Chapter II: Part 2

_Basta! per Bacco!_ I'll no longer straddle
(With cramp in each adductor and extensor)
This seat of torture that they call a saddle!
_Va via!_ in plain English, get thee hence, or----
On second thoughts, to leave unsaid the rest,
I think, were best!

_First Alpine Tourist._ "I say, Will, are you asleep?"

_Second Tourist._ "Asleep? No, I should think not! Hang it, how they bite!"

_First Tourist._ "Try my dodge. Light your pipe, and blow a cloud under the clothes! They let go directly. There's a lot perched on the foot-bar of my bed now--coughing like mad!"]

_Daddy_ (_with pride_). "Yes, my boy."

_Tommy_ (_after reflection_). "I say, daddy, what a big _garçon_ he'll be when he's out of jackets and turn-downs, and gets into tails and stick-ups!"]

"I implore your pardon for having deranged you, mister the gendarme, but _might_ I dare to ask you to have the goodness to do me the honour to indicate to me the way for to render myself to the Street of the Cross of the Little-Fields?"]

_IN RE_ THE RIGI

From a recent letter in the _Times_ it would seem that tourists visiting the hotels on the Rigi have to secure entertainment at the point (or rather the knuckle) of the fist. If the fashion is permitted to become chronic (by the patient endurance of the British public), the diary kept by the visitor to the Rigi is likely to appear in the following form:--

_Tuesday_, 4 A.M.--Just seen the sun rise. Rather cloudy in the valley, but on the whole magnificent. Will stay until to-morrow, as I am sure the air is excellent.

5 A.M.--Going back to the hotel. The night porter is shouting at me.

8 A.M.--Just finished a three hours' fight with the night porter. He scored "first blood" to my "first knock-down blow." I was able to polish him off in forty-seven rounds, and consequently have an excellent appetite for breakfast.

9 A.M.--After some desperate struggling with half-a-dozen waiters, have secured a cup of coffee and a small plate of cold meat.

12 A.M.--Have been asleep on a bench outside the hotel for the last two hours and a half, recovering from my recent exertions.

1 P.M.--Have fraternised with five English tourists armed with alpenstocks. One of our party has opened negotiations with the hotel-keeper as to the possibility of obtaining some lunch.

2 P.M.--Our ambassador has returned with his coat torn into tatters, and one of his eyes severely bruised.

3 P.M.--By a _coup de main_ we have seized the _salle-à-manger_, and now are feasting merrily on bread and honey.

4 P.M.--Just driven from our vantage-ground by eight boots, ten waiters, the landlord and auxiliaries from the kitchen.

6 P.M.--Have spent the last two hours in consultation.

7 P.M.--A spy from our party (assuming the character of an English duke) is just leaving us for the front.

8 P.M.--Our spy has just returned, and reports that when he asked for a room the enemy attacked him with brooms and candlesticks.

9 P.M.--Have just matured our plan of attack.

10 P.M.--Glorious news! A triumphant victory! Our party, in single file, made a descent upon the _table-d'hôte_, seized a large number of _hors d'[oe]uvres_, and, after an hour's desperate fighting, secured a large room on the top floor, where we are now safely barricaded for the night! Hurrah!

* * *

AT DIEPPE.--_Edwin._ Awfully jolly here! Awfully jolly band! Awfully jolly waltz! Awfully jolly, isn't it?

_Angelina._ Quite too awfully nice!

_Edwin._ Waltz over. Awfully nice moon! Awfully jolly to be a poet, I should think. Say heaps of civil things about the moon, don't you know! Rather jolly, eh? Tennyson, and that sort of thing, don't you know?

_Angelina._ Yes, isn't he a perfect love?

_Edwin._ Yes--great fun. Next dance--square. Awfully stupid things--squares, eh? You're not engaged?

_Angelina_ (_archly_). Not yet!

_Edwin._ Then let's sit it out.

MUDDY MILAN

Once I thought that you could boast
Such a perfect southern sky,
Flecked with summer clouds at most;
Always sunny, always dry,
Warm enough, perhaps, to grill an
Englishman, O muddy Milan!

Now I find you soaking wet,
Underneath an English sky;
Pavements, mediæval yet,
Whence mud splashes ever fly;
And, to make one damp and ill, an
Endless downpour, muddy Milan!

Though you boast such works of art,
Where is that unclouded sky?
Muddy Milan, we must part,
I shall gladly say good-bye,
Pack, and pay my little bill--an
Artless thing--and leave you, Milan.

* * *

AT BOULOGNE.--_Ted_ (_to 'Arry_). What's the meaning of "avis" on those placards?

_'Arry._ There's a question from a feller as 'as studied Latin with me at the Board School! 'Ave you forgotten all about the black swan? It's a notice about birds, of course!

_Herr Baron._ "Most lofly!"

_She._ "And what delicious water they give you to drink there!"

_Herr Baron._ "Ach, yes. That also haf I _seen_."]

_Mr. Brown._ "I say, Maria, what's the meaning of '_Sarner fairy hang_,' which I hear you say in all the French shops, when they haven't got what you want--which they never have?"

_Mrs. B._ "Oh, it only means '_It's of no consequence_.'"

_Mr. B._ "How odd! Now _I_ always say '_Nimport_'! But I dare say it comes to the same in the end."]

THEN AND NOW

_Before the Holidays_ (_an Anticipation_)

Really nothing so pleasant as packing. Such fun to see how many things you can get into a portmanteau. Won't take any books as the "Continong" will be enough for amusement.

Capital carriages to Dover. Everything first-rate. Civil guards. Time-table not a dead letter. Splendid boats, smooth sea, and a first-rate _buffet_ at Calais.

Dear Paris! Just the place for the inside of a week. Boulevards full of novelties. Theatres in full swing. Evenings outside the _cafés_ perfect happiness. Splendid!

_En route._ Swiss scenery, as ever, lovely. Mountains glorious, passes, lakes. Delightful. Nothing can compare with a jaunt through the land of Tell.

Italy--dear old Italy. Oh, the blue sky and the _tables d'hôte!_ What more glorious than the ruins of Rome? What more precious than the pictures of Florence? What more restful than the gondolas of Venice?

And the people even! The French the pink of politeness. The Swiss homely and kindly. The Italians inheriting the nobility of the Cæsars.

And all this to take the place of hard work. Well, it is to come. Bless everybody!

_After the Holidays_ (_a Retrospect_)

What can be worse than packing? And after all the trouble of shoving things in anywhere, you find you have left half your belongings behind! And of course the books you half read during your weary travels are stopped at the Custom House.

Beastly journey from Paris to Calais, and as for the crossing afterwards--well, as long as I live I shall never forget it!

Dear Paris! Emphatically "dear," with the accent on the expense. Glad to be out of it. Boulevards deserted. Theatres playing "_relâche_." _Cafés_ deathtraps in the service of the influenza.

_En route!_ Who cares for Switzerland--always the same! Eternal mountains--yet coming up promising year after year! Sloppy passes, misty views. Beastly monotonous. The Cantons played out.

Italy! Who says Italy? Blue sky not equal to Wandsworth. Rome unhealthy. Art treasures at Florence not equal to collection in South Kensington. Mosquitoes at Venice.

And the people! Cheeky French, swindling Swiss, and dirty Italians!

And yet this is all to be supplemented by the same hard work. In the collar again. Oh! hang everybody!

_Aunt Fanny._ "I do like these French watering-places. The bathing costume is so sensible!"

_Hilda._ "Oh, yes, auntie! And so becoming!"]

_Voice from above._ "For heaven's sake be more careful, Smith. Remember, _you_'ve got the whiskey!"]

_Arab_ (_as Mr. and Mrs. Smith appear_). "Sh! You vant a guide! I am ze best guide in Alger! For five franc I take you to Arab café vare Inglees not 'lowed. For ten franc I show you ze street vare it is dangerous for ze Inglees for to go. And for twenty franc--sh!--I stand you on ze blace vare ze last Inglees tourist vos got shot!"

[_Mr. and Mrs. Smith wish they were back in England._]

_'Arry Belville._ "Yes! I like it extremely. I like the _lazy ally_ sort of feeling. I like sitting at the door of a _caffy_ to smoke my cigar; and above all (_onter noo_) it's a great comfort to wear one's beard without bein' larfed at!"]

ADVICE TO ENGLISHMEN ABROAD

Excepting for their money, English tourists are perhaps not highly valued on the Continent. We would therefore offer a few practical suggestions, which, now that the tourist season has returned, will be found, no doubt, invaluable to Britons when abroad:--

1. When you begin inspecting a foreign town or city, it is wise to stalk along the middle of the streets, and make facetious comments on whatever you think funny. Laugh loudly at queer names which you see above shop-windows, especially if their owners, as is frequently the case, are lounging by the doorposts.

2. When you go into a church, strut and stare about as though you were examining a picture exhibition. Display contemptuous pity for the worshippers assembled, and make in a loud voice whatever critical remarks you happen to think proper.

3. If, while you take your walks abroad, you encounter an unfledged and enthusiastic traveller, who daringly attempts to enter into conversation with you, do your best to snub him in recital of his exploits, and render him dissatisfied with his most active feats. Interrupt his narrative with pitying exclamations, such as "Ah, I see! you went by the wrong route;" or, "O, then you _just_ missed _the_ very finest point of view." You may discover, very likely, he has seen much more than you have: but by judicious reticence you may conceal this awkward secret, and render him well-nigh as discontented as yourself.

4. When you are forced to start upon some mountain expedition, let everybody learn what an early bird you are, and awaken them to take a lively interest in your movements. Stamp about your room in your very thickest boots, and, if you have a friend who sleeps a few doors off, keep bellowing down the passage at the tiptop of your voice, although there may be invalids in plenty within earshot.

5. Should you gallantly be acting as a _courrier des dames_, mind that your lady friends are called an hour sooner than they need to be. A pleasant agitation will be thus caused near their bedrooms. They will amuse those sleeping next them with an incessant small talk, and, as their maid will be dispatched on endless little errands, their door will be heard creaking and banging-to incessantly until they clatter downstairs.

6. When you come into a drawing-room or _salon de lecture_, make your triumphal entry with all the noise you can, so as to attract the general attention. Keep your hat upon your head and glare fiercely at the quiet people who are reading, as though, like Gessler, you expected them to kneel down and pay homage to it.

7. Should your neighbour at the _table d'hôte_ attempt to broach a conversation with you, turn your deaf ear, if you have one, to his insolent intrusion. If in kindliness of spirit he will still persist in talking, freeze the current of his speech by your iciness of manner, or else awe him into silence by your majesty of bearing.

8. If, despite your English efforts to remain an island, you find yourself invaded by aggressive foes to silence, strive to awe them by the mention of your friend Lord Snobley, or of any other nobleman with whom you may by accident have ever come in contact. For aught they care to know, you may be his Lordship's hairdresser; but the title of a lord is always pleasant hearing in the company of Britons, although benighted foreigners have not such respect for it.

9. Never give yourself the trouble to order wine beforehand for the _table d'hôte_, but growl and grumble savagely at waiters for not bringing it the instant you _have_ ordered it, even though you happen to have entered the room late, and find a hundred people waiting to be served before you.

10. In all hotels where service is included in the bill, be sure you always give a something extra to the servants. This leads them to expect it as a thing of course, and to be insolent to those who can't so well afford to give it.

* * *

UNPLEASANTLY SUGGESTIVE NAMES OF "CURE" PLACES ABROAD.--_Bad Gastein._ Which must be worse than the first day's sniff at Bad-Eggs-la-Chapelle.

Row in a Belgian estaminet (In three tableaux)

"Now then! you be off!!" | "What!! you _won't!_" | "Then stay where
"I shan't!" | "_No!!_" | you are!!"
]

AN ALPINE RAILWAY

Abominable work of man,
Defacing nature where he can
With engineering;
On plain or hill he never fails
To run his execrable rails;
Coals, dirt, smoke, passengers and mails,
At once appearing.

To Alpine summits daily go
The locomotives to and fro.
What desecration!
Where playful kids once blithely skipped,
Where rustic goatherds gaily tripped,
Where clumsy climbers sometimes slipped,
He builds a station.

Up there, where once upon a time
Determined mountaineers would climb
To some far _châlet;_
Up there, above the carved wood toys,
Above the beggars, and the boys
Who play the _Ranz des Vaches_--such noise
Down in the _Thal_, eh?

Up there at sunset, rosy red,
And sunrise--if you're out of bed--
You see the summit,
Majestic, high above the vale.
It is not difficult to scale--
The fattest folk can go by rail
To overcome it.

For nothing, one may often hear,
Is sacred to the engineer;
He's much too clever.
Well, I must hurry on again,
That mountain summit to attain.
Good-bye. I'm going by the train.
I climb it? Never!

* * *

AT MONTE CARLO.--_First Briton._ One never sees any young girls here.

_Second Briton (brutally inclined)._ No! the ladies are obliged to be _trente et quarante_ to match the tables.

_Provincial Tourist_ (_to "Kellner" who offers him sausages_). "I say, old feller, any 'osses died about 'ere lately! _Chevals morts_, you know!!"

[_And the worst of it is, that though his compatriots did not
laugh, as he expected, the "vulgarian" wasn't a bit abashed._
]

ROUNDABOUT READINGS

Ostend must be a glorious place. From an advertisement which has appeared in an evening contemporary I gather that "the multitude, anxious to spend an elegant and fashionable sojourn in the country, has rendered itself this year at Ostend. It is a long time since such an opulent clientele has been united in a seaside resort. At the fall of day the vast terraces of the fashionable restaurants, situated along the sea-bank, present a fairy aspect. There is quite a confusion of dazzling costumes upon which sparkle thousand gems, and all this handsome cosmopolitan society passes through the saloons of the Kursaal Club, in which one hears spoken all known languages as at Babel and Monte Carlo, and of which the attractions are identical to those of the latter place." This is the first time I have heard of a similarity to Babel being mentioned as an attraction. But no doubt an opulent clientele has peculiar tastes of its own, especially when its dazzling costumes sparkle with thousand gems.

In a small Belgian town (naturally not Ostend) I once saw the following notice hung over the door of a washerwoman's establishment:--

Anglish linge tooke here from 1 sou
Shert, cols, soaks, sleep-shert, pokets.
I eet my hatt.

The last sentence puzzled me for a long time. Finally I came to the conclusion that it was not intended so much to be a statement of actual fact as an enticement to English people, who would of course take all their washing to a lady commanding so gay and accurate a knowledge of an English catch-phrase.

* * *

My third example of English as she is spoke is from a notice issued by an out-of-the-way hotel in Italy, which had changed its management:--

"The nobles and noblesses traveller are beg to tell that the direction of this splendid hotel have bettered himself. And the strangers will also find high comforting luxuries, hot cold water coffee bath and all things of perfect establishment and at prices fixed. Table d'hôte best of Italy France everywere. Onclean linens is quick wash and every journals is buy for readers. Beds hard or soaft at the taste of traveller. Soaps everywere plenty. Very cheaper than other hotel. No mosquits no parrot no rat."

SCENE--_A table d'hôte abroad._

_He._ "Parlez-vous Français, mademoiselle?"

_She._ "No, sir."

_He._ "Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fraülein?"

_She._ "No."

_He._ "Habla usted Español, señorita?"

_She._ "No."

_He._ "Parlate Italiano, signorina?"

_She._ "No!" (_Sighs._)

[_Pause._]

_She._ "Do you speak English, sir?"

_He._ "Hélas! non, mademoiselle!" (_Sighs deeply._)]

(_The extra half-franc_)

_Aunt Jemima_ (_blue ribbon_). "There, coshay. This is pour voomaym--sankont sonteems! But it's a _peurmanger_, you know--not a _pour boire!_!"]

ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRIT

Intending English visitors to Spa, who may wish to become, temporarily, members of the _Cercle des Étrangers_, will be pleased with the following courteous circular:--

"_Casino de Spa, Cercle des Étrangers._

"M.,--In polite replying of your esteemed letter of the ---- I will hasten to send you a statute of the 'Cercle des Étrangers' with a formulary at this annexed.

"Please to send us the formulary back, as soon as possible, the formalities for the reception as member wanting two days time.

"We dare inform you that only those persons are allowed to go into the drawing-rooms of the Casino, which previously have fulfilled the prescribed formalities of admittance.

"With the greatest respects
"In order of the directorship of the Casino
"THE CHIEF SECRETARY."

"_Casino de Spa, Cercle des Étrangers._"

"Under-signed, having been acquainted with the statutes of the 'Cercle des Étrangers,' wishes to fulfill the prescribed formalities in order to have inlet and therefore gives following indications:"

(_Space for particulars as to name, forename, title, or trade, "spot and datum," with signature, here follows; and so this most interesting document concludes._)

* * *

QUANTITY NOT QUALITY.--_Brown, senior._ Well, Fred, what did you see during your trip abroad?

_Brown, junior._--Aw--'pon m' word, 'don't know what I saw 'xactly, 'only know I did more by three countries, eight towns, and four mountains, than Smith did in the same time!

* * *

THE LOVE OF NATURE.--_First Chappie._ Lovely place, Monte Carlo, isn't it! Such beautiful scenery!

_Second Chappie._ Beautiful!--such splendid air, too!

_First Chappie._ Splendid!--a--(_pause_)--let's go into the casino!

[_Exeunt to the tables, where they remain for the rest of the
day._

_French Official._ "You have passport?"

_English Gent._ "Nong, mossoo."

_Official._ "Your name."

_Gent._ "Belleville."

_Official._ "Christian nom?"

_Gent._ "'Arry!"

_Official._ "Profession?"

_Gent._ "BANKER!"]

_She._ "I wonder what makes the Mediterranean look so blue?"

_He._ "You'd look blue if you had to wash the shores of Italy!"]

_London Gent._ "Garcong! tas de corfee!"

_Garçon._ "Bien, m'sieu'--Vould you like to see zee _Times?_"

_London Gent._ "Hang the feller! Now, I wonder how the doose he found out I was an Englishman!"]

_Indignant Anglo-Saxon_ (_to provincial French innkeeper, who is bowing his thanks for the final settlement of his exorbitant and much-disputed account_). "Oh, oui, mossoo! pour le matière de ça, je _paye!_ Mais juste vous regardez ici, mon ami! et juste--vous--marquez--mes--_mots!_ Je _paye_--_mais je mette le dans la 'Times!_'"]

TONGUES FOR TOURISTS

The Long Vacation is drawing to a close, and parents and guardians may like to know how reading tours have aided in advancing the education of their respective scions. Should any doting fathers be interested in the absorption of foreign languages into their sons' systems, the following mems from the diary of a University man, who has just returned from a tour abroad, whither he had gone expressly to perfect himself in European tongues, may be productive of some reflection.

_July._

Left Dover for our tour. Met American Colonel X. Y. Zachary at Calais. Glorious brick. Knew French, and talked for us all. Gave us quite a twang, and left us devoted to Yankees.

Put up at Grand Hotel. English waiter. Saved us lots of trouble. Went to English tavern. Excellent beefsteak for dinner. Cheese direct from Cheshire. Went to open-air music hall in the Shongs Eliza, what they call a coffee concert. Two English clowns and a man who sang "_Tommy, make Room for your Uncle._" English family on both sides of us. Dropped their H's freely. Met two college chums in the yard of the Grand when we came back.

Went out to buy German Dictionary, French Grammar, and Italian Dialogues. Bought a copy of _Punch_ instead--great fun.

Started for Italy. Capital guard with the train: knew English thoroughly. Queen's messenger in the carriage; splendid linguist. What's the use of trying to speak a foreign language, if you don't begin in your cradle!

Arrived at Turin. Met the Larkspur girls at the station. Went everywhere with them. They are all awfully jolly. Quite gorgeous at slang. Must buy that Italian Grammar and Dialogues. Learnt the Italian for "Yes" to-day.

On to Venice. How well our gondolier talks English. Lovely weather for cricket or lawn tennis. Nothing so jolly here. Old bricks, and dirty punts they call gondowlers.

_August._

Start for Rome. Fancy a Roman train. What was it? All Gaul, or all the train, was divided _in tres partes_. Sang comic songs all the way. Bother Rome! it reminds one of Virgil and Horace, and all those nuisances. By the way, we must not forget the Italian Dialogues. Hotel commissioner, such a good fellow. Has lived in the Langham for the last six years. Told us a capital American story. Left the others to go round the monuments while I played a game of billiards with Captain Crawley. By Jingo! he does play well. _He_ never learnt Italian or French, but I have heard he is a Greek. Speaks English like a Briton.

Meant to have begun Italian to-day; but too hot, really. Go back by Vienna and Trieste. Better buy a German Dictionary. Charlie's voice downstairs, by Jove! Hurrah! Off to Vienna. Go over the Tyrol by night. Sleep all the way.

Vienna. Awfully good beer. English parson in same hotel. Knows the governor. Wants me to take him round, and as he hears I am studying German, will I interpret for him? See him further first.

_September._

Leave Vienna, to escape parson. The German tongue most attractive when made into sausages. Lingo simply horrible. Couldn't learn it if I tried.

Arrived at Munich. Drove round the English Garden. Nothing English in it except weeds and ourselves. Saw _Richard the Third_ played at the theatre. Call that Shakspeare? Well! I am particularly etcetrad. And in German, too! Why don't they learn English?

Home in time for some partridges. By the way, wonder what became of the "coach" who went out with me? Never bought the grammars and dictionaries, after all. There's nothing like English if you want to be understood.

* * *

AT BADEN-BADEN.--_Captain Rook._ Yes, my dear sir, although they have closed the Public Tables, still, if you really want a little amusement, I think I can introduce you to a very good set indeed. Where they play low, you know--only to pass the time.

_Young Mr. Pidgeon._ Oh, thank you. I should like it very much indeed. But I am giving you a great deal of trouble?

_Captain Rook._ Not at all!

_Paterfamilias_ (_who_ WILL _do the parleyvooing himself instead of leaving it to his daughters_). "Oh--er--j'ai bezwang d'oon bootail de--de--de----Here, you girls! what's the French for _eau de Cologne?_"]

A CORRESPONDENT reports the following advertisement, written in chalk on the box of a Swiss shoeblack:--

"ENGLISH SPOKEN. AMERICAN
UNDERSTOOD."

* * *

SCENE--_Boulevard Café._

_First Irate Frenchman._ Imbécile!

_Second I. F._ Canaille!!

_First I. F._ Cochon!!!

_Second I. F._ Chamberlaing!!!!

"You like Ostende, Monsieur Simpkin?"

"Oh, yes, orfly! It's so 'richurch,' don'tcherknow. Just come up to the 'Curse Hall,' will you?"]

(_A Sketch in Belgium_)]

FLORENCE IN THE FUTURE

(_A very distant Future, let us hope_)

_Tourist._ Can you speak English?

_Guide._ Yes, sir. I lived in London for many years.

_Tourist._ It is a very long time since I was in Florence. What is there to see in your city now?

_Guide._ The city has been entirely improved, sir. There is the new Palazzo Municipale. It is superb.

_Tourist._ I don't think I should care for that. What else is there?

_Guide._ There are the new Boulevards, the Piazza Umberto and the Ponte Nuovo. They are all magnificent, and the American visitors admire them very much. So do the English visitors, but there are very few of them. It is curious, for Florence has been made quite new and handsome.

_Tourist._ I don't wish to see new buildings. Isn't there anything old?

_Guide._ Oh, yes, sir, of course. There is the Piazzo Vittorio Emmanuele. That is more than thirty years old.

_Tourist._ I remember the hideous square. But where are the old buildings? How about the Baptistery?

_Guide._ Oh, that was pulled down six years ago to make more room for the tramways. It was a dark, ugly old place. There is a beautiful new Battistero now, made of glass and iron, like the Crystal Palace near London, put up in place of the old Cathedral which nobody liked.

_Tourist._ What? You don't mean to say Giotto's Tower has gone?

_Guide._ There was some old _campanile_. I think it was sold to the Hawaii Territory World's Fair Syndicate.

_Tourist._ Anyhow, there's the Ponte Vecchio.

_Guide._ Oh, yes, sir. But nobody goes to see that. It was pulled down a great many years ago, and some old-fashioned, artistic Florentines made a great fuss, so it was put up again on dry land at the end of the Cascine. The Municipality used to do that years ago. Pull down an old building, and put it up again in quite a different place, and then say it was just the same. It hardly seemed worth the trouble. Happily they did not put up a memorial to every old building, as the English did to Temple Bar. As for the Ponte Vecchio, it was turned into a switchback railway at last, but it never paid. There is the Ponte Nuovo----

_Tourist._ No, thank you. But look here. There must be something. Where are the pictures?

_Guide._ They were taken to Rome, sir, when the Palazzo Pitti and the Palazzo degli Uffizi were pulled down.

_Tourist._ How about statues? I remember old statues everywhere, and some vile modern ones.

_Guide._ Yes, sir, years ago, but the old ones were all cleared away to make more room for the electric tramways. But there's a magnificent statue of Italy on the Piazza at Fiesole. The figure is two hundred feet high, made of cast iron, painted to look like marble. She holds an electric light in her hand, which you can see at night from miles away.

_Tourist._ But I'd rather not. How about the churches? Where is Santa Maria Novella?

_Guide._ Excuse me, sir; Santa Maria Novellissima. There was an old church once, but the present one is quite new. It is made of steel, with thin stone stuck all over it, to look like a stone building, just like the Tower Bridge in London. You know, sir, we get many artistic ideas from England. It is a very clever imitation, and much admired.

_Tourist._ No doubt. I'll ask you one final question. Which is the oldest building now standing in Florence?

_Guide._ Well, really, sir, I'm not quite sure. I should think the gasometer on the left bank of the Arno is about as old as anything. The Stazione Centrale was very ancient, but of course the new Railway Station----

_Tourist._ That'll do. I arrived at that station this morning. You take me back there, and I'll leave this unhappy place for ever. I'm off to Turin. It may be a rectangular, monotonous city, but it's now the oldest town in Italy.

* * *

AT LUCERNE.--_Member of Parliament_ (_ending a long explanation of a pet measure_). And so you see, my dear, by the law of supply and demand, Capital _must_ be benefited without injury to Labour. I hope I make myself clearly understood? Perhaps you might give me your view of the subject. The suggestions of fresh minds are frequently very valuable. I have noticed that you have been pondering over something for the last half-hour. You were thinking, perhaps, that greater liberty might be given to the framers of the initial contract?

_Mrs. M.P._ No, dear. The fact is, I have been considering all the morning which of my dresses I ought to wear to-night at the _table d'hôte!_

Sketch of a bench on the Boulevards, occupied by four English people who only know each other by sight.

_First Citizen._ "Say then! was it not a fine change to cry 'Vive l'Empereur' for nearly a whole week, instead of 'Vive la République'?"

_Second Citizen._ "Ah, my brave, it was truly magnificent! And so new! I'm horribly bored with always calling out 'Vive la République'!"

[_They smoke and consider._]

OBJECTIONS TO PLACES

(_By a Stay-at-Home Cynic_)

_Antwerp._--Too many pictures.

_Boulogne._--Too many English.

_Calais._--Barred by the Channel passage.

_Dieppe._--Journey there literally a "toss-up."

_Ems._--In the sere and yellow leaf.

_Florence._--Paintings anticipated by photography.

_Geneva._--Can get watches nowadays elsewhere.

_Heidelberg._--Castle too "personally conducted."

_Interlaken._--Jungfrau monotonous.

_Jerusalem._--Looks better on paper.

_Kissingen._--Fallen off since Sheridan's days.

_Lucerne._--Lion in stone too irritating.

_Madrid._--Bull-fights can be supplied by biograph.

_Naples._--No longer an _ante mortem_ necessity.

_Paris._--Used up.

_Quebec._--After the Jubilee, too Colonial.

_Rouen._--Preliminary journey impossible.

_Saumur._--Not to be tempted by the vintage.

_Turin._--Out of date more than a quarter of a century.

_Utrecht._--Nothing, with or without its velvet.

_Wiesbaden._--For ages superseded by Monte Carlo.

_Xeres._--Can get sherry without going there.

_Yokohama._--Products purchasable at the stores.

_Zurich._--"Fair waters" disappointing.

* * *

AT ANTWERP.--_Artist_ (_amateur_). "_The Descent from the Cross._" Hem! Not a bad bit of colouring, but out of date, sir,--out of date!

_Artist_ (_professional_). You think so! Well, perhaps you are right. Splendid subject--splendid work; but it mightn't have sold nowadays. In 1875, Rubens would have painted portraits of fat mayors and sketches from the nursery.

_Artist_ (_amateur_). Talking of sketches from the nursery, you should have seen my "_Coronation of Henry the Eighth!_"--the picture, you know, that they were afraid to accept at the Royal Academy! Afraid, sir!--that's the word--afraid!

_Artist_ (_professional_). Quite so!

"Tell him to clean your boots, John--and mine too."

"All right. Er--garçong, nettoyez may bot, si voo play--et aussee mah fam!"]

_Landlady_ (_to Jones, who is bargaining for apartment_). "Non, monsieur! C'est mon dernier prix, à prendre ou à laisser--et encore si je vous le cède à ce prix-là, c'est parceque la physionomie ouverte de monsieur m'est si sympathique que je voudrais avoir monsieur pour locataire!"

[_We will not insult our readers by translating._
]

TALK FOR TRAVELLERS

["The German officials at the frontier, since the relaxation
of the passport regulations, have been ordered to treat
foreign passengers with every politeness."--_Daily Papers._]

MEIN HERR, will you do us the honour to descend from the railway-carriage? It will be merely a matter of form. We need not disturb those gracious ladies, your wife and daughters.

This is the best way to the Customs. You will notice that we have swept the path that leads to the door.

Certainly, these arm-chairs are for the use of passengers. We have placed them there ourselves, and can recommend them.

Is it asking too great a favour to beg you to lend me the keys of your boxes? A hundred thousand thanks.

Your explanation is absolutely satisfactory. You are bringing these sixteen unopened boxes of cigars home for your grandmother. It is a most proper thing to do, and, under the circumstances, the duty will be remitted.

And these three hundred yards of lace of various makes and ages? An heir-loom! Indeed! Then, of course, the packet must pass duty-free.

As we have found nothing of consequence in this portmanteau of yours, it will be unnecessary to search the nineteen boxes of that gracious lady, your wife. No doubt she has obeyed your instruction not to smuggle. We are absolutely satisfied with your explanations, and are greatly obliged to you for your kindness and condescension.

This is the way to the carriage. We have placed steps before the door, as without a platform it is difficult to ascend.

No, mein herr, it is utterly impossible? We are forbidden by the Emperor himself to accept a gratuity.

Yes, madam, it is indeed without charge. Do not tempt us. Instant dismissal is the penalty.

Certainly, mein herr, you could get the same politeness before the Emperor issued his Imperial instructions.

But then the charge was a thaler!

"Ulloa! Garçong, _here_ you are! Dayjernay, se voo play?"

"Yes, sare! Vat vil you 'av, sare?"

"Oh! Oofs!"

"Yes, sare! [OE]ufs à la _coque_, sare?"

"Oh, nong! Hang it! _Hen's_ eggs for _me_, please!"]

_Gallant Scavenger._ "Very much the good day,[A] madame! And how fares mister your husband, this fine weather?"

_Polite Applewoman._ "Much better, I thank you, monsieur! Recall me, I pray you, to the amiable recollection of madame your spouse!"

_Gallant Scavenger._ "With pleasure, madame. Very much the good evening!"

_Polite Applewoman._ "Good evening, monsieur, and good night!"

[Footnote A: In the original, "_Bien le bon jour, madame_."]]

INTO SPAIN

(_With a Conversation-Book_)

_Cannes._--Read that the weather is dismal and cloudy in England. Shall stay in the sunny South a little longer. Cannes is a charming place. But might as well see something different. Where to go? Consult map. Good idea. Spain. Consult time-tables. Easiest thing in the world. Tarascon to Barcelona. What is there to see in Barcelona? Nuts probably. Also Spanish manners and customs, dark eyes, fans, _mantillas_, and so forth. Shall certainly go, after a few days. Good idea to learn a few words of Spanish. Must be very easy. Italian and French mixed, with some Latin added. Amiable Frenchman in hotel supports this view. He says, airily, "_Vous quittez Paris dans le 'sleeping,' vous achetez des journaux espagnols à Irun, et, arrivé à Madrid vous parlez espagnol._" Cannot hope to rival that linguistic feat, but may be able to learn a few phrases between Cannes and Barcelona. Buy a conversation-book in French and Spanish.

_Port Bou._--Across the frontier. Custom-house station. Now is the time to begin Spanish. Have read some of that conversation-book on the way. Begin to doubt its utility. Usual sort of thing. "Has thy brother bought a boot-jack?" "I wish these six volumes of Molière's plays to be bound in half calf." And so forth. This one is the same, only in French.

Custom-house officer, in beautiful uniform and bright green gloves, very strict in his examination of my luggage. The green gloves travel all over my property, and bring out a small cardboard box. Triumphant expression on official's face. He has caught me. Open box, and show him it contains a few white ties. His face now shows only doubt and amazement. Cannot explain to him verbally. Evidently useless to mention the binding of Molière's plays. The green gloves beckon another custom-house officer, also wearing bright green gloves. Together they examine my harmless white ties. It seems to me the green gloved hands are held up in pious horror. Try them in French, in Italian, in English. No good. Should perhaps tip them in Spanish. But why waste _pesetas?_ So refrain. They shake their heads still more suspiciously. The only thing remaining for me to do is to ask if the brother of one of them has bought a boot-jack. Does not seem very appropriate, but, if said politely, might imply that I wish to change the subject. Am just about to begin the note of interrogation upside down, which gives such an uncanny air to a Spanish question, when they cease looking at my ties, and I pass on.

_Barcelona._--Shall have no difficulty here. Have been told that French is spoken everywhere. If not, then English or Italian. Everyone in the hotel speaks French. To the bank. Manager speaks English beautifully. Buy some cigarettes. Old woman in the shop speaks Italian. Shall get on capitally. Need not trouble to carry the conversation-book in my pocket.

In the evening to the opera. Walk out between the acts, seeing Spaniards also walking out, and enter a café. Order coffee. Waiter brings a huge glass of water, and a cup, filled to the brim with sugar, on which the _verseur_ is about to pour my drink. Stop him. Explain in French that I take no sugar. The two, and another waiter, stand round me, with dazed faces. By Jove, they speak only Spanish! Wish I had the conversation-book. But should probably have found something like "_Nous ne voulons pas faire une excursion en mer, parce qu'il fait trop de vent_," or "_Ces bottines sont un peu étroites, veuillez les élargir_." No good trying talking. Turn out eight or ten lumps of sugar, and so get my coffee. Then return to the opera. Four polite officials at the entrance gaze wonderingly at the counterfoil of my ticket, which I concluded served for readmission, no pass ticket being offered. Ask each one, in turn, if he speaks French. He does not. Oh for the conversation-book! If only I could say "_Tous les tableaux dans le Salon Carré du Louvre sont des chefs-d'[oe]uvre_," or "_Est-ce que mademoiselle votre s[oe]ur joue du piano?_" I should have shown myself to be an individual with innocent and refined tastes, and not a socialist or a brigand. The second phrase would have been singularly appropriate in the opera house. Alas, I cannot! So address them in French, with bows and smiles. And they respond in Spanish, evidently with great courtesy, also with bows and smiles, and let me pass in, probably because they cannot make me understand that I ought to stop out. For the future I must carry that conversation-book everywhere.

_Norwegian Host_ (_whose English is not perfect--to British tourist_). "What that I tell you, sarr, it is quite true. Nansen killed his last dog to save the others!"]

THE TOURIST'S BOOK OF FATE

IF YOU DREAM OF IT MEANS

_Antwerp_ That you will be bored to death by Rubens.

_Boulogne_ That you will lose a small fortune in
tenth-rate gambling.

_Calais_ That you will soon tire of your Continental
trip, and stop prematurely.

_Dieppe_ That you will have about as much change
and comfort as at Brighton in November.

_Etretat_ That you will be fortunate if you can
secure comfortable lodgings.

_Florence_ That you will never enter another
picture-gallery for years.

_Geneva_ That you will want to go away before
you have fairly arrived.

_Heidelberg_ That you can never have been abroad
before.

_Interlaken_ That you will hear the opinions of a
number of Mr. Cook's tourists on
the Jungfrau.

_Jerusalem_ That if you have been advised to go
there by your friends, you must be
very unpopular.

_Karlsbad_ That if you intend taking the
waters, you had better insure your
life before commencing the operation.

_Lucerne_ That if you want to ascend either the
Righi or Mont Pilatus, if you are
judicious you will purchase a railway
ticket.

_Milan_ That you will find little difference between
the Passage Victor Emanuel
and the Burlington Arcade.

_Naples_ That you had better keep a sharp look
out on the returns of the cholera.

_Ouchy_ That you are likely to have a good
time of it at the Hôtel Beau Rivage
if "Perambulating Parsons" have
let it alone.

_Paris_ That you are quite subservient to the
wishes and dress-requirements of
your wife.

_Quebec_ That you can see what some of the
Colonists have exchanged for the
indiscriminating hospitality of the
Mother Country.

_Rome_ That you wish to do a good turn to the
doctors by choosing such a time for
your visit.

_Sedan_ That you will develop a taste for the
collection of Brummagem relics.

_Turin_ That you will want a good rest after
doing Mont Cénis.

_Unter den_ That you will be lured to visit a City
_Linden_ well worth seeing by the unearned
fame of one of its smallest
attractions.

_Vevey_ That you had better stay there than go over
the Simplon into tourist-teeming Italy.

_Wiesbaden_ That if you can't get "Trente et Quarante"
or "Rouge et Noir" at the Kursaal,
you may yet play at chess.

_Zurich_ That by the date you get there it will be time
to think of coming home again.

A Sketch on the Normandy Coast.]

REGRETS _EN ROUTE_

(_By our Blasé Contributor_)

That I missed so many chances of doing something more or less novel on the continent.

That I did not try a cup of coffee on Dover Pier _before_ starting for Calais.

That I avoided the smoke-room when the steamboat passed through a choppy sea mid-Channel.

That I did not "declare" something to the _douane_, to see what would come of it.

That I did not stay a day at St. Pol, and then take the slow train to Boulogne, stopping an hour or so at each of the interim stations.

That I did not go to a third-rate hotel on the wrong side of the Seine to find out what it was like.

That I didn't do the Bois de Boulogne in a fog.

That I left Paris without seeing Père-la-Chaise in a Scotch mist.

That I did not ride a horse in Venice.

That I neglected to spend a couple of days in the Catacombs in Rome.

That I refused to picnic on the top of the Tower of Pisa under an umbrella.

That I neglected to return to Marseilles by a cargo-boat.

That I followed no system at Monte Carlo.

That I went out in summer clothing at Nice.

That I took the train up the Rhine instead of one of the lumbering steam-boats.

That I overslept myself at the summit of the Rigi, instead of catching cold under a blanket.

That I followed the system of Mark Tapley without attempting cheerfulness.

Finally, that when I was in Japan, I did not save myself further boredom by personally patronising "the happy despatch."

* * *

MEMS FOR TRAVELLERS ON THE CONTINENT.

--First-class abroad is patronised by princes, millionaires, fools, _and_ wise men.

A sight-seeing trip would be far pleasanter without the sight-seeing.

* * *

ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTEN AT ZERMATT.--

On the back of the business card of a Zermatt shoemaker is the following notice:--

"PAY ATTENTION TO THIS Visitors are kindly invited to brought your boots self to the schoemaker, then they are frequently nagled by the Portier and that is very dammageable for boots and kosts the same price."

"Well, good-bye, old man. We've had a high old time in dear old Paris, haven't we! To me it all seems like a dream!"

"So it would to me, old man, if you didn't owe me thirteen francs!"]

HOLIDAY HINTS

(_By the Expert Wrinkler_)

Where to spend Saturday to Monday is, of course, the prevailing and stubborn problem in many of the stately homes of England. What then must be the difficulty when the question to be answered is where to spend the Easter holidays? The reply depends, of course, very much upon the time that can be expended upon the vacation. If, to take an example, a gentleman has only a week at his disposal, it is little use his thinking very seriously of India or the Cape; but Paris is, of course, well within his power. Given a fortnight he might get as far as Rome if he wished to, although for my part I prefer Monte. On this favourite resort, however, I need not dwell at present, as my readers will remember a paragraph on Monte and suitable costume there which I wrote some two or three years ago on the occasion of one of the infrequent breakings of the bank.

_Aunt._ "Kitty, if you don't behave yourself properly, I'll tell your mamma. When I was your age, I was a good girl."

_Kitty._ "And are you very wicked now, aunt?"]

What is all this about? Why, it is against the law to carry plants of any kind, alive or dead, into Italy, and the officials at the Italian dogana (custom-house) near Mentone have just been told that an English gentleman, with a rose in his button hole, has strolled by, towards Ventimiglia. So they are after the unsuspecting criminal!]

_Fidgety English Party._ "There seems to be quite a commotion in the hotel, Kellner!"

_Kellner._ "Ja wohl! De _drain_ has chust gom in, kvite full!"

[_Fidgety Party, who is not yet accustomed to the German way of
pronouncing English, is aghast._
]

THE IDEAL EQUIPMENT

Any gentleman who really wishes to acquire a reputation as a citizen of the world must be supplied with a large number of travelling outfits which he can pack at a moment's notice. A compendious bag fitted with requirements for the moors is always handy under my bed; and I am ready to start for the Riviera, the Normandy coast, Paris, Switzerland, the Bavarian Alps, the Rhine, Norway, Palestine, Iceland, at ten minutes' notice, according as the invitation may be worded. No gentleman at all in demand can afford to dispense with such preparations. But to make travel really pleasant, remember that you must not only do in Rome as Rome does, but you must dress as Rome (or Paris) expects you to.

THE NEEDS OF PARIS

Paris being the favourite Easter resort, I cannot do better, even at the risk of repeating myself, than give a few hints as to costume in the gay city. A strong light suit of tweed dittoes, of a pronounced check pattern, should be the basis of one's wardrobe. By way of headgear a deer-stalker, a cloth, or best of all, a pith helmet, is _de rigueur_ in the English visitor, and if you are not provided by Nature with side-whiskers and long projecting front teeth, you must call in the resources of art to make good these deficiencies.

A SENSIBLE SWISS OUTFIT

For a Swiss tour I should recommend the following outfit, A dome-shaped celluloid hat for resisting the impact of avalanches; two climbing suits of stout Welsh homespun or Irish frieze (do not make the mistake of wounding the susceptibilities of the local _fauna_ by choosing chamois leather, otherwise an excellent substance); hot-water tube puttees and purpoise-hide brogues. A good supply of alpenstocks and blue veils is indispensable. For hotel life, I recommend tourists to take their own mosquito curtains, a pianola, and a portable swimming-bath. The changes of temperature in Switzerland are so sudden that one must be prepared for every emergency. If the noontide glare has to be faced, bombazine bloomers will be found most refreshing. But if the Matterhorn is to be scaled by moonlight you cannot be too warmly clad.

NATIONAL COSTUME

What I would impress on any intending traveller, then, is to be prepared within certain limits to accommodate his dress to that of the country he proposes to visit. It is quite a mistake to suppose that this will involve any serious outlay. Foreigners, though sensitive, are considerate, and will not expect strangers to adopt every detail of their national costume. For instance, I have found that the alterations needful for a visit to Vienna are very few indeed. The absolute minimum is a butterfly tie, but I should also recommend a bottle of _pommade Hongroise_ and a tall hat with a flat brim. The ordinary brim can be made to lie flat with a little coaxing, and can be curled up afterwards by any good hatter. High heels also create a favourable impression on the foreign mind, and if you take a black coat be sure that it is heavily braided.

THE TYROL AND ITALY.

I knew a man who said that you would be welcomed anywhere in the Tyrol if you could only jodel. Personally, though I think that a little _tul-lul-liety!_ may be a passport to the affections of the Tyrolese peasant, it has no influence whatever with hotel-keepers. For Italy, a velvet or velveteen coat will make you feel at home, and if this should prove beyond the resources of your purse, then I strongly recommend earrings as the irreducible minimum. The preliminary operation, I admit, is a little painful, but it soon passes off. Earrings, with a red Garibaldi shirt and a Byron tie, give a man a very stylish and thoroughly peninsular appearance.

* * *

WHAT THEY TAKE ABROAD.--_What She takes._--Three black silk dresses (Princesse, Watteau, and Duchesse); one green satin robe, with bows; one fancy silk, with embroidered apron; two black grenadines (one square cut); two white grenadines, with lace trimmings; four white tops (two warranted to wash); one violet skirt, with apron and jacket; four dinner dresses (violet, pink, pink and black, and blue); three polonaises (yellow, green, and red); one white worked top, with cardinal bows; two sealskin, one black silk, and three black cloth jackets; long fur cloak, ulster, and grey travelling polonaise; four hats (Gainsborough, brigand, shovel, and pork-pie); four bonnets (black, blue, violet, and red); linen (14 cwt.); boots, slippers, &c. (1 cwt.); extras, toilet, &c. (76 lb.).

_What He takes._--Linen (10 lb.); two flannel shirts; an extra pair of boots; his sponge, combs, and brushes; and a wideawake hat.

_Custom-House Officer._ "Now, then, got anything contraband about ye?"

_Mate._ "'Got 'bout bot'l and half brandy; but I'll defy ye to take it fro' me!" ]

WHERE TO GO

_Antwerp_--if you are not tired of Exhibitions.

_Boulogne_--if you don't mind the mud of the port.

_Cologne_--if you are not particular about the comfort of your nose.

_Dieppe_--if you like bathing in the foreign fashion.

_Etretat_--if solitude has commanding charms.

_Florence_--if you are partial to 100° in the shade.

_Genoa_--if you have no objection to mosquitoes.

_Heidelberg_--if you are not tired of the everlasting castle.

_Interlaken_--if the Jungfrau has the advantage of novelty.

_Java_--if you wish to eat its jelly on the spot.

_Kandahar_--if you are not afraid of Afghan treachery.

_Lyons_--if you are fond of riots and _émeutes_.

_Marseilles_--if you are determined to do the Château D'If.

_Naples_--if you are anxious to perform an _ante mortem_ duty.

_Ouchy_--if you like it better than Lausanne.

_Paris_--if you have not been there for at least a fortnight.

_Quebec_--if you are qualifying for admission to a lunatic asylum.

_Rome_--if you have never had the local fever and want to try it.

_Strasbourg_--if you are hard up for an appropriate destination.

_Turin_--if it is the only town you have not seen in Italy.

_Uig_--if you affect the Isle of Skye in a thunderstorm.

_Venice_--if you scorn stings and evil odours.

_Wiesbaden_--if you can enjoy scenery minus gambling.

_Yokohama_--if you are willing to risk assault and battery.

_Zurich_--if you can think of no other place to visit.

N.B.--The above places are where to go on the keep-moving-tourist plan. But when you want to know "Where to stay,"--we reply, "At Home."

THE REAL SWISS BOY

A NEW VERSION OF THE WELL-KNOWN BALLAD

(_Respectfully dedicated by Mr. Punch to the Alpine Tourist, on his return home_)

MR. PUNCH _singeth to Swiss Landlord_--

Come, carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
Sack thy gains, and from labour away.
Stick the tongue in the cheek, and sing "_La République_
(Like _l'Empire_, as we know) _c'est la paye!_"
The season's done, with purses low,
The weary tourists homeward flow--
Then carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy,
Sack thy gains, and from labour away!

_Swiss Landlord respondeth_--

Am not I, am not I, say, a merry Swiss boy,
When I hie from the mountain away?
_Les Milords_ they may climb, without reason or rhyme,
But, _beigott_, for their climb they shall pay.
My shutters up, no thieves to fear,
Till back the tourists come next year,
Then will I, then will I, as the merry Swiss boy,
Take purses upon the highway!

By the nose, by the nose, sir, the knowing Swiss boy
The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can lead;
Through the nose, through the nose, too, the knowing Swiss boy
The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can bleed:
Hotels so high high charges grow;
_Point d argent, point de Suisse_, you know.
So with _Vivent les Anglais!_ locks the merry Swiss boy
The francs in his strong-box away!

* * *

VENICE UNPRESERVED

[_"Steamers have been started on the Grand Canal at Venice."--Globe._]

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand.
I saw from out the wave black funnels rise
Whence clouds of densest smoke I saw expand,
And common steamboats, at a penny a mile,
O'er the canal--saw many a person land
Upon the piers. O Anguish! it does rile
The Bard to see all this--and what a smell of ile!

* * *

THE MERRY SWISS LANDLORD TO THE TRAVELLER WHO HAS BEEN PLUNDERED

Briton, assuage this futile rage!
Your curses are in vain.
You vow you'll go, but well I know
You'll cut to come again!

_Mr. Mould._ "Let it remain here, and I'll come back for it!"

_Chef de Gare._ "Je n'comprends pas, m'sieur!"

_Mrs. Mould._ "Try him in _Latin_, my love."

_Mr. Mould._ "All right. Look here, mossoo--_Requiescat in pace--resurgam!_"

_Chef de Gare._ "Ah! parfaitement! Que ça reste ici, et puis vous reviendrez!"]

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

There is no doubt that one's first impressions are always the brightest and the best; therefore I resolve to record the first impressions of a first visit to the Italian lakes.

"_British Bellagio_,"--