LES ANGLAIS POUR RIRE;

OR,

PARISIAN ADVENTURES.

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF CAPTAIN ANTHONY BLAKE.

CHAPTER I.

The Bif-tek à l'Anglaise.

It is well known to all who profess to know anything, that Paris is the finest, the richest, the grandest, the liveliest, and the loveliest city that ever existed, or that ever can exist on the face of the terrestrial globe. Indeed, whether any of the celestial cities can vie with it in beauty and magnificence is a point which its happy inhabitants do not seem anxious to discuss, so long as they can enjoy undisturbed the delights of their own Elysian Fields.

Into this superb city did the hero of our tale, attended by his faithful squire, enter one fine sunny morning some five-and-twenty years ago, the former seated in the voiture of the Diligence, and the latter in the cabriolet (coupe's not being then in fashion), where he sat with open mouth and eyes, swallowing dense volumes of dust, and devouring the wonders of the busy scene. In this order they proceeded down the Rue Montmartre-not rattling hurry-skurry over the pavement as they do in the rantipole English capital, to the manifest hazard of the queen's lieges, but soberly, leisurely, and with the dignity becoming so great a nation. The postillion did, however, to the utmost extent of his physical ability, crack his short whip, and flourish it about his head; yet were not the horses thereby induced to quicken their steady pace, nor did it appear that in this they disappointed the expectations of their vivacious driver. In good time, however, the Diligence (a word, by the way, which has a different meaning in France and England) arrived at that grand central_mart of foreign curiosities, the Messagerie Royale, rue Notre Dame des Victoires.

On descending from their moving mountain, Captain Blake and his valet, Larry Delany, were immediately surrounded by special ambassadors from numerous hotels, who, with the very quintessence of politeness, besought the honour of their company, to partake of the good things set forth in the printed cards which they tendered for their acceptance. Larry, who made a shrewd

guess at the meaning of this ceremony, stepped up to his master when he was about to decide, and drawing him apart from the rest, earnestly entreated him to be cautious in what he did, and on no account to enter a house with a bill in the window.

"Why not?" demanded Blake.

"Because," replied Larry, "not far from this very spot I saw a house with a bill stuck up, and what do you think was printed upon it ?"

"I cannot imagine," said Blake.

"Then, divil burn me !" cried Larry, with an energetic slap on his doeskin smalls, "if I didn't read these very words upon it Here they spike the English.'

Blake having promised his cautious attendant to be duly circumspect in his choice of a lodging, took up his abode for the present at the neighbouring Hotel de Bourgoigne, the modest appearance of which, he thought, would best suit the object of his visit to Paris, which was, in short, to discover the abode of a fair and wealthy inamoráta, who had been suddenly whisked away by her unconsenting parents from his ardent addresses. Having taken up his quarters, our hero sat down to discuss the merits of a dejeuner à la fourchette, and to deliberate with himself on the best mode of proceeding for the discovery of the Carltons. An application at the Hotel de Ville would, he knew, be the readiest mode of obtaining the desired information; but he thought it would be both impolitic and indelicate to excite observation by so public an inquiry, and he hoped that by constantly frequenting all the exhibitions and places of amusement he should accomplish his object before long in a more satisfactory manner.

After breakfast our hero dressed and sallied forth to prosecute his search, having first recommended Larry to be very prudent in his conduct, and carefully to avoid getting into any disturbance, which, however trifling it might be, would very much retard the important object he had in view. He also desired him, in his walks about town, to keep a sharp look out for Mr. Carlton's family; and should he be successful in his search, on no account to let them know that he was in Paris. Larry, having promised faithfully to observe his master's orders, they separated, and commenced their tour of inspections in different directions. The somewhat bewildered valet, however, took the precaution of enlisting into his service the stable garçon of the hotel, who spoke a few words of English, and who, for the valuable consideration of a quinze-sous piece, undertook to show him everything in Paris worth looking at.

The superb city of Paris possessed little novelty for Blake, for he had known it well in the days of its tribulation, when the conquering hordes of the north rioted in its luxuries and trampled on its humble inhabitants. When the savages of the Dori and the

Wolga withheld with difficulty their barbarian hands from destroying the monuments of vanished greatness, and defiling the unintelligible labours of heaven-born genius; when the beardless schoolboy, vain of his burnished steel and his gaudy plumes, sneered at the fallen veteran, whose cheek was bronzed with the suns of many climates, and whose hair was blanched with the disasters of campaigns more numerous than the years which had passed over the head of the military fribble. Then, as now, its inhabitants were gay, volatile, and obliging, yet shrewd, and full of finesse. Then, as now, the pageant of the day was hailed by the fickle multitude with shouts of applause, while the glitter of tinsel won their inconstant gaze, and kept them blind to the trickery of the charlatan, whose ascendant star constituted him for the moment the god of their idolatry.

For the whole morning Blake continued wandering about from one exhibition, or place of amusement, to another, in the hope of meeting his beloved Ellen. The libraries, the cabinets of natural history, the galleries of pictures and statues, the botanical garden, &c., &c., by turns underwent his inspection, but not as a virtuoso eager in his search for knowledge. His incurious eye beheld with indifference the united science and wisdom of ages, the most curious specimens of mineralogy, the most beautiful paintings, the most exquisite statuary, the most rare and extraordinary members of the brute creation, but the real object of his search was nowhere to be seen, and the world contained nothing else, at that moment, which could attract his attention.

Vexed and fatigued with his fruitless inquiry, our hero, towards evening, entered a restaurant in the neighbourhood of the Palais Royale, as he felt his appetite becoming rather importunate. Here, seating himself at one of the small tables, and spreading his snow-white napkin on his knees, he soon found himself surrounded with all the delicacies of which Epicurus is erroneously supposed to have been the original inventor. Blake was, fortunately, not difficult of choice, otherwise he might have shared the fate of the ass in the fable, and starved in the midst of plenty. Prompted, however, by an excellent appetite he gave abundant employment to the pretty, smiling, vierge, who liberally supplied him with plate after plate, which he successively emptied with a gusto that would entitle him to distinguished notice in the Almanack des Gourmands.

While our hero was thus beneficially employed, improving the condition of his inward man, and curiously inspecting the numerous contents of a bill of fare at least two yards long, two gentlemen, glaringly English, entered the room. In one of these, a tall, stout young man, with a florid complexion, attired in the most ultra fox-hunting costume, Blake recognized Mr. Giles Muggins, a ci-devant cornet of the 4th Dragoon Guards, which

regiment he had been obliged to quit from his quarrelsome disposition and fighting propensities. His companion was a little palefaced dandy from the purlieus of Puddle-dock, with grey Wellington trousers, a scarlet waistcoat edged with silver lace, and a blue frogged surtout, which appeared from the texture to have more than once occupied a prominent position in Monmouth Street. In him Blake recognized an old acquaintance, Captain, or as he was generally designated, Beau Tibbins, late of the Tower Hamlet's Local Militia.

The lively curiosity displayed by Mr. Muggins proved that he was a fresh importation from that land whose character, in the opinion of a Frenchman, is essentially bizarri, and his demeanour and actions did not by any means invalidate this estimate of our national characteristic. With open mouth he stared around him ; his eyes wandered with insatiable restlessness from the magnificent pier-glasses to the handsome marble pillars, the elegant comptoir, and the highly-dressed and decorated déesse seated behind it, partially concealed by beautiful porcelain vases, filled with all the gayest productions of the floral kingdom. He gazed with unrestrained freedom at the smart and pretty little female waiters, flitting about with all the gracefulness of Hebes, whose smiling looks and light airy movements might lead one to imagine himself transported to the Mahommedan paradise, reposing on beds of immortal amaranths, and served by the musky hands of unfading houris.

Giles Muggins, however, did not possess that poetical temperament essential to so lofty a flight. With a perversity of intellect too common amongst his countrymen, he decided on condemning everything that was not downright English, and endeavoured to conceal his involuntary admiration of all he saw under an affected veil of indifference and contempt. Fortunately he could not speak a word of French, and the company did not understand (or appeared not to notice) the impertinence of his remarks, which were addressed to his companion in the following strain :

"Now, Tibbins, did you ever see anything like this? Did you ever see such gilding and whitewashing? 'Tis all French frippery, and there's nothing solid in it, is there, Tib

bins ?"

"Tis nefarious, peculating gingerbread," responded the beau, with a peculiar phraseology quite original and expressive.

"I say, Tibbins," continued Muggins, "did you ever see such a set of ricketty spindleshanks in all your life, bowing and wriggling to one another like so many jingling-johnnies ?"

"They're a set of he-hulking, two-fisted pickpockets,” replied Tibbins, with one of his favourite set phrases.

"That they are," readily assented Mr. Muggins, "and no doubt we shall be prettily fleeced before we leave this gew-gaw

shop. Just look at that brazen-faced jade behind the flower-pots, with her yellow cheeks daubed over with brick-dust. I'll stake my life she's calculating how much she can make of us; and so are all the rest of these soup-maigre thieves, who would starve in ten days if they hadn't John Bull to live upon."

"The nefarious frog-eaters!" exclaimed Tibbins, blowing himself out to the magnitude of a cucumber; "when they stand beside us English they remind me of Pharaoh's lean kine coming to eat up the fat and well-favoured ones."

A horse-laugh from the two friends at this happy effort shook the whole room, and excited a stare of astonishment from the rest of the company, who were altogether unused to such boisterous expressions of mirth.

"I wonder now," said Muggins, when his outrageous cachination had in some measure subsided; "I wonder what these cripples are going to give us for dinner."

"Peculating frogs, I suppose," said Tibbins, "or nefarious dock-leaves cooked in a dozen different fashions."

"It seems to me," continued Muggins, "that there's nothing but kickshaws and syllabubs in this trumpery cook-shop."

"You mustn't call it a cook-shop, my dear fellow," said Tibbins; "tis a peculating rustyrong."

"Rustyright or rusty wrong," rejoined Muggins, "it matters little what you call things in a country where they haven't an atom of solid food; for even their eggs won't boil like

English eggs."

Indeed," cried Tibbins, "I wasn't aware of that."

""Tis a fact, I assure you," replied Muggins. "I tried it myself, and found that the cursed shells are so thin they crack the moment the water begins to boil."

66

tried.

Perhaps," suggested Tibbins, "those were cocks' eggs you

"Cocks' eggs!" cried Muggins, with a stare.

"Don't you know," said Tibbins, "that one of their famous dishes is made of cocks' eggs, or as the peculating frog-eaters call it, Oaf-ally-cock.'

"Never heard of it before," replied Muggins.

"By the Lord Harry I'll have some for the fun of the thing. Hulloa, waiter!"

"My dear fellow," interrupted Tibbins, "you must never call waiter' in this nefarious country, but garsong;" then elevating his voice he called out, with the self-satisfied air of a man who considered himself perfectly au fait in the matter, "Garsong! garsong!"

The singularity of calling for the garçon where there were none but female attendants seemed highly to amuse the company, but they were too polite to give audible expression to their merriment.