You see by the catalogue, forty clear lots—­
    Thirty women; ten asses; some small. 
  To proceed then, we’ll take them, sirs, just as they are,
    Say forty fine donkeys in all.

  They’ve plenty of sinew, and as to their voice,
    I think about that you well know. 
  The first lot then, gents; shall we say fifteen francs? 
    Well then, ten; but that’s rather too low.

  In our country for ladies we’ve heaps of respect,
    But we’ve fully enough and to spare;
  And we know that “two women a market will make,
    And that three are enough for a fair."[1]

* * * * *

  Now then, gents, please be sharp!  No advance?  No advance? 
    The candle[2] burns fast to the end. 
  Ten francs for this wonderful native—­ten francs! 
    Why, surely, that’s nothing to spend!

  No bidding?  Good gracious!  Why what shall I do
    To oblige you?  I’ll class them as one: 
  Now what do you say for the whole forty lots? 
    Make a bid, sirs, I want to have done.

  Fifty francs for the lot; see the candle’s nigh out: 
    Fifty francs, take them all as they rise. 
  What!  No one will buy them?  Alas!  I must say
    You’re all most uncommonly wise.

  They clamour and chatter the whole of the day,
    I believe they snore loudly at night;
  Oh, if only a Barnum would take them away,
    You don’t know how I’d dance with delight!

[Footnote 1:  His exact words were, “Dans mon pays, monsieur, nous disons qu’il faut trois femmes pour faire une foire, et deux pour un marche.”]

[Footnote 2:  Alluding to the custom in France of burning bits of candle to denote the time in which the bidding may proceed; usually when the third piece goes out the bidding for the special lot is finished, and the next is proceeded with.]

This last verse was very easy to understand, as the women are always anxious to obtain occupation for a lesser remuneration[1] than the qualified guides, who naturally dislike this interference between them and their earnings, although no bad feeling really exists on the matter.

[Footnote 1:  There is a good tale told, a propos of this, of a gentleman in San Francisco who wanted some wood chopped.  An American offered to do it for a dollar, but a Chinaman asked only half.  The gentleman, thinking it best to help his own countryman, gave the Yankee the job; but happening to pass the yard during the day, he found the Chinaman busily at work.  “Hullo!” cried he, “I didn’t give the job to you.  Who told you to cut this wood?” “Melican man” (American man), responded the pigtailer.  “And how much is he paying you?” “Hap dollar,” replied the Celestial.  And the swell went away resolved never to help his countryman again.]

After an enjoyable kettledrum, the tea being our own and made under personal supervision, Miss Blunt perched herself on a hillock to sketch, and Mr. Sydney explored the neighbourhood for flowers, of which gentians were the principal object of his search.  Both having in a certain degree attained their ends, we started again at half-past four, and after a pleasant drive, which lasted two hours instead of three—­the time occupied in coming—­we reached our quarters in the best of tempers and not with the worst of appetites.