history, the
very calendar of whose events, within the last half century, will form
one of the most interesting episodes that ever glowed among the records
of human character. In the chain might be traced the vain-glory of
conquest linked with defeated ambition, and the sullied splendour of
royalty just breaking through the clouds of discontent, and slowly
dispelling the mists of disaffection and political prejudice. What an
unenviable contrast to the man who has "no enemy but wind and rough
weather." The same objects that prompted these discordant reflections
gave rise to others of the most opposite character; and within the
walls, where treaties, abdications, and warrants, by turns, settled and
resettled, exiled and condemned--were the store-houses of art, with all
her proud and peaceful labours of sculpture, painting, and architecture,
through galleries and saloons, on whose contents the chisel and the
pencil had lingered many a life, and reduced the compass of its fond
designs to the cubits of a statue, the fame of a picture, or the glory
of a pillar or ceiling--such are the frail elements of human art.

The road now began to exhibit the usual appearance of an approach to a
country fete or fair. Scores of pedestrians, overcome with the heat and
dust of the day, might be seen at the little boxes or shops of the
_traiteurs_, or cooks, and at the houses of the _marchands de vin et de
la biacre_; these by their anticipated anxiety caused the line from
Paris to St. Cloud to resemble a road-side fair. Cheerfulness and
vivacity were upper-most in the passengers; and the elastic pace of
dozens of gaily-dressed _soubrettes_ not a little enhanced the interest
of the scene. Neither were these charms impaired by that species of
vulgarity which not unfrequently characterizes the road to our suburban
fairs; and, what is still more creditable to humanity, there was no
brutality towards jaded horses or hacks sinking beneath their loads.

Historians attach some antiquarian importance to the village of St.
Cloud, it being historically confounded with the earliest times of the
French monarchy; for, from the beginning of the first race, the kings of
France had a country-seat here.[5]

[5] For an engraving and account of the Palace of St. Cloud, see
MIRROR, vol. ii. page 225.

I now reached the bridge of St. Cloud, an elegant modern structure which
crosses the Seine, near the entrance to the village. Here the river
loses mu