ss, the
bumping and ringing of the wheels and chains, and the clatter of the
great hoofs of the heavy snorting Norman stallions, have wondrously
increased within this, the last ten minutes; and the Diligence, which
has been proceeding hitherto at the rate of a league in an hour, now
dashes gallantly forward, 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
everything, in the dingy and smoky atmosphere, looks as though it were
painted in India-ink--black houses, black passengers, and black sky.
Here, on the contrary, is a thousand times more life and color. Before
you, shining in the sun, is a long glistening line of GUTTER,--not a
very pleasing object in a city, but in a picture invaluable. On each
side are houses of all dimensions and hu