to be under the impression that, even if their legs are shot off, the skill of the Esculapii of the United States will make them grow again. Be this as it may, a person might be worse off than stretched on a bed with a slight wound under the tents of the Far West. The French have a notion that, go where you may, to the top of a pyramid or to the top of Mont Blanc, you are sure to meet an Englishman reading a newspaper; in my experience of the world, the American girl is far more inevitable than the Britisher; and, of course, under the stars {45} and stripes which wave over the American tents, she is to be found, tending the sick, and, when there is nothing more to be got for them, patiently reading to them or playing at cards with them. I have a great weakness for the American girl; she always puts her heart in what she is about. When she flirts she does it conscientiously, and when she nurses a most uninviting-looking Zouave, or Franc-tireur, she does it equally conscientiously; besides, as a rule, she is pretty, a gift of nature which I am very far from undervaluing." To resume our narrative. At home the parental and avuncular authorities had been at work, puzzling as to what career would best suit the young searcher for wisdom, the irrepressible Eton blood--the baby of the preparatory school, who, without his milk teeth, was able to confound the ruffians of the cane and their assistants--the undaunted enemy of university dons and pedagogues. Finally, it was decided that the diplomatic service would be, at any rate for a time, the best safety-valve for the inquisitive youth. Henry Labouchere was on one of his unconventional tours in his beloved Wild West when he heard of his first diplomatic appointment. He was appointed attaché at Washington on July 16, 1854.