tions existing between the exiles to degenerate into undue intimacy. What the French call camaraderie has a disastrous effect in the confined space of a ship, or on the small tract of land conceded to the factories; sufficient protection does not exist for the dignity of the individual. A man, whoever he may be, must always lose by being seen every moment without preparation, as by permitting indiscreet questions concerning his intimate impressions and thoughts. The Americans and the English, who have understood this, have imposed a limit to familiarity which is never crossed.
After walking about for some time they return home, assemble for some hours at the house of a friend, or go out upon the terrace of the palace. Alas! it is not, as on the borders of the Bosphorus, the song of a fair odalisque that descends from the height of this aërial promenade. If the voice of a woman is raised in the midst of this group of men, it is certainly one whose discreet lips have never pronounced a tender confession, nor permitted an amorous sigh to escape them. Such is the life of the European merchants—laborious, monotonous, and somewhat contemplative.
Some of these young merchants possess elegant pleasure-boats, in which they row about on the Tchou-kiang. Not being able to make use of their legs in this intolerant land, they are determined, at all
