(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.