[10] It is scarcely necessary to remark, that the absurdity (exploded in England at the Reformation) of a Latin liturgy still obtains in France. [11] The Palais Royal! that pandemonium of profligacy! whose gaming tables have eternally ruined so many of our countrymen! So many, that he who, unwarned by their sad experience, plays at them, is--is he not?--"complete ass." [12] There are none, even in the leading streets; our ambassador's, for instance. [13] As the _Etoile_ lately translated John Bull. "When John's no longer chamber-maid." Of the _propria quae maribus_ of French domestic economy, this is not the least amusing feature. At my hotel (in Rue St. Honoré) there was a he bed-maker; and I do believe the anomalous animal is not uncommon. "When printed well a book is." Both paper and types are very inferior to ours. But that I respect the editor's modesty, I would say it were not easy to find a periodical in Paris, at once so handsomely and economically got up as--this MIRROR. * * * * * CARRYING THE TAR BARRELS AT BROUGH, WESTMORELAND. (_To The Editor Of The Mirror._) SIR,--In the haste in which I wrote my last account of the carrying of "tar barrels" in Westmoreland,[14] (owing to the pressure of time,) I omitted some most interesting information, and I think I cannot do better than supply the deficiency this year. As I said before, the day is prepared for, about a month previously--the townsmen employ themselves in hagging furze for the "bon-fire," which is situated in an adjoining field. Another party go round to the different houses, grotesquely attired, supplicating contributions for the "tar barrels," and at each house, after receiving a donation, chant a few doggerel verses and huzza! It is, however, well that people should contribute towards defraying the expense, for if they do not get enough money they commit sad depredations, and if any one is seen carrying a barrel they wrest it from him. For my part, I liked the "watch night" the best, and if it were possible to keep sober, one might enjoy the fun--sad havoc indeed was then made among the poultry--when ducks and fowls were crackling before the fire all night; in fact, a few previous days were regular shooting days, and the little birds were killed by scores. But ere morning broke in upon them, many of the merry group were lying in a beastly state under the chairs and tables, or others had gone to bed; but this is what _they_ called spending a _merry night_. The day arrives, and a whole troop of temporary soldiers assemble in the town at 10 P.M. with their borrowed instruments and dresses, and _a real Guy_,--not a _paper one_,--but a _living one_--a regular painted old fellow, I assure you, with a pair of boots like the Ogre's seven leagued, seated on an ass, with the mob continually bawling out, "there's a _par_ o'ye!"