I admitted that her appearance was rather pleasing, but that beauty was out of the question, nor did I understand his brother to have made any remark conveying the idea that she possessed that charm so truly rare.

“What a delightful house and garden,” exclaimed.  Good Humour, as we passed by a residence, that had rather an inviting appearance; “now, is it not an agreeable spot to live in,” he continued, as he turned to me with a look, so assured of confirmation on my part, that I could not find it in my heart to disappoint him.  But as I was about to answer, Discontent grumbled out a few words, which I think were to the effect, that where the country was so hideously frightful, that any thing that was decent attracted notice, but that the same object in England would not have been regarded; asking me if I had ever travelled through a more ugly country in my life.

However I felt inclined to check his tendency to condemn all he beheld, yet I could not in truth otherwise than acknowledge that it was as uninteresting as it was possible to be, of which every one must be aware who has travelled from Calais to Boulogne.

Good Humour, however, was still undaunted, and a rather jolly, and very rosy, looking young female passing at the moment, elicited from him the exclamation of “Oh, what a pretty girl, and good natured!”

“The very type of fat contented ignorance,” interrupted Discontent, without allowing his brother to finish his sentence.

Soon after we entered Boulogne, where the white houses, lively green shutters, and cleanly appearance of the Grande Rue attracted the admiration of Good Humour, who observed with his usual energetic manner, “What a cheerful pleasant looking town, and how very pretty the houses are!”

“For outside show, well enough, which may be said of most things in France,” murmured Discontent; “but see the inside of those houses, and you will find there is not a single window or door that shuts or fits as it ought; and if they are inhabited by French people, you will find cobwebs and dirt in almost every corner.  Am I not right, sir,” said he, turning to me with a triumphant air.  But before I could answer, Good Humour took up the cause, observing, “Really, brother, you cannot speak from what you have seen, as the Hotel Bourbon is the only house we have yet entered, and it was impossible to exceed the cleanliness observed within it; therefore your remarks can only proceed from reports you have had from others, whose vision, perhaps, was as clouded as your own appears to be, by a pre-determination to view everything in France in the most unfavourable light.”  Perceiving that Discontent, by the angry look which he assumed, was about to reply in a bitter tone to his brother, I thought the best means of averting the storm would be to interpose a sort of middle course between them, and remarked that the gentleman’s observation, as to the windows and doors not fitting well, was very correct, but with regard to the dirtiness of the French it had been greatly exaggerated.