They never part with a shilling without remarking that for a penny they would be able to obtain the same value in France. You often wonder how it is they stick to this country instead of honoring their own with their presence. * * * * * I have always been an admirer of that worthy Frenchman who carries his patriotism to the extent of buying all his clothing in France. He declares it impossible to wear English garments, and almost impossible to wear out French ones. Besides, he does not see why he should not give his country the benefit of some of the guineas he has picked up over here. Like every child of France, he has the love of good linen, and according to him the article is only to be found in Paris. So he goes about in his narrow-brimmed hat, and turned-down collar fastened low in the neck, and finished off with a tiny black tie, a large expanse of shirt-front, and boots with high heels and pointed toes. As he goes along the street, he hears people whisper: "There's a Frenchman!" But, far from objecting to that, he rather likes it, and he is right. He speaks bad English, and assures you that you require very few words to make yourself understood of the people. He does not go so far as Figaro, but his English vocabulary is of the most limited. Without making any noise about it, he sends his guinea to all the French Benevolent Societies in England, and wherever the tricolor floats he is of the party. He likes the English, and recognizes their solid qualities; but as he possesses many of his own, he keeps to his native stock. * * * * * How this good Frenchman does shine by the side of another type, a type which, I am happy to say, is rare--the one who drops his country. The latter, when he speaks of England, says: "_We_ do this, _we_ do that, in England," not "The English do this, the English do that." He would like to say, "We English," but he hardly dares go that length. He dresses _à l'anglaise_ with a vengeance, makes it a point to frequent only English houses, and spends a good deal of his time in running down his compatriots. He does not belong to any of the French societies or clubs in England. These establishments, however, do not miss him much more than his own country. I once knew one of this category. His name ended with an _e_ mute preceded by a double consonant. The _e_ mute was a real sore to him, the grief of his life. Without it he might have passed for English. It was too provoking to be thus balked, and, as he signed his name, he would dissimulate the poor offending little vowel, so that his name should appear to end at the double consonant. He was not a genius. * * * * *