morning. A
second day and a third passed over with the same results; and still I
remained loitering about the village and making acquaintance with every
notable monument, from its quaint old church to the little obelisk in
the marketplace, commemorating the birthplace of its great citizen, the
architect Mansard.

I had by this time formed two or three slight acquaintanceships with
the townsfolk, who, although living on a high road much traversed by
travellers, were a simple-minded and maritime set of people. The little
routine of this quaint old spot also pleased me; and I persuaded myself
that I should ask nothing better from fortune than to be able to pass my
life and end my days in Lys. Vast numbers of English poured daily into
France at this time; and it was one of my chief amusements to sit at
the little cafe in front of the "poste," and watch them as they changed
horses. I do not suppose that even yet our countrymen escape from what
would appear to be the almost inevitable blunders of foreign travel;
but at the time I speak of, these mistakes and misapprehensions were
far greater. The Continent and its languages were alike new to them.
National peculiarities were all more marked, and John Bull himself less
compliant and more exacting than he now is.

As the temper and tone of the day were, however, favorable to England,
and as Englishmen were remarkable for the liberality of their payments
for all services rendered them, the nation was popular, and whatever
errors or awkwardness they committed were speedily forgotten or
forgiven. I was seated, as was my custom, one morning, watching the
tide of travellers that rolled by unceasingly, when a large travelling
carriage, with eight horses and a mounted courier in front, drew up
at the "poste." While the horses were being harnessed, two gentlemen
descended, and, crossing the "Place," entered the cafe. One was a
large, full, and somewhat handsome man, with that florid look and air so
characteristic of an English country squire; the other I had not time to
remark ere he came up to me and said,--

"Happy to meet you again, Mr. Carew; I trust you don't forget me.'"

It was Colonel Canthorpe, whom I had met at O'Kelly's dinner-table.

"This chance meeting is a piece of good fortune," continued he,
"since it enables me to pay a debt I owe you. On looking over my
memorandum-book, I discovered I had lost three hundred, and not two, to
you. Am I correct?"

I professed, w