ographic craze. He said that every English-speaking man, woman,
or child whom he met abroad had its camera with it, and that after a time
the sight of a black cloth or the click of a button began to madden him.

He told us that on the summit of Mount Tutra, in the Carpathians, the
English and American amateur photographers waiting to take "the grand
panorama" were formed by the Hungarian police in queue, two abreast, each
with his or her camera under his or her arm, and that a man had to stand
sometimes as long as three and a half hours before his turn came round.
He also told us that the beggars in Constantinople went about with
placards hung round their necks, stating their charges for being
photographed. One of these price lists he brought back with him as a
sample.

It ran:--

One snap shot, back or front .. ... ... 2 frcs.
,, with expression ... ... 3 ,,
,, surprised in quaint attitude . 4 ,,
,, while saying prayers ... ... 5 ,,
,, while fighting ... ... 10 ,,

He said that in some instances where a man had an exceptionally
villainous cast of countenance, or was exceptionally deformed, as much as
twenty francs were demanded and readily obtained.

He abandoned photography and took to golf. He showed people how, by
digging a hole here and putting a brickbat or two there, they could
convert a tennis-lawn into a miniature golf link,--and did it for them.
He persuaded elderly ladies and gentlemen that it was the mildest
exercise going, and would drag them for miles over wet gorse and heather,
and bring them home dead beat, coughing, and full of evil thoughts.

The last time I saw him was in Switzerland, a few months ago. He
appeared indifferent to the subject of golf, but talked much about whist.
We met by chance at Grindelwald, and agreed to climb the Faulhorn
together next morning. Half-way up we rested, and I strolled on a little
way by myself to gain a view. Returning, I found him with a "Cavendish"
in his hand and a pack of cards spread out before him on the grass,
solving a problem.

THE MAN WHO DID NOT BELIEVE IN LUCK

He got in at Ipswich with seven different weekly papers under his arm. I
noticed that each one insured its reader against death or injury by
railway accident. He arranged his luggage upon the rack above him, took
off his hat and laid it on the seat beside him, mopped his bald head with
a red silk