LA GRANGE.


It was on a bright autumn morning that I started for the little village
of Rosay,--some two leagues from Paris, and the nearest point by
_diligence_ to La Grange. A railroad passes almost equally near to
it now, and the French _diligence_, like its English and American
counterpart, the stage-coach, has long since been shorn of its honors.
Yet it was a pleasant mode of travelling, taking you from place to place
in a way to give you a good general idea of the country you were
passing through, and bringing you into much closer relations with your
fellow-travellers than you can form in a rail-car. There was the crowd
at the door of the post-house where you stopped to change horses, and
the little troop of wooden-shoed children that followed you up the
hill, drawling out in unison, "_Un peu de charité, s'il vous plaît_,"
gradually quickening their pace as the horses began to trot, and
breaking all off together and tumbling in a heap as they scrambled for
the _sous_ that were thrown out to them.

For a light, airy people, the French have a wonderful facility in making
clumsy-looking vehicles. To look at a _diligence_, you would say that it
was impossible to guide it through a narrow street, or turn it into a
gate. The only thing an American would think of likening it to would be
three carriages of different shapes fastened together. First came the
_Coupé_, in shape like an old-fashioned chariot, with a seat for three
persons, and glass windows in front and at the sides that gave you a
full view of everything on the road. This was the post of honor, higher
in price, and, on long journeys, always secured a day or two beforehand.
Not the least of its advantages was the amusement it afforded you in