The man, with a strong Italianized accent,
replies, and adds that he would like to learn
English.

"Then why don't you do so?"

"I have no money."

"But you don't want money to learn
English, man! I will give you a couple of francs
to buy a grammar and a dictionary; go among
the English sailors as much as you can—and
the thing is done. Here are the two francs."

"It is tremendous work pulling against this
head wind. Let me take an oar. Steady, that
will do;" and twenty minutes hard
exercise brings us to shore. "What is your fare ?"

"Monsieur has already paid me."

"Nonsense! I gave you those two francs to
learn English; besides, you have been out with
me these two hours and a half, and your fare
is thirty sous an hour."

"Monsieur has already paid me—more than
paid me."

I never like to thwart a man when he
thinks he is doing a pretty thing, so I put up
the five-franc piece I had ready for him, and
say, " Well, some day I may pass through this
place again. If I do, I will look for you. Mind,
it is a promise; and, if you can speak to me
in English I will give you—what? Why—a
silver oar."

"I shall have it, Monsieur, then," answers
the boatman, showing a set of glistening
white teeth, and touching his hat with a frank
upright air which pleased me. One has the
opportunity of giving an arm to Minerva,
sometimes, even on the breezy quays of a sea-port.

Sauntering back to my hotel, I meet a fat
man with a sleepy eye coming out of my
bedroom. The fact presently turns out to be that
I have been robbed of one of three louis from
the secretaire in my room. I complain, but
am met with such an angry hubbub from a
turbulent waiterocracy, that I am glad to put
my loss in my pocket, and leave the fat
thief with the sleepy eye in a state of peaceful
security.

The next morning finds me straining hard
at an intractable cigar in a high wind upon
the quays again.

Why, I declare, there is the Great Do
advertised to start to-night. I hurry to the
office. Can it be true? Yes, the ship from
the Antipodes has actually arrived, the cargo
is complete, and we shall only lose three days
after all. To be sure, many of those who
intended to go by it have made little
excursions for a day or two to Toulon, or where
not, and are not now in Marseilles; others,
expecting to be detained longer, have made
arrangements for a week at their hotels, and
sent their things to the tardy wash. I regret
to say I am among the latter.

"Monsieur—can I really venture to go down
again to the Great Do to-night ? Will she
really start?"

"Certainly. Here is your ticket."

"Excuse me; my place is number six,
letter A."

"Desolated, Monsieur; that place has been
taken by Lord Bumblepuppy."

"But I took it three days ago."

My lord has taken it also; but I can
have a place in the stern, one of the most
uncomfortable parts of the ship.

"Very well, we will not dispute. Do you
take bank-notes ?"

Bank-notes! Of course he does. "It is all
the same to us; we have many commercial
relations with London. Here is the change of
Monsieur."

I have a bad habit of looking at my
change, and on telling it carefully over I find
my gentleman has given me twenty-four
francs for the pound sterling, or exactly
three-fourths of a franc less than its worth on
the exchange. I am too much disgusted
however even to complain.

"Here is your ticket, Monsieur, which you
will present on going on board, and here is
another ticket for the boat which takes you
on board; you will have the kindness,
especially, to avoid giving the boatmen anything
—we pay them already more than sufficiently.
Monsieur, I have the honour to salute you."
My twenty pound note disappears in a greasy
receptacle, the door closes on me, and I return
to mine inn.

My bill is, of course, extortionate—as bills
always are at bad hotels—but I pay it without
grumbling, because I wish to secure my bed
in case of another disappointment. My
luggage is taken to the boat paid for by the
owners of the Great Do, and I follow it.
There are too many of us on board the boat
paid for by the owners of the Great Do,
and we are so uncomfortably crowded that it
appears to me if the boat paid for by the
owners of the Great Do were to spring a
leak and sink, we should all go down in a
compact lump.

"Hi! Monsieur, you have not paid your
fare."

"Here is my ticket; my fare is paid by the
owners of the Great Do."

"Pardon, Monsieur, you are paid for by
the owners of the Great Do, but your
luggage—a trunk, a hat-box, and a leather bag
—is not paid for. Three francs, Monsieur."

At last, plucked and plundered, I am
delivered over, wholly and irremediably, to the
Great Do. What is to become of me now
that I am confined in her, without hope of
redress or escape until I land at Naples, I
shudder to contemplate.

Now ready, price 5 s. 6d, neatly bound in Cloth,

                 THE SIXTH VOLUME

                               OF

               HOUSEHOLD WORDS.

Containing the Numbers issued between September 11th,
1852, and February 26th, 1853; including the extra
Christmas number, entitled, "A ROUND OF STORIES BY
THE CHRISTMAS FIRE."