The Penn's Grove record., 1882-03-25
Nice in Winter.

Nice is full Of English people, Amer
leans, Germans, and Russians (writes
a correspondent from that city,. / am
a warm admirer Of England, claim 1t
as the home Of my ancestors, and am
proud of its literature ard history, but
I cannot help being often amused at
the evidently conscious superiority Of
the English people. I am sure they
would not acknowledge even to their
W hearts, that they believe them
selves really a little better than any
one else in the world, yet / feel conf
dent they think every n does or
should wish himself an Englishmap.
They are net much troubled with DIFF
hdence. One night at the table d'hote
at the Hotel de France, a young Eng
lishmar ut next to me and beyond
bin q ,.
T. ned to have met at Nice by
cbanc II ugh they were evidently
old aoq ntances, and each was
travel. IA, by carriage through the
soutl Of Europe. They conversed in
quite a loud tone, as if what they had
to say must be of interest to all about
them, and if not, why, that was Of no
consequence After a while my
neighbor asked bis friend how he got
along with the language, and the re-
ply was, 20, there is almost always
some one about who speaks English,
so 1 get on all right" "Well," said
my neighbor, II always speak French
down here and 1 make tine walters
talk French to me :" then turning to
the waiter, and in a loud voice,
"Garcon, pdngp And the waiter,
though a German, understood that the
Englishman wanted some bread.
1 have recently returned from a
visit to the ruins of the old Roman
amphitheatre at Cimiez. As one stands
within the crumbling walls, and
traces the tiers upon tiers of seats, and
sees the entrance to the arena, 1t is
easy to let ones thoughts wander back
to the scenes once enacted there. 1t
is easy to imagine those walls lined
with joyous crowds eager for the cruel
sport, but 1t is hard to realize that men
and women with warm, human hearts
have not only watched such dreadful
scenes, but ever enjoyed and applaud
ed them. One pitiful picture becomes
very real, ard it has been in my mind
ever since l went to Cimiez. In tha.
picture a young and beautiful Christ.
ian girl has just stepped into the
arena. Doubtless her body trembles
and grows sick with fear, but her
heart is brave and steadfast as she
waits the coming of the dreadful
beasts. A rose falls at her feet. In all
that bl~oodthirsty throng one heart
softens and grows kind, and she casts
a grateful, inploring glance toward
that plying face, then turns to meet
her fate. They say the place is haunt-
ed. The people will not pass through
it after dark, and it seems no wonder.
The season has been very delightful.
As l write the perfume of misnonette,
heliotrope and violets hovers about our
balcony; the sea sparkles and glim-
mers before me aud the hot sun makes
n feel lazy and very comfortable.
ThefiIstspring flowers are blooming on
the hillsides, the aim md trees are al
ready i'll blossom, and the buds On the
fig trees begin to swell. Already prep
arations are making for the carnival,
which is said TO be very elaborate here,
The people from all the surrounding
towns come in, and we are told the
city becomes so full that it is dificuli
| 10 get food at any price.