of a meal of British abundance. Hé 
covered the naked cloth, casual knife 
and fork, and long roll of bread, with 
a look of most grieving silence ; every 
muscle of his features was stretched in 
sad intelligence, and pointed expres- 
sion. O si sic omnia! was evidently 
the thought,—severe, that so far, he 
could get no farther. Then his mind 
flew into Yorkshire, moody over a 
meal of plenty and comfort; it was a 
look of loss and regret far deeper, 
seemingly, than any that had before 
closed the high bones of his pock-pit- 
ted cheeks in a skinny hollow. Near 
him,—with her elbow on the table, and 
her head pensively on her hand,—sat 
a woman, very fair and very fat, her 
large eyes flooded in tears of disap- 
pointment; while, eagerly pressing 
over the shoulders of a little lame man, 
who held asmall book, bound in rough 
calf, in his hand, and who seemed tu 
pause in confusion, was the Yorkshire- 
man’s wife, her flurried face all en- 
couragement, and her manner ’ all 
confidence. The little man stammered, 
—the garcon shrugged his shoulders, 
—he Anglicised a French order, but 
the servant only looked miserable: 
till, at last, the vain speaker fixed a 
long finger on a line in the dialogue, 
pushed the page under the waiter’s 
eye, and exclaimed, in good tones of 
northern vexation, ‘‘ Dang me, then 
you're like to read it yoursel: read, 
man,—read ye.” = advanced, and 
at once poor Frangois cried out, “‘ Ah, 
tous voila, Monsieur Irlandais. Je suis 
bien content de vous voir, monsieur; 
toujours vous venez sc apropos. Vos 
compatriotes sont extremement ehagrinés 
pour quelque chose a manger. Ayez la 
complaisance, monsieur, de parler pour 
eux. Vraiment c’est une grande pitié, 
gu; je suis tout a fait miserable moi.” I 
was soon enabled to gratify the party, 
and left them busy over their desires ; 
but, though I met almost daily travel- 
lers in a similar predicament, I do 
not remember one I obliged without 
some feeling of regret: I blushed at 
the time for my. country, and never, 
certainly, did I think so poorly of its 
inhabitants as at times during my ex- 
eursion to P'rance. At home we call 
ourselves a sensible people ; abroad 
we exhibit any thing but the merit of 
the character. We throw ourselves 
into the arms of foreigners, unac- 
quainted with their language, unpre- 
pared for their usages, and unable to 
Monrucy Maa, No, 385, 
An Trishman’s Notes on Paris, No. ¥. 
95 
reach ¢Veh our commonest wants 
withont the stranger’s civility; and 
yet, though thus foolish in the onset, 
we demean ourselves so ungraciously, 
that we literally abuse the nation for 
our own ignorance and presumption. 
Apropos of dinner,—a word or two 
of its expense, and on the places of 
best fare, ‘may not be here amiss. 
Certainly it is very unclassical, and 
most inelegant, to write of money- 
matters or of frugal means, unless the 
affair concern the state; but a good 
dinner is worth a page’s trouble, and 
a good dinner within means is indeed 
anattainment. A great deal hasbeen 
said and published upon the compara- 
tive cheapness of England and France, 
London and Paris: latterly, it has 
been computed that, the difference in 
favour of the eastern side of our chan- 
nel dees not exceed a centage of 251. 
but; even in that case, there is a dis- 
tinction, and a very.worthy one, too, 
in favour’ of French modes; as it 
regards the degrce of economy one 
may practise, without variance from 
custom, or degradation from rank. 
The expense of gentlemanly habits in 
London is high and fluctuating; in 
Paris it is moderate and fixed. On 
this head it were idle to remark, as in 
Calais I particularly heard a clerk 
from the city say,—and he looked 
as though he fancied his head favoured 
his assertion, as much as his spruce 
coat did his figure,—that one may have 
a chamber for five shillings weekly ; 
that beef is sixpence a pound, and 
that a dinner on a plate of it, with a 
draught of porter, at an eating-house, 
costs but a shilling: the way is a mean- 
ness, and the confession, as an instance 
of English life,is alibel. By the tavern- 
cost, within and without the city, must 
the expense be averaged. Now at 
Paris a traveller may put up at an 
hotel, respectably frequented and well 
provided, at a charge of afranc and a 
half for bed, another franc and a half 
for breakfast, and dinner, with a pint 
of wine, may be very well got over 
there or elsewhere for three shillings ; 
a cup of coffee and a petit verre, during 
the evening stroll, is a matter of sous. 
In London, at an hotel of any note 
and company, it is to be apprehended 
the same sum would not take one half 
through the day. If for that money 
you would have three meals here, and 
an habitation to be owned without a 
blush, you must, T doubt not, imitate 
E the 
