One presames that even to the patient German the thing grow tiresome. In the "Fliegonde Blatter" two young clerk: were represented discussing the question of summer holidays. "Where are you going?" asked A. -of B. ' Nowhere," answered B, " Can't you afford it asked the sympathetic A. "Only be able to save up.ctough forthe postcards," answered B, gloomily; "no money left for the trip." Men and women carry bulky. volumes contaisiing the names and addresses of the people to whom they had promised to send cards. Evorywhoro, through winding forest glade, by silver sea, on mountain pathway, one mot with rremsturely aged-looking tourists muttering as they walked: " Did I {sont Aunt Gretchen a postcard from that last village that we stopped at, or did I address two to Cousin Lisa Then. again,- maybe, the picture postcard led to disappointment. Uninteresting towns clamoured, as ill-favoured spinsters in a Photographic studio, to be made beautiful. 'I want," says the lady, "a photograph my friends will really like. Some of these second-rate photographers make one look quite plain. I don't want you to flatter mo, if you underatend, T merely want something nice." The obiging photographer does his best, The nose is carefully toned town, the wart becomes a dimple, her own husband doesn't know her. The postcard artist has ended by imagining. overgthing as it might have been. " If it were not for the houses," says the postcard artist to himself, this might have been a picturesque old High Street of medieval aspect." So he drawy a Been. The lover of q architecture picture of the High Street as it might have
travels out of his way (o see it, and when he finds it and contrasts it with the picture postcard he gets mad. I bought n postcard myself once representing the market place ofa certain French town. Tt seemed to me, looking at the postcard, that I hadn't really seen France—not yet. I travelled nearly a hundred miles to see that market I was careful to: arrive on market day and to get there at the right time. I reached the market square and looked at it. Then I asked a gendarme where it was, PHOTOGRAPHIC CENSURING, He said it was thore—that I was in it, I said: "I don't mean this one, I want the other one, the picturesque one." Ho said it was the only market square they had. I took the postcard from my pocket. "Where are the girls?" I asked him. " What girls?" he demanded. "Why, these girls." I showed! bim the postcard, there ought to have been about 'a hundred; of them,. There was not a plain one among the lot. Many of them I should have called beautiful. They were
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.