honour of being placed at the head of the gondole, between Madame de Vaudet and Angelique, and before us were Sir Henry Jones, the Marchioness de Maquignon, and the Spanish hidalgo. In the second circle, the Baron von Spitzbube, divided Julie and Estelle. Madame de Pretantaine occupied one corner, the marquis the other, and the viscount was seated with his back to the door. There was no room inside for the Chevalier de l'Escroc, who took his place on the box beside the driver, and this was the more pleasant, as it enabled him with greater convenience to gratify the company with his performance on the French horn, of which he had brought with him a somewhat gigantic specimen, the tone being perfectly in accordance with its size. The French are

extremely fond of music, and particularly attached to their national horn; it is the partner of their board, the companion of their exile, the joy of their youth, and the solace of their old age; it is dear to them as the air they breathe, and through it the greater part of their breath finds an outlet.

The morning was delicious; indeed, historically so, for it recalled to my recollection the memorable day when the distinguished family of Fudge set out on a similar expedition to the same attractive spot.

Our course lay through the Faubourg St. Denis, and when we had passed the barrier there was a halt, and the Viscount de Vieux Rusé got out of the gondole, only, however, to return to it in the course of a few minutes, bearing a hamper in his arms, which was secured beneath the driver's seat, where the provisions for the pic-nic in the forest were stowed. I was informed that the hamper contained champagne; and on inquiring why it had not been brought with us from the hotel, De Vieux Rusé looked at me with a very knowing expression, and winking one eye, observed:

"We have buy him mosh more sheep on dis side de barrier."

This was a hint which I determined not to lose sight of, in the event which I contemplated, of giving a snug little bachelor's party, some evening, in my own room.

Our gallant steeds now pranced merrily onwards, and in the course of an hour, or less, the venerable spires of the Cathedral of St. Denis rose before us, towering in proud solitude over the catacombs of an extinct dynasty. The viscount, who had been the personal friend of the former family, and whose studies and pursuits eminently qualified him for the task, undertook to be the cicisbeo of the party, and explain to us the history of the monuments. It is with regret I have to state that I had forgotten to bring my note-book, but I trust I can supply the deficiency from a memory which is not apt to fail me, and, that the graphic style of the original may not be lost, I will repeat the description as nearly as possible in the words of the noble narrator.

"Dis jolly edifice," said the viscount, taking off his hat and bowing to the ladies, though his discourse was addressed principally to me,-"dis jolly edifice was builded in de tenth sentry-box of Anno Domini, by de great King Dagobert, what my friend Beranger have wrote a very ansum song upon. He was famous for his sans-culottes, and if you will regarder his catacomb here on de left hand, you will see how he was flog by the devil for refusing to wear them, a just punishment for de vickedness of his early day. But afterwards, when he become a christian, he found out dis abbey in honour of de Benedicks. Next door to him is de tombeau May.-VOL. LXXVII. NO. CCCv.

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of his son, Louis de Twelf, and his wife, Queen Anne, standing upon deir knees and looking up at de sky as happy as de day is long. A littel furder off is Saint Caterine de Medicis and her husband, who was kill in a prize-fight. She was a very clevare woman, but rader too fond of strong drink, which she give to her friends and kill dem. She was a great support of de chursh, for which reason her tombeau is hold up by four virtuous cardinals of brass. On de opposite side is François Premier and his good lady, to whom he was so very mosh attash dat he could nevare bear to be a moment from her side, as Mr. Gudgeon, the arshitect, have represent in de marble. He was a perfect French hosband, Mr. Grin, and dere is still a great many like him in France. King François was very fond of fighting, and gain great many battels, but von day he lose every ting except his honour; de last ting," exclaimed the viscount, emphatically, and striking his breast, "de last ting which belong to a Frenchman. Observe several stone pillows erected to de heads of our brave kings; here is one of Henry Trois, who was kill by de carvingknife of a clergyman, name Jacques Clement, as he sat down to supper. Here is anoder of Francis de Second, what was husband to de Queen of de Scotch; it is basely surround by weeping angels. Down stairs, in de cellar of de abbey, is many more tombeaux, which was all torn to pieces in de revolution. In one of de dark corners de Duke de Berri was assassinate; de monument expiatoire point out de spot. He fell a victim," added De Vieux Rusé, confidentially, "to de bad advice of a mercenary grandfather, who desire him nevare to play at cards, de verry ting dat was invented for de amusement of one of his ancestors, dat was mad, an amusement which constitute de real appiness of mankind."

The viscount did not explain this philosophical maxim by any further illustration, but led the way to the vaults, which were built by the celebrated Abbot Segar, who, after he had invented the luxury which bears his name, was in the habit of passing his solitary hours below the earth, sitting on a skull, smoking and meditating on the transitory nature of the things upon it. The remainder of the viscount's description was equally luminous with the preceding; but my attention was somewhat abstracted from the account which he gave of the thirty tyrants, whose remains were converted into bone-dust, by an uneasy sensation which I experienced as we passed through the gloomy crypt. Madame de Vaudet had taken my proffered arm, and, only a few yards behind us, her daughter Angelique leant on that of Sir Henry Jones. I could observe that their conversation was an animated one-too much so, indeed, for the solemnity of the place, and, unless a suspicious ear deceived me, I feel perfectly certain that in one of the dark passages (which evidently did not lead to nothing) I heard the sound of a very vigorous baiser. It is quite true, it might have occurred between Don Juan and Madame de Pretantaine, who were very close to the perfidious pair, but the lover's ear is singularly acute in matters of this kind, and I felt all the throes of the demon within my agitated bosom. I could no longer listen with interest to the eloquent details of De Vieux Rusé, or the bland accents of Madame de Vaudet; "I became," as my friend Jawley has so happily expressed it," of a fierce green," and experienced a deep sense of lost-ness," as the pangs of jealousy shot through my trembling frame. By a strong effort, however, I mastered my emotion, and paced the pavé of this mighty mausoleum, to all appearance as calm

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and unmoved as the marble effigies upon which I glared with an expression as stony as their own. I had my reward for this forbearance, for as we re-entered the carriage, Angelique turned towards me and smiled, with an aspect so roseate, that he must have been less than man, who could at that moment have harboured a thought injurious to her purity. My suspicious imaginings melted into thin air, and resolving to show what I was capable of, I bandied a few gay sallies with Sir Henry, cutting him in a playful style of irony, the concealed purport of which he could not discover, and seasoned a lively discourse with Madame de Vaudet, with a sprinkling of ceillades, which I flatter myself were not thrown away upon the charming Angelique, for her colour went and came as rapidly as the tints changed in her shot-silk Pompadour; and more than once she was obliged to bury her glowing features in her embroidered kerchief. The trajet between St. Denis and Montmorency was consequently a delightful one, and it was almost with feelings of regret that I found we had reached the Hermitage of Saint John James Rousseau.

I must devote a few words to this remarkable place, though as Jawley has observed, in one of his fine critical moods: "I detest the superficiality of synopsis."

The great celebrity which attaches to the Hermitage, arises from the fact of its having been the spot where John James, as the French delight to call him,-wrote his memorable letters to Héloise, of which the Pope made so admirable a translation. It did not, however, correspond in appearance with the ideas I had always formed of the character of these anchorite abodes, but I suppose the Hermitage of such a man as Rousseau is not to be judged of by ordinary rules. It certainly bore no resemblance to the well known retreat of the Hermit of the Beulah Spa, who still holds, in my estimation, the first place in the ranks of celibacy. I could perceive here neither the rock-work, the stone seat, the moss-covered walls, the stainedglass window, the crucifix, the hour-glass, the skull, the cross-bones, the prie-dieu, nor, most interesting feature of all, the venerable stuffed figure at his orisons perpetually redeeming souls from purgatory, which formed the glory of that interesting place of public amusement. Possibly all these saint-like properties may have been carried off by the enthusiasts of the French Revolution, amongst whom Rousseau was so deservedly popular; but at the present day, there is little to distinguish the Hermitage from an ordinary dwelling. We were shown into a small room where the saint used to play on the piano with his friend Grétry. The instrument is the same on which the latter composed his charming comedy of the Village Clergyman ("Le Devin du Village"). It was probably in this room that Rousseau used to take his café au lait, tête-à-tête with the intellectual and highly-gifted Therèse; and where he gave those pleasant little supper parties to his neighbours the bricklayer and his daughter, which he describes as being such a relief after the heavy dinners he was compelled to eat with the Marshal de Luxembourg. It was doubtless in this very chamber that those merry evenings were spent with his agreeable friends, Grimm and Holbach, of whom he always speaks in such a tender Christian-like spirit. A closet adjoining was pointed out as the spot where most likely Rousseau's bear used to sleep, wrapped up in the flannel petticoat of Madame d'Epinay; and the precise locality was indicated to us on the door-step leading into the garden, where the saint was sitting when he made that memorable exclamation in respect to peri

winkles, "Voilà de la pervenche!" a description of shell-fish, of which he was remarkably fond, and of which he was in all probability the first to set the fashion of eating. It is, perhaps, to his ingenuity that the world is indebted for a knowledge of the art of extracting the periwinkle with a pin. The tableau which the subject suggests, would form a fine illustration for the national collection at Versailles, and harmonise well with that grand battle-piece, the capture of the Emperor of Morocco's goloshes and umbrell, the greatest achievement of the French army in Africa. We were also shown the bed-room "over the kitchen," where John James was in the habit of sleeping, but the little cribs into which he used to put his Enfants Trouvés, were nowhere to be seen. I mentioned the fact to Madame de Pretantaine, but she only shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Que voulez-vous!" I have once or twice since asked myself what she meant. Surely I have not made a conquest here too! The person who showed us the Hermitage, whom I rewarded with a five-franc piece-intimated that there was something mysterious in the manner of Saint Rousseau's death. But whether he committed martyrdom by swallowing Prussic acid or by dashing out his brains against the wall, I could not precisely ascertain. Perhaps both accounts are correct, for he was a man of a singularly wild and original turn of mind. He lives, however, embalmed in the hearts of the Parisians, who have erected a street to his memory, which, by a curious coincidence, adjoins the Rue Coq Héron.

The emotions caused by our visit to the Hermitage were various. Most of the ladies shed tears, and I am not ashamed to say that I joined them; Sir Henry Jones and the Baron von Spitzbube were so powerfully affected, that they rushed into a neighbouring café, and drank two or three tumblers of brandy-and-water before they could recover their selfpossession; the remainder of the gentlemen had passed through too many lacerating scenes of real life, to yield to the influence of fictitious woes.

The gondole was now ordered to proceed to the "Rendezvous de la Chasse," a delicious spot in the heart of the forest of Montmorency, where it was settled that we were to dine. For such of the party as preferred riding, animals were procured, not horses exactly, but those equally useful though less showy quadrupeds, donkeys. I lamented not having an English thorough-bred, on which M. de Maquignon kindly informed me that he had a very valuable one at his stables in Paris which he thought would just suit me, and which he promised to show me on the following day. The price he said was, in comparison with the beauty of the steed, quite insignificant. The two daughters of the marquis called loudly for baudets, and Angelique did so too, at the same time bestowing on me an encouraging glance, which at once decided any little hesitation I might have felt at exhibiting my asinine accomplishments before strangers. The Chevalier de l'Escroc was also mounted, his purpose being to enliven the partie de chasse with the music of his horn, which, by the bye, had been silent only within the sacred walls of the Abbey and the Hermitage. Sir Henry Jones, who, I suspect knew very little about riding, preferred going on foot, as did the Baron von Spitzbube, who closed the cortège, armed with a thick, heavy stick, to assist the paces of the donkeys. Whoever has not seen a French hunting party, can form but a faint conception of the noise and merriment which invariably attend it. On this occasion the ladies screamed, alternately with fear and laughter, the donkey boys swore, the party in the gondole clapped their

hands and uttered cries of encouragement, the gentlemen shouted energetically, and above the din, the chevalier awoke the tones of his coûteau de chasse. In the midst of it all, I kept a firm hold of the pommel of my saddle, for the paces of the animal which I bestrode were rather uneasy. It was very different from being mounted on one of the high mettled racers of the desert.

The accompaniment to our motion might run thus:

"Oh! mon Dieu, je ne peux pas m'y tenir !" "Sacré baudet! allez donc." "Oh! mais c'est drôle!" "Holà !"" Regardez donc, Monsieur Grin." "Tanta-ra-ra-ra-ra!" "Damn this donkey, how he shakes!" "Hold on Green !" (This was from Jones.) "Ah, je vais mourir de rire, -ha! ha! ha! ha!" "Verfluchter Esel!" A tremendous blow administered to my beast, followed this exclamation of the baron, and the tempest of voices having risen to its height, the donkeys set off at a good round pace towards the Rendezvous. I kept my eye on Angelique, and would willingly have ridden on her right hand to protect her from the dangers of the forest, but my animal was one of the most obstinate of its kind, and the more I pulled it on one side, the more pertinaciously it went on the other. I had also no hands to spare, one of them being engaged with the bridle, and the other with the pommel. The brute jolted me so besides, that there was scarcely any breath in my body, and the little French I was able to remember, was of very little service to me. the English language, it was entirely lost upon the creature. Do what I would, nothing could persuade it to keep anywhere but close to the tail of Angelique's monture, and in that position I had the annoyance of perceiving that, owing to his long legs, Sir Henry Jones was keeping up beside that young lady, steadying her in her seat-a kind of uneasy chair -and apparently enjoying my uncomfortable situation.

As to

In this order we reached the brow of the hill above the Rendezvous, and the spirits of the donkeys being up, they set off at a fearful gallop. It was in fact a perfect race; the ladies garments fluttered, the air was rent with their screams, the Chevalier de l'Escroc. blew out a tremendous burst, my hat got over my eyes, I abandoned the bridle altogether, held on with both hands, and plunging madly forward, allowed my Bucephalus to career in the realms of boundless space. He did so, but not long, for whether he trod in a rut or kicked up behind, I know not, but in the midst of a shower of dust and gravel he suddenly came to the ground, and I was jerked over his head into a heap of stones by the roadside.

When I rose from the ground, which I did in the course of a few minutes, for though a good deal bruised, I was not seriously wounded, I could see nothing of the partie de chasse, nor even of the accursed beast that had thrown me; the gondole was nowhere visible, and I was alone in the Forest of Montmorency. In the midst of my perplexity, two strangers suddenly made their appearance. They were singularly muffled up about the throat, and their countenances were not very clearly discernible, but I put a bold face upon the matter, and asked them the way to the Rendezvous de la Chasse.

The tallest of the two answered briefly: "Suivez-moi, Monsieur," and striking into a path on his right hand, he entered the thicket. I presumed he meant to show me a short cut, and unhesitatingly followed. His companion brought up the rear.