The Long Vacation is drawing to a close, and parents and guardians may like to know how reading tours have aided in advancing the education of their respective scions. Should any doting fathers be interested in the absorption of foreign languages into their sons' systems, the following mems from the diary of a University man, who has just returned from a tour abroad, whither he had gone expressly to perfect himself in European tongues, may be productive of some reflection.

July.

Left Dover for our tour. Met American Colonel X. Y. Zachary at Calais. Glorious brick. Knew French, and talked for us all. Gave us quite a twang, and left us devoted to Yankees.

Put up at Grand Hotel. English waiter. Saved us lots of trouble. Went to English tavern. Excellent beefsteak for dinner. Cheese direct from Cheshire. Went to open-air music hall in the Shongs Eliza, what they call a coffee concert. Two English clowns and a man who sang "Tommy, make Room for your Uncle." English family on both sides of us. Dropped their H's freely. Met two college chums in the yard of the Grand when we came back.

Went out to buy German Dictionary, French Grammar, and Italian Dialogues. Bought a copy of Punch instead—great fun.

Started for Italy. Capital guard with the train: knew English thoroughly. Queen's messenger in the carriage; splendid linguist. What's the use of trying to speak a foreign language, if you don't begin in your cradle!

Arrived at Turin. Met the Larkspur girls at the station. Went everywhere with them. They are all awfully jolly. Quite gorgeous at slang. Must buy that Italian Grammar and Dialogues. Learnt the Italian for "Yes" to-day.

On to Venice. How well our gondolier talks English. Lovely weather for cricket or lawn tennis. Nothing so jolly here. Old bricks, and dirty punts they call gondowlers.

August.

Start for Rome. Fancy a Roman train. What was it? All Gaul, or all the train, was divided in tres partes. Sang comic songs all the way. Bother Rome! it reminds one of Virgil and Horace, and all those nuisances. By the way, we must not forget the Italian Dialogues. Hotel commissioner, such a good fellow. Has lived in the Langham for the last six years. Told us a capital American story. Left the others to go round the monuments while I played a game of billiards with Captain Crawley. By Jingo! he does play well. He never learnt Italian or French, but I have heard he is a Greek. Speaks English like a Briton.

Meant to have begun Italian to-day; but too hot, really. Go back by Vienna and Trieste. Better buy a German Dictionary. Charlie's voice downstairs, by Jove! Hurrah! Off to Vienna. Go over the Tyrol by night. Sleep all the way.

Vienna. Awfully good beer. English parson in same hotel. Knows the governor. Wants me to take him round, and as he hears I am studying German, will I interpret for him? See him further first.

September.

Leave Vienna, to escape parson. The German tongue most attractive when made into sausages. Lingo simply horrible. Couldn't learn it if I tried.

Arrived at Munich. Drove round the English Garden. Nothing English in it except weeds and ourselves. Saw Richard the Third played at the theatre. Call that Shakspeare? Well! I am particularly etcetrad. And in German, too! Why don't they learn English?

Home in time for some partridges. By the way, wonder what became of the "coach" who went out with me? Never bought the grammars and dictionaries, after all. There's nothing like English if you want to be understood.

At Baden-Baden.—Captain Rook. Yes, my dear sir, although they have closed the Public Tables, still, if you really want a little amusement, I think I can introduce you to a very good set indeed. Where they play low, you know—only to pass the time.

Young Mr. Pidgeon. Oh, thank you. I should like it very much indeed. But I am giving you a great deal of trouble?

Captain Rook. Not at all!

A correspondent reports the following advertisement, written in chalk on the box of a Swiss shoeblack:—

"English Spoken. American
Understood."