may write to you from our next stage; but
if not, expect to hear from me on my return, when, if I can persuade my
love to brave the presence of a stranger, for friendship's sake, you
shall have a peep at our felicity.

"Your old friend,
"HAPPY TOM FLOWERDEW."

Mr. Mac's observations on the foregoing were, no doubt, to this effect:
"He'll come to his senses by-and-by. I shouldn't like to be compelled to
buy all the cigars he'll smoke before he turns his toes up."

_Flowerdew, from Fontainebleau._

"Fontainebleau, July 1.

"MY DEAR MAC,--I am tempted to send you a few lines from this
wonderful place. You have heard of Fontainebleau grapes--you have tasted
them; but you have not seen Fontainebleau. My dear Mac, when you marry
(and, as your friend, I say, lose no time about it)--yes, when you
marry, take the _cara sposa_ to Fontainebleau. Let her see the weeping
rock, in that wonderful battle between granite and trees, they call the
forest. Let her feed the fat carp with _galette_ behind the Palace in
the company of those Normandy nurses (brown and flat as Normandy
pippins), and their squalling basked-capped charges. Give her some of
that delicious iced currant-water, which the dragoons who are quartered
here appear to drink with all the relish the children show for it. Never
fear that she will look twice at these soldiers, in their sky-blue coats
and broad red pantaloons, and their hair cut so close that their eyes
must have watered under the operation. Imagine dragoons drinking
currant-water; and playing dominoes for shapeless sous, which they
rattle incessantly in their preposterous trousers! I am meditating a
book on the French army, in which I shall lay great stress on the above,
I flatter myself, rather acute bit of observation. Carrie (she grows
prettier daily) rather inclines to the idea that the moderation of these
French dragoons is in their favour; and this is the first time I have
found her judgment at fault. But then it would be unreasonable indeed to
hope that on military subjects she could have that clear insight which
she displays with such charming grace, whether we are contemplating the
Marriage of Cana, in the Louvre, or thinking over the scenes some of
those orange-trees in the Tuileries gardens have shed leaves upon. For,
let me tell you, my dear Mac, there are t