to say, and we say it unconditionally and without reserve. If your housemaid offended you, we think that you were somewhat hasty in tearing her hair, and throwing boiling coffee over her, but no doubt you best understand her temperament, and how she should be treated. We do not think you are warranted in refusing to give her a character because she cried when you called her a slut, but do as you please. Cold turnips should always be eaten by servants. It makes them know their station.

A VOICE FROM THE KITCHEN.-By all means. If your mistress looks cross at you, hit her! We would.

AULD REEKIE.-The poem is exactly three hundred lines too long for this publication. We don't usually return manuscripts, but you can have yours again if you choose to send one of PICKFORD's vans for it. GREEN.-What's fun to you would be death to us; besides, "baker" and "paper" are not used as rhymes except in blank verse, and then only by poetic licence.

MAC. We have not begun fires yet, but the waste-paper basket answered quite as well. Your contribution sunk to the bottom of it like a stone. AMELIA. The poem commencing

"How doth the little busy b-"

is not called "Lines to my Lodgings at the Seaside."

OLD HONESTY.-It's all very well to say you are honest and straightforward, and call a spade a spade. But when you took three numbers off our counter the other day, and handed over a bad threepenny piece, you could hardly call us paid, as paid.

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Now for the art of catching fish, that is to say, how to make a man that was none, to be an angler by a book, so that he may himself make a fish to be a dangler by a hook. He that undertakes it shall undertake a harder task than shall MR. HALE, the valiant and sweet-tempered Mayor of this city, when he doth essay to reason with MR. BENNETT, and to shame him from the public teaching of horology by the clockwork of Holland, motive in Cheapside.

Not but that many useful maxims and even some entertainment may be found in books, which may themselves be also discovered in the running, or even the Shirley Brooks, as sermons are to be met with in Marcus Stone's pictures, and good, or what is all the same, Hood in everything.

Some person of rare wit has made, methinks, a similar remark before, perhaps one SHAKESPEARE, of whom I have heard that he did say many things worthy to be remembered, but of this I make small account, my own contemplations being for the most part on the banks of some stream wherein fish are said to abide.

And for this the true brother of the angle will carry forth his rod and other gear, not with the vulgar desire of catching great store of finny game, but the rather for that true sport which lieth in the exercise of patience and the subtle delight of expectancy and hope deferred until even small rewards shall be received with contentment, though they do not exalt the spirit to an ungovernable triumph.

Of all places wherein it delighteth me to throw a fly or dexterously to cast forth my ground bait, there is none in this matter of the true motive which should determine the angler that doth excel that part of the Lea river known as Temple Mills, though what Temple hath ever stood thereabout is now lost in the impenetrable mists of ages. Or what mills are there to be used, passeth my humble experience, save certain encounters either in logomachy or word contests, or with the hands in the pugilistic manner.

Nevertheless, in that same hostelry, or inn, there is to be had liquor, whereof a stone bottle sunk among the the cool weeds on the margin of the stream up at the White House, known as "BERES

FORD's," comforteth the heart of him who waiteth lovingly but patiently for the taking of his bait by the gudgeon, which, though not so fine as I have seen, do occasionally reach to the length even of three full inches, and may be discerned when the water is low by reason of drought, warily avoiding the tempting morsels offered to them by whole rows of men and boys who line the bank or lean across the paling at that same Temple Mills. More to my mind than such eager and unprofitable sport which wanteth dignity and lacketh patience, is a seat in that great and strange tree whereto one may climb to a sort of stage or rostrum, where ale and powdered beef, with a roll, misliketh not the frugal stomach. In that tree, too, one may take note of much that is akin to the sport of angling, as the catching of weak minds in the landing net of love and the like-the manner of the lovers affording much contemplation.

But here have I lingered long until I fear me the sun will be too low to give light for the fly. The pike is a noble and a voracious fish, and the barbel, the roach, and the dace, are esteemed by those who know their habits. I have seen of each rare samples said to have been taken from the Lea, and though I was not myself there at the time (for which I lament my ill fortune), they are well preserved in the glass coffers at that same BERESFORD's, where all who go may look on them and wonder. It is said too, that many other like great fishes do haunt the holes and sedges of the remoter parts of this river, but I have not myself seen them, nor do I know one who hath.

NOTICE.--By the desire of numerous correspondents, copies of 'BUOYED WITH HOPE," printed on toned paper, may now be obtained at the Office, price One Penny. Now ready, the Eighth Half-yearly Volume of FUN, being THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE NEW SERIES, handsomely bound in Magenta cloth, price 4s. 6d. Now Ready, the TITLE, PREFACE, AND INDEX, forming an extra Number, price One Penny. Also, now ready, Part IV.

London: Printed by JUDD & GLASS, Phonix Works, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietors) by THOMAS BAKER, at

80, Fleet-street, E.C.-September 30, 1865.

SACRILEGE.

Bus-driver (alluding to distinguished Foreigner, who has just got down) :-"I NEVER COULD ABIDE THEM FRENCH. WHY, I KNOWED A GENT AS WAS OVER THERE DURING THE REVOLUTIONS, AND WHAT DO YOU THINK, SIR? WHY, THEY ACKSHALLY MADE BARRICADES OF 'BUSES!!"

OUT-OF-TOWN TALK.

EDITOR,-An excellent and talented friend once observed to me "The real enjoyment of foreign travel consists in the pleasure you feel in leaving a place," and he was right. A fortnight's holiday sojourn in any town-I don't care where it is-is exhausting. Take a fortnight in Paris, and spend that fortnight in "doing" the city, and see how you feel disposed toward it at the end of the fortnight. You will loathe it: its cathedrals will be to you as ledgers to a bank clerk, its picture galleries as oakum to a pickpocket. You will sigh for the hour when you will be comfortably seated in your railway carriage bound for Brussels, or Strasbourg, or Geneva, or Nice, or Biarritz, or some other place which will appear to you, from your then point of view, as Paradise to the Peri, but which you will eventually detest as heartily as ever you detested Paris.

Pondering these matters, I took my place in the railway carriage that was to convey me from Antwerp to Brussels, after a desperate encounter with a railway porter who, failing to extract a pour boire from me, fell to cursing me in the most emphatic Flemish I ever heard. Englishmen make two mistakes when they avail themselves of continental railways; they tip the porters who weigh the luggage, and they travel second class. Now these porters should not be tipped, the universality of the practice has caused them to demand the pour boire, and when they don't get it they swear openly at you. On one occasion (it was in Paris), a fellow actually seized me by the collar and refused to let me go until I had given him some sous. The departure bell was ringing at the time, and I struck him such a mighty blow beneath the chin that I heard his teeth dance about in his mouth like peas in a drum. So far my conduct was BAYARD-like, but I am bound to admit that my subsequent behaviour was cowardly, for in a mortal fright I bolted into the train and was whirled off to Geneva by an express which wouldn't hear of stopping until it reached the Swiss frontier, where I felt myself comparatively safe. I believe that, in France, to expostulate with a fraudulent railway clerk is galleys for life, and to

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THE MONKEY IN TROUBLE.

WAITING, Waiting for the halter,
Hoping for release in vain-
Oh! the Rock of Gibberaltar!
Would I saw you once again!
Active, nimble, able-bodied,
Up the tallest trees I ran,
Now I'm taken up and quodded,
Just as if I was a man!

Beating at my prison wildly!
Yelling with a maddened yell!
For, to put it very mildly,

This a condemned sell!

They have locked me in the station,

Just because, when driven wild,

In a fit of irritation

I attacked a teasing child!

Well, of course, the fact before you

With malignity seems rife,

But, indeed, I do assure you

Mine's a very trying life.

When you're treated idem semper,

Thrashed and clothed in dresses tight,

Why, it tells upon your temper,

And you feel inclined to bite.

Just suppose a great gorilla

Came and took the learned beak,

Make him fire a gun for siller,

Beat a tambourine and speak.

Wear a brigand hat and feather,

Sweep the floor and dance and fight,

Play in every kind of weather,

Don't you think he'd want to bite?

P'raps they're now indictments framing
To be signed and stuck on shelves,
Me as human fellow claiming-
Am I then so like themselves?

Let me go-you're sure to mess it-
'Tis indeed your wisest plan,
AS MR. RUSSELL would express it,
"No, by heavens, I am not Man!"
Condemned Cell, Marylebone Police-court.

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strike a porter is murder without extenuating circumstances. And second class carriages should be avoided: know the saying about Englishmen, Princes and Fools, but still I say that continental second class carriages should be avoided. Independently of the fact that the society of Englishmen, Princes, and Fools is decidedly preferable to that of travelling Frenchmen and Germans, the high tariff charged for luggage that is placed in the van induces second-class native travellers to bring as many portmanteaus, trunks, carpet bags, hat boxes, and other impedimenta into the carriage with them as they can contrive to carry. Although this nuisance exists to a certain extent in the firstclass, still the fact that you have a definite allotment of the carriage to yourself prevents the nuisance from attaining serious proportions.

Whether it is that the British tourists who find their way into Brussels are men of better tone than those we meet in Paris and at the French watering places, or whether it is that Belgian officials are not so exasperating in their demeanour towards travelling Britons as those of France, I do not know, but I was certainly pleased with the demeanour of my countrymen in Brussels. Here, in the immediate vicinity of the field of Waterloo, one would expect to find all that is most offensive in the British snob, in a state of rampant vigour. One would expect to find the British alderman and the British merchant's clerk holding forth at the table d'hôte as to what "we" did in '15, and one would expect to find on the Waterloo coach an arena for the display of British Jolly-Dogmatism in its most repulsive form. But no. The English tourists in Brussels appear, for the most part, to be gentlemen, and to act up to the character. I sincerely trust that the Volunteers who accepted the invitation of the Belgian Government a week ago, and who are strutting about the streets of Brussels as I write, will not do more than they can help to impair the favourable impression that their holiday countrymen appear to have created in this "Paris in miniature." SNARLER.

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