(_Supplementary Facts--omitted from the Times List_)
That everything is so much better on the Continent.
That the proverbially polite Frenchman never smokes before ladies in a
railway carriage.
That not for worlds would he shut the window in your face and glare at
you if you ask for a little air.
That no official ever seen through a pigeon-hole at a post bureau is
dyspeptic and insolent.
That sanitary improvements in Italy do not mean typhoid fever.
That where your bed-room walls are of paper, and somebody on one side
of you retires in good spirits at two, and somebody else on the other
gets up lively at four, you have a refreshing night's rest.
That rambling parties of Cook's tourists add immensely to the national
_prestige_.
That the discovery of what it is you eat in a _vol-au-vent_ at a
"_diner à trois francs_," will please but not surprise you.
That it is such fun being caged-up in a railway waiting-room, and then
being allowed to scamper for your life to the carriages.
That perpetual fighting to get into over-crowded hotels, crammed with
vulgar specimens of your own fellow-countrymen, is really enjoyable
and exhilarating work.
That a couple of journeys across the Channel, especially if it is
blowing both ways, are at least always something pleasant to look back
upon.
That when you once get home again, England, spite some trivial
advantages, being without Belgian postmen, French omnibuses, and Swiss
police-regulations, strikes you as almost unendurable.
* * *
AT MONTE CARLO.--_Angelina_ (_sentimentally_). Look, Edwin, how the
dear palms are opening themselves instinctively to the golden air.
_Edwin_ (_brutally remembering his losses at the table and the long
hotel bill_). If you can show me any palm in the place, human or
vegetable, which doesn't open itself instinctively to the golden air,
I'll eat my hat!
[_Angelina sighed profoundly, and Edwin opened his purse
strings._
[Illustration: A SCENE AT THE "LUCULLUS"
_Mrs. Blunderby._ "Now, my dear Monty, let me order the luncheon
ar-la-Fraingsy. Gassong! I wish to begin--as we always do in Paris,
my dears--with some _chef-d'[oe]uvres_--you understand--some
_chef-d'[oe]uvres_."
[_Emile, the waiter, is in despair. It occurs to him, however,
presently that the lady probably means "Hors d'[oe]uvres," and
acts accordingly._
]
[Illustration: 'ARRY AND 'ARRIET IN FRANCE
"What's 'Rots'?" "Game."]