ll these
points to argue, or consider over in your mind; in doing of which, the
rational powers get so thoroughly awakened--you may get 'em to sleep
again as you can.

It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass'd clean
by the stables of Chantilly--

--But the postillion first affirming, and then persisting in it to my
face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece, I open'd my eyes
to be convinced--and seeing the mark upon it as plain as my nose--I
leap'd out of the chaise in a passion, and so saw every thing at
Chantilly in spite.--I tried it but for three posts and a half, but
believe 'tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon;
for as few objects look very inviting in that mood--you have little or
nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I passed through St.
Dennis, without turning my head so much as on one side towards the
Abby--

--Richness of their treasury! stuff and nonsense!--bating their jewels,
which are all false, I would not give three sous for any one thing in
it, but Jaidas's lantern--nor for that either, only as it grows dark, it
might be of use.

Chapter 3.C.

Crack, crack--crack, crack--crack, crack--so this is Paris! quoth I
(continuing in the same mood)--and this is Paris!--humph!--Paris! cried
I, repeating the name the third time--

The first, the finest, the most brilliant--

The streets however are nasty.

But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells--crack, crack--crack,
crack--what a fuss thou makest!--as if it concerned the good people to
be informed, that a man with pale face and clad in black, had the honour
to be driven into Paris at nine o'clock at night, by a postillion in a
tawny yellow jerkin, turned up with red calamanco--crack, crack--crack,
crack--crack, crack,--I wish thy whip--

--But 'tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack--crack on.

Ha!--and no one gives the wall!--but in the School of Urbanity herself,
if the walls are besh..t--how can you do otherwise?

And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?--never in the summer
months!--Ho! 'tis the time of sallads.--O rare! sallad and soup--soup
and sallad--sallad and soup, encore--

--'Tis too much for sinners.

Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that unconscionable
coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse? don't you see, friend,
the streets are so villanously narrow, that there is not room in all
Paris to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandes