“If”—­these were his words—­“if there is a single, solitary individual in this fair land who has not touched me for something of value—­if there be in all France a man, woman or child who has not been tipped by me—­let him, her or it speak now or forever after hold their peace; because, know ye all men by these presents, I am about to go away from here and if I stay in my right mind I’m not coming back!”

And several persons were badly hurt in the crush; but they were believed afterward to have been repeaters.

I thought this story was overdrawn, but, after traveling over somewhat the same route which this fellow countryman had taken, I came to the conclusion that it was no exaggeration, but a true bill in all particulars.  On the night of our second day in Paris we went to a theater to see one of the topical revues, in which Paris is supposed to excel; and for sheer dreariness and blatant vulgarity Paris revues do, indeed, excel anything of a similar nature as done in either England or in America, which is saying quite a mouthful.

In the French revue the members of the chorus reach their artistic limit in costuming when they dance forth from the wings wearing short and shabby undergarments over soiled pink fleshings and any time the dramatic interest begins to run low and gurgle in the pipes a male comedian pumps it up again by striking or kicking a woman.  But to kick her is regarded as much the more whimsical conceit.  This invariably sets the audience rocking with uncontrollable merriment.  Howsomever, I am not writing a critique of the merits of the performance.  If I were I shou1d say that to begin with the title of the piece was wrong.  It should have been called Lapsus Lingerie—­signifying as the Latins would say, “A Mere Slip.”  At this moment I am concerned with what happened upon our entrance.

At the door a middle-aged female, who was raising a natty mustache, handed us programs.  I paid her for the programs and tipped her.  She turned us over to a stout brunette lady who was cultivating a neat and flossy pair of muttonchops.  This person escorted us down the aisle to where our seats were; so I tipped her.  Alongside our seats stood a third member of the sisterhood, chiefly distinguished from her confreres by the fact that she was turning out something very fetching in the way of a brown vandyke; and after we were seated she continued to stand there, holding forth her hand toward me, palm up and fingers extended in the national gesture, and saying something in her native tongue very rapidly.  Incidentally she was blocking the path of a number of people who had come down the aisle immediately behind us.