In France, when something is offered us at table we say: "With pleasure," or "No, thank you, not any more." "Thank you," alone, is sufficient, if you wish to refuse. In England, _thank you_, alone, signifies that you are ready to allow yourself to be helped to such-and-such a dish, as I once or twice found to my dismay and the distress of my poor stomach. However, these are not the usual ways of accepting or refusing. At the family table, when the master of the house asks you if you will have a little more of the dish he has before him, if you are still hungry, you reply: "I think I will." If you are satisfied, you answer: "I don't think I'll have any more," or, "I would rather not have any more." A Frenchman, taking leave of his friends, says: "Well, I must leave you; so, good-bye," and he shakes hands and goes. An Englishman will say: "I am afraid I must go." He is _afraid_ it must be late; he _thinks_ he must leave you; he _fears_ so: anyhow, he is not very sure; and if you were to ask an Englishman if it is true that his nose is in the middle of his face, he would reply that he hopes and presumes it is in the place you mention: "Dubius is such a scrupulous good man, Yes, you may catch him tripping if you can. He would not, with a peremptory tone, Assert the nose upon his face his own; With hesitation, admirably slow, He humbly hopes--presumes--it may be so." I happened the other day to be travelling, in a first-class carriage, with half a dozen young people who were going to Hammersmith, to do a little boating on the Thames. One of the young men was smoking. Up comes the guard to the carriage door. "You are not in a smoking-compartment, sir," said he to the young fellow, "and I see you are smoking." ----"You make a mistake, I am not," promptly replied my smoker, who had taken his pipe from his mouth at the approach of the guard, and was holding it out of sight. He was right: while he was answering the guard, it was his pipe that was smoking, not he. In a nation that boasts of its truthfulness, that punishes perjury with transportation, but which is not more virtuous than its neighbours, it was necessary to find _avec le ciel des accommodements_, and so white lies were invented: lies more or less innocent. How many good Englishmen do I know who would not for the world say, "My God," but who get over the difficulty by saying _mon Dieu_ or _mein Gott_, as if the Deity only understood English! * * * * * But it is the Puritans that you should hear, if you would form an idea of the genius of the English language. Their phraseology hangs about their tongues like so much treacle. It is quite a study apart. If you would be thoroughly edified, take a walk along the Strand in the month of May.