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who have actually forgotten their mother tongue in three months--forgot
it in France. They can not even write their address in English in a
hotel register. I append these evidences, which I copied verbatim from
the register of a hotel in a certain Italian city:
"John P. Whitcomb, Etats Unis.
"Wm. L. Ainsworth, travailleur (he meant traveler, I suppose,)
Etats Unis.
"George P. Morton et fils, d'Amerique.
"
Lloyd B. Williams, et trois amis, ville de Boston, Amerique.
J. Ellsworth Baker, tout de suite de France, place de
"
naissance Amerique, destination la Grand Bretagne."
I love this sort of people. A lady passenger of ours tells of a
fellow-citizen of hers who spent eight weeks in Paris and then returned
home and addressed his dearest old bosom friend Herbert as Mr.
"
Er-bare!" He apologized, though, and said, "'Pon my soul it is
aggravating, but I cahn't help it--I have got so used to speaking
nothing but French, my dear Erbare--damme there it goes again!--got so
used to French pronunciation that I cahn't get rid of it--it is
positively annoying, I assure you." This entertaining idiot, whose name
was Gordon, allowed himself to be hailed three times in the street
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