_A Monsieur Punch_
DEAR MISTER,--I come of to make a little voyage in Scotland. Ah, the
beautiful country of Sir Scott, Sir Wallace, and Sir Burns! I am gone to
render visit to one of my english friends, a charming boy--_un charmant
garcon_--and his wife, a lady very instructed and very spiritual, and
their childs. I adore them, the dear little english childs, who have the
cheeks like some roses, and the hairs like some flax, as one says in
your country, all buckled--_boucles_, how say you?
I go by the train of night--in french one says "_le sleeping_"--to
Edimbourg, and then to Calendar, where I attend to find a coach--in
french one says "_un mail_" or "_un fourinhand_." _Nom d'une pipe_, it
is one of those ridicule carriages, called in french "_un breack_" and
in english a char-a-banc--that which the english pronounce
"_tcherribaingue_"--which attends us at the going out of the station! Eh
well, in voyage one must habituate himself to all! But a such carriage
discovered--_decouverte_--seems to me well unuseful in a country where
he falls of rain without cease.
Before to start I demand of all the world some _renseignements_ on the
scottish climate, and all the world responds me, "All-days of the rain."
By consequence I procure myself some impermeable vestments, one
mackintosch coat, one mackintosch cape of Inverness, one mackintosch
covering of voyage, one south-western hat, some umbrellas, some gaiters,
and many pairs of boots very thick--not boots of town, but veritable
"shootings."
I arrive at Edimbourg by a morning of the most sads; the sky grey, the
earth wet, the air humid. Therefore I propose to myself to search at
Calender a place at the interior, _et voila_--and see there--the
_breack_ has no interior! There is but that which one calls a "boot",
and me, Auguste, can I to lie myself there at the middle of the
baggages? Ah no! Thus I am forced to endorse--_endosser_--my impermeable
vestments and to protect myself the head by my south-western hat. Then,
holding firmly the most strong of my umbrellas, I say to the coacher,
"He goes to fall of the rain, is it not?" He makes a sign of head of not
to comprehend. Ah, for sure, he is scottish! I indicate the sky and my
umbrella, and I say "Rain?" and then he comprehends. "_Eh huile_", he
responds to me, "_ah canna se, mebi huile no he meukl the de_." I write
this phonetically, for I comprehend not the scottish language. What
droll of conversation! Him comprehends not the english; me I comprehend
not the scottish.
But I essay of new, "How many has he of it from here to the lake?"
_C'est inutile_--it is unuseful. I say, "Distance?" He comprehends.
"_Mebi oui taque toua hours_", says he; "_beutt yile no fache yoursel,
its no se lang that yile bi ouishinn yoursel aoua_." _Quelle
langue_--what language, even to write phonetically! I comprehend one
sole word, "hours." Some hours! _Sapristi!_ I say, "Hours?" He says
"_Toua_" all together, a monosyllable. _Sans aucune doute ca veut dire_
"twelve"--_douze_. Twelve hours on a _breack_ in a such climate! Ah, no!
_C'est trop fort_--it is too strong! "Hold", I cry myself, "attend, I
descend, I go not!" It is true that I see not how I can to descend, for
I am _entoure_--how say you? of voyagers. We are five on a bench, of the
most narrows, and me I am at the middle. And the bench before us is also
complete, and we touch him of the knees. And my neighbours carry on the
knees all sorts of packets, umbrellas, canes, sacks of voyage, &c. _Il
n'y a pas moyen_--he has not there mean. And the coacher says me "_Na,
na, monne, yile no ghitt doun, yile djest baid ouar yer sittinn._" Then
he mounts to his place, and we part immediately. _Il va tomber de la
pluie! Douze heures! Mon Dieu, quel voyage!_
Agree, &c.,