as if it would traverse at least six miles in the same space of
time. Thus it is, when Sir Robert maketh a speech at Saint
Stephen's--he useth his strength at the beginning, only, and the
end. He gallopeth at the commencement; in the middle he lingers;
at the close, again, he rouses the House, which has fallen asleep;
he cracketh the whip of his satire; he shouts the shout of his
patriotism; and, urging his eloquence to its roughest canter,
awakens the sleepers, and inspires the weary, until men say, What a
wondrous orator! What a capital coach! We will ride henceforth in
it, and in no other!

But, behold us at Paris! The Diligence has reached a rude-looking
gate, or grille, flanked by two lodges; the French Kings of old
made their entry by this gate; some of the hottest battles of the
late revolution were fought before it. At present, it is blocked
by carts and peasants, and a busy crowd of men, in green, examining
the packages before they enter, probing the straw with long
needles. It is the Barrier of St. Denis, and the green men are the
customs'-men of the city of Paris. If you are a countryman, who
would introduce a cow into the metropolis, the city demands twenty-
four francs for such a privilege: if you have a hundredweight of
tallow-candles, you must, previously, disburse three francs: if a
drove of hogs, nine francs per whole hog: but upon these subjects
Mr. Bulwer, Mrs. Trollope, and other writers, have already
enlightened the public. In the present instance, after a momentary
pause, one of the men in green mounts by the side of the conductor,
and the ponderous vehicle pursues its journey.

The street which we enter, that of the Faubourg St. Denis, presents
a strange contrast to the dark uniformity of a London street, where