under a firm conviction that the world was to come to an end precisely that day fortnight; and, full of his subject, after having spent some time in the acquisition of the French language, was hastening to disseminate his principles amongst our volatile neighbours. I did not discover to what “ denomination” or sect he precisely belonged; but, although I have the greatest respect for liberty of private judgment in these matters, and a dislike to what are called “religious disputes,” there was something so peculiar in this gentleman's views, that I could not help eliciting an observation or two. I found his theory so firmly based upon long-conceived opinions, and extensive reading in the species of literature called “tracts,” that I soon perceived the impossibility of shaking it. Not only, like Mr. Shandy's hypothesis, did everything which presented itself seem to amalgamate with his subject, until it increased like a snow-ball as he impelled it onwards; but what alarmed me much for the stability of the gentleman's religious principles was, that all his ideas and views were evidently based upon this questionable foundation. Nevertheless, so eloquently did he discourse, so cogently did he adduce quotation after quotation, that, in spite of my first repugnance to his tenets, I not unfrequently found myself thinking with some seriousness of Wednesday, the 29th instant, and pensively wondering whether we should ever see a merry Christmas and a happy new year.

My other companion was a stout elderly gentleman, who had forcibly arrested my attention by the confusion in which his baggage appeared to be, as well as by insisting upon the waiter brushing his great-coat at every stage. In the course of conversation I discovered that he had lost the bulk of two properties by unsuccessful speculations. Our conversation was of the graver sort, and we found that the general character of our views and feelings coincided in more points than one.

I was greatly annoyed at Dover by the noisy mirth of some women and boys who were witnessing the debarkation of a large cargo of foreign pigs. The mode of prevailing upon these restive and headstrong animals to cross the plank which communicated with the land was this :each of them being brought upon deck was placed with its nose directly in a straight line with the board, and, when brought sufficiently near, a man behind gave it a sudden and violent pull backwards by the tail, which, according to the perverse disposition of the animal, immediately caused it to spring so far forward as to clear the whole length of the plank. I could not help thinking what an illustration it was of the * natural” of many of my friends and relatives, especially my aunt Peggy.

Our journey from Calais to Paris, after suffering a great deal from sea-sickness, was as uncomfortable as the conveyance could make it. We took the malle de poste, into which my two companions and myself were wedged, “all in a row,” like the portrait of the three kings of Cologne on a sign-post, and I occupied the place of Bodkin. The badness of the roads, the hardness of the cushions, the startling convulsions of the springs, felt in the perpendicular jolts, horizontal swag, and diagonal spasms of the vehicle, kept us all in a state of fever and fatigue. While my two companions, in their vain attempts to sleep, and with great distress of countenance, were butting, like rams, in opposite directions against the sides of the carriage, I was oscillating between

the two, to the annoyance of both and of myself. About midnight I began seriously to ponder upon the modern rage for travelling, and to consider how it happens that one is tempted voluntarily to renew these torments. The saying of that frivolous woman, Madame de Sevigné, occurred to me, who, every time she paid her annual visit to the provinces, wondered what could have made her sufficiently forget the sufferings of the last to travel again—“C'est la même chose,” said she,

que sert aux accouchemens.” I myself believe it to be the pure illusion of a treacherous memory, and vagrant imagination, or of some principle in metaphysics which is ever presenting to the mirror of our minds the spectrum of things distant in other forms than those which they really possess. It quite belongs to my philosophy to believe that the disagreeable things of life preponderate over the agreeable in a general point of view, but that this is the case in the article of travelin re viaticâ-I am fully prepared to demonstrate with mathematical precision. “ 'Tis distance lends the charm,” then, as poets (for once) truly say, and in these retrospective glances of life gilds, like the setting sun, each feature far removed, and smooths down every point. In days of yore it was only the young and the restless by choice, or the young and incurious by compulsion, who went forth to make the “grand tour necessary finish for the education of a finished gentleman—and many an empty head came back as it went-no!-infinitely better powdered and frisée, to be exhibited to wondering friends at the parish church the first Sunday after the return. But now, every grade and variety of the posterity of Adam-old men and maidens, young men and children, every age and every sex, are en route—the crutch of the infirm is heard through the halls of the Vatican, and green veils are seen among the pyramids of Egypt. The snug citizen or retired tradesman, while nicely ensconced in his arm-chair, by a trick of the imagination, is persuaded that he ought to know something of the arts—or else Perigord pies, and long-necked bottles of Burgundy “on the spot,” rise in vision before his dozing eyes as he ponders over the various forms the falling embers of the fire assume. So away he goes to be jolted, cheated, quizzed, harassed, puzzled, irritated, and disappointed, through the various capitals of Europe. Yet after a certain lapse of time, with the excuse of a second daughter to polish, or of a second attempt in behalf of the first, will not unfrequently return to the charge. So astonishing has this diffusion of all ranks and degrees of travellers appeared—so great a phenomenon in the manners of the times—that some who take a grave and prophetic view of things imagine it to be a step towards that general amalgamation of nations, manners, and customs, which is to precede a still greater development of things; and, if there be ought in the speculation of a modern philosopher (suggested by a cup of tea) upon the increasing communication of foreign articles of food, truly the perseverance with which our countrymen carry with them all their culinary predilections may effect wonders. If I thought better of mankind than I do, I should, however, in truth hope that some benefit to the human family might accrue from this general interchange of natural fashions, domestic customs, and private feelings; but what is to be expected from that perverse biped, or from a comprehensive view of things in general, the whole aspect of which is clouded by the vices of governors, and by the follies or obliquities of the governed—when politics are only a game in which the affairs of the country are kicked about like a foot-ball be, tween two contending parties—the people alternately cajoled by eachthe best statesmen only the cleverest—the most active subjects designing and selfish—the quiet only peaceable from indifference-and, in those countries where an unhealthy fever does not rage, a dead and leaden slumber is seen to prevail ?

In these cogitations, and with my cap worked over my eyes by the jolting of the carriage, we arrived at Paris in the middle of the night. At the poste aux lettres I took leave of my companions, the Rev. Jeremiah Figgs, of Manchester, who, with a tender and affectionate pressure of the hand, uttered only the cmphatic word, “ Remember !"and of the other once prosperous gentleman, whom unlucky, and perhaps unwise, speculations had so lamentably reduced, Solomon Upsyde Down, Esq., of Green Street, Grosvenor Square.

CHAP. II.

There are persons who seem to have a natural affinity --a kind of attraction of cohesion with mischance—which is constantly bringing them, without any fault of theirs, in contact with untoward events. If they make a party of pleasure, it is sure to rain—if they go to the play, the manager comes on sprucely dressed in black, and, with bows to the pit, boxes, and gallery, announces in a neat and appropriate speech the sudden indisposition of the chief performer-if they go to the commons, “ Sir Andrew's Bill ” is before the house if they go to the lords, the least eloquent is upon his legs. I, Tristram Dumps, am one of those unfortunate persons. Scarcely had I got snugly to bed at Meurice's hotel when a confused murmur of young voices in the next room, heard through a thin partition, suddenly burst into a loud chorus, and the wind at that moment blowing open the door on the stairs, which was close to that of the other room, I was regaled with a ditty of which I remember the first stanza, which ran thus:

Wine, women, and fun,

The hound and the gun,
Or anything else that you please,

Ere troubles come on,

With life scarce begun,
Each moment to live let us seize.

A fig for the dumps! turn night into day

Sing away, boys, away, sing away! It may easily be conceived with what disgust and bitterness of spirit I lay listening to verse after verse of this ribaldry instead of being able to compose myself to sleep. The song, however, came to an end, but the conversation continued. “ Come, George, my boy, cheer up,” cried one. I then heard a person go out of the room for a short time, and, during his absence, remarks were made upon his altered character. “ It is all the fair Erminie,” said one. Ay, that is a deuce of a business though, after all, poor fellow !” said another, in a serious voice. The object of this conversation then returned, and they commenced other topics of a similar nature. I here perceived that I was not only doomed to be an

unwilling audience to the music, but also an uninvited and reluctant party to the dialogue-and the recitative of the drama seemed not to promise less than the aria. After tossing about in great uneasiness for some time I rose from my bed, hastily exchanged my night-cap for my wig, and, putting on my dressivg-gown, gently approached the door of the festive chamber, which, like mine, was ajar. The moment I opened it a loud burst of laughter broke from a party of about a dozen young men, who were much amused by my appearance.

" I say, old fellow," cried the president, “ who thatches for you ?” In my haste I had put my wig on wrong side before.

“Gentlemen,” said I,“ I am an unfortunate traveller whom chance has domiciled in this part of the house; I am unwilling to interrupt your festivities, but, in addition to great fatigue of body, and some depression of mind, I find myself in the next chamber nearer to you than comports either with the possibility of obtaining any rest, or of avoiding a participation in those subjects of your mirth which perhaps you would not desire to impart to a stranger.'

“ Bravo, old boy !” cried he who had first accosted me, and who was in the full swing of festive hilarity : “ that is honest-a good fellow, I will be bound for it. Then the only way to avoid both evils is to exchange the repose of the feather-bed for the refreshment of the bowl, which will do more for your mind as well as body, and to accept the invitation by which the president now, in the plenitude of his authority, makes you free of the company and of all its secrets.”

“ Frank!” said a melancholy, handsome youth at the other end of the table, and in that tone of voice which denoted a remonstrance out of respect, as I thought, to me.

George Gilbert,” replied the other, “thou wert ever but half a boon-companion, with all thy flight of spirit: but, since one of thy moody fits is come on, e'en be it so. What o'clock is it?"

“ Past six.”

“ Well, we have not made a bad night of it; I therefore, in compliance with the motion of my honourable friend, propose that the house do adjourn. So bon repos, Monsieur, notre camarade," addressing himself to me; “and I hope this connaissance d'escalier may ripen into better fellowship on some future occasion of more mutual pastime.”

I retired to bed, but not to sleep: in addition to the light which soon began to break through my ill-closed window-shutters, there began to be a general move upon the stairs of the house. There was much, also, in my peep into this young party calculated to furnish me with unpleasing reflections, which, as I pursued them in my mind, gradually became complicated with others still more painful. Here was a number of youths evidently born to all the better things of life (for, to say the truth, although they had occasioned me so much annoyance, their appearance was much in their favour); here they were in what appeared to me the very vortex of dissipation, and with all those foreign adjuncts, which, in direct reverse of Burke's eulogy on chivalry, do not relieve vice of any of its grossness. It was the device of this licentious capital to furnish the gambling-table with other pernicious attractions than those of selfish conquest or the love of money. The latent propensities

of the epicure, doubly revolting in the young, were here first stimulated by all those refinements which were employed in these midnight orgies ; and, while the more advanced in years repaired here to gratify the two passions of the “ table” which survive the decay of other vicious powers, the young were prematurely initiated into all those artificial tastes and morbid refinements which have presented us with many a juvenile Vitellius at our plain English boards. The gambling-tables themselves, under which lie buried the blighted virtue and ruined fortunes of many a generous, unsuspecting young heart--even they, in their present open and garish establishment, were transported to us across the water from this capital. Well can I remember in my younger days when a

hell," as such places of resort were all appropriately called, struck upon the ear with very different intensity than at present; and there are still surviving more than one person of my acquaintance who, by the mere act of unsuccessful play in such places, lost there a character and reputation which they have never been able to regain. Such is the inconsistency of human society, or so completely have the ideas of the public become gradually familiarized with such objects, that a more splendid establishment and gaudier trappings have reconciled the morbid eye of fashion to the frequenters of these hateful places of resort.

Whilst I lay in this moralizing mood I heard a slight tap at the door, which, unlike other taps, however, waited for no answer, but, the door being gently opened, a female voice, in a soft but somewhat perfunctionary tone, demanded “Est ce qu'on peut allumer le feu ?” and, like her tap, waiting for no reply, tripped across the floor. Who does not know the French chamber-maid-la fille—the high cap—the short petticoats--the portentous“ bustle ” (I mean the thing worn behind) --the neat shoe—the mincing step? After a slight inclination of the head to me as I lay in bed, she proceeded to her task. Now, in England, where a bed is, in itself, a second apartment, a kind of imperium in imperio, enjoying, by virtue of its four posts, curtains, fringes, flounces, and other paraphernalia, a little seclusion of its own in the chamber where it stands, a person may enter, transact whatever business he or she

may have to do, depart, and their presence never be either seen or felt. Not so in France: my bed had not four posts—it had no posts at all-nor any curtains to speak of, for they would not draw. There I lay unprotected and exposed-in my night-cap-conscious of my night-cap-and with much of those suddenly-aroused sensations by which a person finds himself agitated without hat or wig in the middle of St. James's-street in a high wind. La fille, however, wholly unconscious of what was passing within me, appeared to take no notice; so, after a twitch or two of the sheet towards my face, I was enabled, when she turned her back, to watch the progress of making a French fire. The ashes, which should always remain (for upon a good supply of these depends the warmth which the fire casts out), were dispersed and arranged by a flourish of the shovel; and a portion of a fagot, consisting of the small branches of the vine, were placed upon them; behind a large piece of wood about a foot and a half in length, panelled with it another of smaller calibre but the same length, and upon this a third; the act of combustion then takes place, for which purpose she