There have been so many English visitors, of late, to this part of the kingdom that special arrangements have been made for the benefit of their bodies and souls; a small English church and a large English tavern have been built within a short distance of the sea. This year there are two pastors doing duty at the church, the Rev. Dr. Primrose and Parson Adams, both of whom have been fervent in denouncing from the pulpit the evils of the world; indeed, Dr. Primrose caused quite a stir with his ‘Folly of Cosmogony.’ The tavern has been named the New Boar’s Head, and the hostess is Mistress Quickly, late of Eastcheap, London. Autolycus writes that it is a rowdy house, but this can be set down to professional jealousy and his ignorance of the persons concerned. The best room is now occupied by Sir John Falstaff, who is reported to be a man of some substance; and the house is becoming renowned for good talk and the drinking of ‘healths five fathoms deep.’ It is unfortunate that one of Sir John’s followers has got himself into trouble with the constables. The latter were recently appointed by the Prince to look after the watch, and are from Messina, where everyone knows Dogberry and Verges. So far, they have only made one arrest, and that was of Pistol, Sir John’s Ancient. It seems that he, Ancient Pistol, being full of sack, encountered the constables and expressed himself in Cambyses’ vein, calling Dogberry a ‘dung-hill cur,’ and Verges ‘a recreant coward base.’ This led to his arrest and confinement, where he will remain for the time being, unless the justices are willing to accept Bardolph as security.... But I have dwelt long enough on the wonders of this delectable unrivalled resort. If some of my statements above are disbelieved, or in any way questioned, I can only refer to my original authority, Autolycus, who said long ago, in answer to a similar charge: ‘Why should I carry lies abroad?’ ON A MOUTH-ORGAN FOR the past half hour, someone, probably a small boy, has been playing a mouth-organ underneath my window. I know of no person under this roof peculiarly susceptible to the sound of a mouth-organ, so that I cannot think that the unknown musician is serenading. He is probably a small boy who is simply hanging about, after the fashion of his mysterious tribe, and whiling away the time with a little music. Why he should choose a raw day like this on which to do nothing but slide his lips over the cold metal of a mouth-organ must remain a mystery to me; but I have long realised that unfathomable motives may be hidden away behind the puckered face and uncouth gestures of small boyhood.