254 A MONTH IN THE FORESTS OF FRANCE. 



spoke English very well, and ultimately gave me his 

 card. I regret very much that I have lost his ad- 

 dress, but nevertheless I by no means intend to drop 

 his acquaintance. And here it is right for me, as a 

 faithful historian, to endeavour to relieve French 

 gentlemen of an egregious error into which they 

 seem generally to have fallen, and to rescue my 

 countrymen and their manners from a blame which 

 does not really attach, at least, to those in good so- 

 ciety. It seems a settled belief in the mind of 

 France, that every Englishman swears, or lards his 

 discourse with blasphemous expressions. This erro- 

 neous and extremely vulgar supposition has got us in 

 France, wherever we go, the soubriquet of " Monsieur 

 Goddam." 



To such an extent does this foolish belief extend, 

 that if you meet Frenchmen in the best society, 

 and they wish to prove to you how thoroughly 

 conversant they are with the English language, a- 

 jyj-opos to nothing they are sure to bring out some 

 terrible oath. For instance, at dinner, suddenly your 

 neighbour will say to you, pointing to a dish, *^ Damn 

 my eyes, shall you have some of dis ? " or, in travel- 

 ling in the railway carriage, your French com- 

 panion will remark, ** Damn my eyes, look what 

 pretty gardens ! " Now, these oaths annoy me per- 

 sonally and nationally when applied collectively as 



