everything I could dispense with, I had had much night
travelling amongst native passengers, who so valued

cleanliness that they economised it with religious care. By
the time I reached Warsaw, I may say, without metonymy, that

I was itching (all over) for a bath and a change of linen.
My irritation, indeed, was at its height. But there was no

appeal; and on my arrival I was haled before the authorities.
Again, their head was a general officer, though not the least

like my portly friend at Vienna. His business was to sit in
judgment upon delinquents such as I. He was a spare, austere

man, surrounded by a sharp-looking aide-de-camp, several
clerks in uniform, and two or three men in mufti, whom I took

to be detectives. The inspector who arrested me was present
with my open despatch-box and journal. The journal he handed

to the aide, who began at once to look it through while his
chief was disposing of another case.

To be suspected and dragged before this tribunal was, for the
time being (as I afterwards learnt) almost tantamount to

condemnation. As soon as the General had sentenced my
predecessor, I was accosted as a self-convicted criminal.

Fortunately he spoke French like a Frenchman; and, as it
presently appeared, a few words of English.

'What country do you belong to?' he asked, as if the question
was but a matter of form, put for decency's sake - a mere

prelude to committal.
'England, of course; you can see that by my passport.' I was

determined to fence him with his own weapons. Indeed, in
those innocent days of my youth, I enjoyed a genuine British

contempt for foreigners - in the lump - which, after all, is
about as impartial a sentiment as its converse, that one's

own country is always in the wrong.
'Where did you get it?' (with a face of stone).

PRISONER (NAIVELY): 'Where did I get it? I do not follow
you.' (Don't forget, please, that said prisoner's apparel

was unvaleted, his hands unwashed, his linen unchanged, his
hair unkempt, and his face unshaven).

GENERAL (stonily): '"Where did you get it?" was my question.'
PRISONER (quietly): 'From Lord Palmerston.'

GENERAL (glancing at that Minister's signature): 'It says
here, "et son domestique" - you have no domestique.'

PRISONER (calmly): 'Pardon me, I have a domestic.'
GENERAL (with severity), 'Where is he?'

PRISONER: 'At Dresden by this time, I hope.'
GENERAL (receiving journal from aide-de-camp, who points to a

certain page): 'You state here you were caught by the
Austrians in a pretended escape from the Viennese insurgents;

and add, "They evidently took me for a spy" [returning
journal to aide]. What is your explanation of this?'

PRISONER (shrugging shoulders disdainfully): 'In the first
place, the word "pretended" is not in my journal. In the

second, although of course it does not follow, if one takes
another person for a man of sagacity or a gentleman - it does

not follow that he is either - still, when - '
GENERAL (with signs of impatience): 'I have here a

PASSIERSCHEIN, found amongst your papers and signed by the
rebels. They would not have given you this, had you not been

on friendly terms with them. You will be detained until I
have further particulars.'

PRISONER (angrily): 'I will assist you, through Her Britannic
Majesty's Consul, with whom I claim the right to communicate.

I beg to inform you that I am neither a spy nor a socialist,
but the son of an English peer' (heaven help the relevancy!).

'An Englishman has yet to learn that Lord Palmerston's
signature is to be set at naught and treated with contumacy.'

The General beckoned to the inspector to put an end to the
proceedings. But the aide, who had been studying the

journal, again placed it in his chief's hands. A colloquy
ensued, in which I overheard the name of Lord Ponsonby. The

enemy seemed to waver, so I charged with a renewed request to
see the English Consul. A pause; then some remarks in

Russian from the aide; then the GENERAL (in suaver tones):
'The English Consul, I find, is absent on a month's leave.

If what you state is true, you acted unadvisedly in not
having your passport altered and REVISE when you parted with

your servant. How long do you wish to remain here?'
Said I, 'Vous avez bien raison, Monsieur. Je suis evidemment

dans mon tort. Ma visite a Varsovie etait une aberration.
As to my stay, je suis deja tout ce qu'il y a de plus ennuye.

I have seen enough of Warsaw to last for the rest of my
days.'

Eventually my portmanteau and despatch-box were restored to
me; and I took up my quarters in the filthiest inn (there was

no better, I believe) that it was ever my misfortune to lodge
at. It was ancient, dark, dirty, and dismal. My sitting-

room (I had a cupboard besides to sleep in) had but one
window, looking into a gloomycourtyard. The furniture

consisted of two wooden chairs and a spavined horsehair sofa.
The ceiling was low and lamp-blacked; the stained paper fell

in strips from the sweating walls; fortunately there was no
carpet; but if anything could have added to the occupier's

depression it was the sight of his own distorted features in
a shattered glass, which seemed to watch him like a detective

and take notes of his movements - a real Russian mirror.
But the resources of one-and-twenty are not easily daunted,

even by the presence of the CIMEX LECTULARIUS or the PULEX
IRRITANS. I inquired for a LAQUAIS DE PLACE, - some human

being to consort with was the most pressing of immediate
wants. As luck would have it, the very article was in the

dreary courtyard, lurking spider-like for the innocent
traveller just arrived. Elective affinity brought us at once

to friendly intercourse. He was of the Hebrew race, as the
larger half of the Warsaw population still are. He was a

typical Jew (all Jews are typical), though all are not so
thin as was Beninsky. His eyes were sunk in sockets deepened

by the sharpness of his bird-of-prey beak; a single corkscrew
ringlet dropped tearfully down each cheek; and his one front

tooth seemed sometimes in his upper, sometimes in his lower
jaw. His skull-cap and his gabardine might have been

heirlooms from the Patriarch Jacob; and his poor hands seemed
made for clawing. But there was a humble and contrite spirit

in his sad eyes. The history of his race was written in
them; but it was modern history that one read in their

hopeless and appealing look.
His cringing manner and his soft voice (we conversed in

German) touched my heart. I have always had a liking for the
Jews. Who shall reckon how much some of us owe them! They

have always interested me as a peculiar people - admitting
sometimes, as in poor Beninsky's case, of purifying, no

doubt; yet, if occasionallyzealous (and who is not?) of
interested works - cent. per cent. works, often - yes, more

often than we Christians - zealous of good works, of open-
handed, large-hearted munificence, of charity in its

democratic and noblest sense. Shame upon the nations which
despise and persecute them for faults which they, the

persecutors, have begotten! Shame on those who have extorted
both their money and their teeth! I think if I were a Jew I

should chuckle to see my shekels furnish all the wars in