am werry hungry—­I am almost starved’—­that won’t do—­’I have eaten enough’—­that won’t do either—­’To breakfast’—­no.—­But here it is, by Jingo—­’Dialogue before dinner’—­capital book for us travellers, this Mrs. de Genlis—­(reads) ’Pray, take dinner with us to-day, I shall give you plain fare.’—­That means rough and enough, I suppose,” observed Mr. Jorrocks to the Yorkshireman.—­“’What time do we dine to-day?  French:  A quelle heure dinons-nous aujourd’hui?—­Italian:  A che hora (ora) si prancey (pranza) oggi?’” “Ah, Monsieur, vous parlez Francais a merveille,” said the French lady, smiling with the greatest good nature upon him.  “A marble!” said Mr. Jorrocks, “wot does that mean?” preparing to look it out in the dictionary.  “Ah, Monsieur, I shall you explain—­you speak French like a natif.”  “Indeed!” said Mr. Jorrocks, with a bow, “I feel werry proud of your praise; and your English is quite delightful.—­By Jove,” said he to the Yorkshireman, with a most self-satisfied grin, “you were right in what you told me about the gals calling me Monsieur.—­I declare she’s driven right home to my ’art—­transfixed me at once, in fact.”

Everyone who has done a little “voyaging,” as they call it in France, knows that a few miles to the south of Samer rises a very steep hill, across which the route lies, and that diligence travellers are generally invited to walk up it.  A path which strikes off near the foot of the hill, across the open, cuts off the angle, and—­diligences being anything but what the name would imply,—­the passengers, by availing themselves of the short cut, have ample time for striking up confabs, and inquiring into the comforts of the occupiers of the various compartments.  Our friends of the “interior” were all busy jabbering and talking—­some with their tongues, others with their hands and tongues—­with the exception of the monster in the cloak, who sat like a sack in the corner, until the horses, having reached the well-known breathing place, made a dead halt, and the conducteur proceeded to invite the party to descend and “promenade” up the hill.  “What’s happened now?” cried the monster, jumping up as the door opened; “surely, they don’t expect us to walk up this mountain!  I’ve travelled three hundred thousand miles, and was never asked to do such a thing in all my life before.  I won’t do it; I paid for riding, and ride I will.  You are all a set of infamous cheats,” said he to the conducteur in good plain English; but the conducteur, not understanding the language, shut the door as soon as all the rest were out, and let him roll on by himself.  Jorrocks stuck to his woman, who had a negro boy in the rotonde, dressed in baggy slate-coloured trousers, with a green waistcoat and a blue coat, with a coronet on the button, who came to hand her out, and was addressed by the heroic name of “Agamemnon.”  Jorrocks got a glimpse of the button, but, not understanding foreign coronets, thought it was a crest; nevertheless, he thought he might as well inquire who his friend