their knowledge of
our race is limited to the unfortunate selection of specimens who strut
about their streets, and--according to their light--they are not guilty
of outrageous exaggeration. I venture to assert that an Englishman will
meet more unpleasant samples of his countrymen and countrywomen in an
August day's walk in Paris, than he will come across during a month in
London. To begin with, we English treat Paris as though it were a back
garden, in which a person may lounge in his old clothes, or indulge his
fancy for the ugly and slovenly. Why, on broiling days, men and women
should sally forth from their hotel with a travelling-bag and an
opera-glass slung about their shoulders, passes my comprehension.
Conceive the condition of mind of that man who imagines that he is an
impressive presence when he is patrolling the Rue de la Paix with an
alpenstock in his hand! At home we are a plain, well-dressed,
well-behaved people, fully up in Art and Letters--that is, among our
educated classes, to any other nation--in most elegant studies before
all; but our travellers in France and Switzerland slander us, and the
"Paris in 10 hours" system has lowered Frenchmen's estimate of the
national character. The Exhibition of 1867, far from promoting the
brotherhood of the peoples, and hinting to the soldier that his vocation
was coming to an end, spread a dislike of Englishmen through Paris. It
attracted rough men from the North, and ill-bred men from the South,
whose swagger, and noise, and unceremonious manners in cafes and
restaurants chafed the polite Frenchman. They could not bring themselves
to salute the _dame de comptoir_, they were loud at the table d'hote and
commanding in their airs to the waiter. In brief, the English mass
jarred upon their neighbours; and Frenchmen went the length of saying
that the two peoples--like relatives--would remain better friends apart.
The disadvantage is, beyond doubt, with us; since the _froissement_ was
produced by the British lack of that suavity which the French
cultivate--and which may be hollow, but is pleasant, and oils the wheels
of life.
[Illustration: ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY.
_From French designs._]
Mrs. Rowe's was in the Rue--say the Rue Millevoye, so that we may not
interfere with possible vested interests. Was it respectable? Was it
genteel? Did good country families frequent it? Were all the comforts of
an English home to be had? Had Mrs. Grundy cast an approving ey
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