. British bee journal & bee-keepers adviser. Bees. THE BEITISH BEE JOURNAL. [Jan. 1, 1914. our travels. If occasionally I wander away from matters apicultural, have patience, for I would amuse as well as instruct, if I am able. The modern invader of France (amic- ably, of course) has many ways to choose from here. He who experiences difficulty when on the high seas of containing within him all that he holds dear, who A'-earns almost to bring up his very boots, would, of course, choose the shorter— Dover-Calais--route. But as for me. I much prefer the longer (as to sea passage) —via Newhave
. British bee journal & bee-keepers adviser. Bees. THE BEITISH BEE JOURNAL. [Jan. 1, 1914. our travels. If occasionally I wander away from matters apicultural, have patience, for I would amuse as well as instruct, if I am able. The modern invader of France (amic- ably, of course) has many ways to choose from here. He who experiences difficulty when on the high seas of containing within him all that he holds dear, who A'-earns almost to bring up his very boots, would, of course, choose the shorter— Dover-Calais--route. But as for me. I much prefer the longer (as to sea passage) —via Newhaven-Dieppe—for I am fond of the old Norman town, and the journey to Paris through the •'hills of ; What a contrast! We have left the hurly-burly, the hustle-bustle of the London streets but a few hours. We land in an old town, narrow streets, footpaths overhung by projecting houses, pointed gables to the houses. I could fancy that its '"rues" were still ttscd by the gallants with the ever-ready rapier one reads of in Dumas and the hooped beauties so familiar on the plaques of Watteau ; but I am not allowed to dream. A figure dances to the window of the "venture," and screeches, " Fru-e-ets. pears and grapes— tak Engleesen ; And they do take it, for the prices they ask would make our West-End fruit-shop keepers delirious with joy at the profits. The " gare " (we call it in English " railway station ") is by a busy thoroughfare, and the Chemin-de-fer. or iron road, runs parallel with the main street without even a protecting fence. How unfamiliar to us seem the titles on the signboards—" Boulanger," " Charcutier," " ; We scarcely recognise under these disguises our old friends the baker, the butcher, and the candlestick maker. The gendarmes are neat and smart, but those soldiers—red-britched infantry and wrinkle-booted cavalry— they are everywhere. How s
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