tir whatever in your England? But what a people! But yes, you
resemble us, as bottles--bottles; seulement, you are emptied of your
wine. Ce Monsieur Peterbooroo'! Il m'agace les nerfs. It cannot be blood
in his veins. One longs to see him cuffed, to see if he has the English
lion in him, one knows not where. But you are so, you English, when not
intoxicated. And so censorious! You win your battles, they say, upon beer
and cordials: it is why you never can follow up a success. Je tiens cela
du Marechal Prince B-----. Let that pass. One groans at your intolerable
tristesse. La vie en Angleterre est comme un marais. It is a scandal to
human nature. It blows fogs, foul vapours, joint-stiffnesses, agues,
pestilences, over us here,--yes, here! That is your best side: but your
worst is too atrocious! Mon Dieu! Your men-rascals! Your women-rascals!'

'Good soul!' the princess arrested her, 'I beg that you will not abuse
England.'

'Have I abused England?' exclaimed the margravine. 'Nay, then, it was
because England is shockingly unjust to the most amusing, the most
reviving, charming of men. There is he fresh as a green bubbling well,
and those English decline to do honour to his source. Now tell me, you!'
She addressed me imperiously. 'Are you prosecuting his claims? Are you
besieging your Government? What! you are in the season of generosity, an
affectionate son, wealthy as a Magyar prince of flocks, herds, mines, and
men, and you let him stand in the shade deprived of his birthright? Are
you a purse-proud commoner or an imbecile?'

'My whimsy aunt!' the princess interposed again, 'now you have taken to
abusing a defenceless Englishman.'

'Nothing of the sort, child. I compliment him on his looks and manners;
he is the only one of his race who does not appear to have marched out of
a sentinel's box with a pocket-mirror in his hand. I thank him from my
soul for not cultivating the national cat's whisker. None can imagine
what I suffer from the oppressive sight of his Monsieur Peterbooroo'! And
they are of one pattern--the entire nation! He! no, he has the step of a
trained blood-horse. Only, as Kaunitz, or somebody, said of Joseph II.,
or somebody, he thinks or he chews. Englishmen's mouths were clearly not
made for more purposes than one. In truth, I am so utterly wearied, I
could pray for the diversion of a descent of rain. The life here is as
bad as in Rippau. I might just as well be in Rippau doing duty: the silly
peopl