The people at Biarritz seem to be in a chronic state of masquerade. In some the disease takes a severe and malignant form, in others simply that of a mild and harmless lunacy. Very fierce and dirty individuals prowl about the streets, in what is popularly supposed to be the Spanish costume, namely, shabby velveteen inexpressibles, jackets covered with a perfect eruption of buttons and bobbins, and the calves of their legs swathed in linen bandages, as if they were in a general state of poultice. These individuals have dreadful long Spanish knives to sell, knives which, when any Englishman is so infatuated as to decline buying Birmingham cutlery at Biarritz, they grasp in a very portentous manner, opening and shutting them with an air of determination which is most alarming to the weak and nervous. "Who comes in foreign trashery Of tinkling chain and spur, A walking haberdashery Of feathers, lace, and fur?" Who indeed? the poet might well ask on the afternoon parade at Biarritz; and it is not at all certain that the people know themselves. There are gentlemen in short white jackets made of blanket, lemon-coloured tights, and Napoleon boots, or in knickerbockers and top-boots, Scotch plaids, and very tall hats, with brims so narrow as to be rather problematical. The British traveller is, of course, to be seen there, as everywhere else, with a beard in that state which one does not know whether to attribute to neglect or intention. The ladies simply _dress at_ one another, and the extravagance of their costumes can only be conceived by minds of the calibre of Gilray, or by such as can picture to themselves Paris fashion gone mad. We saw one lady in short skirts and Hessian boots, with little bells for tassels. The dress itself was so stiff with embroidery and needlework that it would have made a capital diving-bell; and the jacket was so profusely embroidered with lace that it seemed made of solid gold. Nearly every lady finds it necessary, for some at present inscrutable reason,--which, however, like other mysteries will some day be made known,--to walk about with a slender white wand with a nail at the end. What are these sticks? Are they fetishes, or are they connected with any form of superstition. Why are they adorned with nails? And for what reason are they carried like toothpicks between the finger and thumb of a tight kid-gloved hand? We should also like to ask why do young English ladies at foreign _tables d'hôte_ always appear as if somebody was perpetually on the point of whispering something improper to them? Their frightened air, indeed, as one out of common politeness prepares to address them with some commonplace remark, is so infectious that it is a wonder one does not fall plump into a perfect mire of mistakes and _gaucheries_, a miserable martyr to the cause of amiability.