well recently over some theatrical matters in this country, is to fall foul of the official censor. The announcement that “la Censure a interdit ‘Palotte’ dans les gares” has caused “Palotte,” a rather dirty novel, to be an immense success. Why it should be forbidden in the railway stations, and allowed everywhere else, we are not sufficiently behind the scenes to say.
We have now glanced hastily at the leading aspects of French advertising, and after remarking that Galignani and the Gazette des Etrangers are the great mediums for English and American advertisements in Paris, that a certain American manager who has a theatre in London advertises it and his angular histrionic wonder regularly in the former, and that the principal advertising contractors of Paris have made vast fortunes, we get fairly back to our original remark, that the whole system of advertising in Paris is characteristic of the Parisians—a strange mixture of neatness, effect, frivolity, and childishness. Who shall deny that these four words suit the character of the great mass of the people? The fact that the authorities reserve to themselves the white affiche is characteristic to a degree of French Governments, and the savage attack which the French journals made upon the letters of