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across which the route lies, and that diligence travellers are generally
invited to walk up it. A path which strikes off near the foot of the
hill, across the open, cuts off the angle, and - diligences being
anything but what the name would imply, - the passengers, by availing
themselves of the short cut, have ample time for striking up confabs,
and inquiring into the comforts of the occupiers of the various
compartments. Our friends of the "interior" were all busy jabbering
and talking - some with their tongues, others with their hands and
tongues - with the exception of the monster in the cloak, who sat like
a sack in the corner, until the horses, having reached the well-known
breathing place, made a dead halt, and the conducteur proceeded to
invite the party to descend and "promenade" up the hill. "What's
happened now?" cried the monster, jumping up as the door opened;
"surely, they don't expect us to walk up this mountain! I've travelled
three hundred thousand miles, and was never asked to do such a thing in
all my life before. I won't do it; I paid for riding, and ride I will.
You are all a set of infamous cheats," said he to the conducteur in good
plain English; but the conducteur, not understanding the language,
shut the door as soon as all the rest were out, and let him roll on
by himself. Jorrocks stuck to his woman, who had a negro boy in the
rotonde, dressed in baggy slate-coloured trousers, with a green
waistcoat and a blue coat, with a coronet on the button, who came to
hand her out, and was addressed by the heroic name of "Agamemnon."
Jorrocks got a glimpse of the button, but, not understanding foreign
coronets, thought it was a crest; nevertheless, he thought he might as
well inquire who his friend was, so, slinking back as they reached the
foot of the hill he got hold of the nigger, and asked what they called
his missis. Massa did not understand, and Mr. Jorrocks, sorely puzzled
how to explain, again had recourse to the _Manuel du Voyageur_; but
Madame de Genlis had not anticipated such an occurrence, and there was
no dialogue adapted to his situation. There was a conversation with a
lacquey, however, commencing with - "Are you disposed to enter into my
service?" and, in the hopes of hitting upon something that would convey
his wishes, he "hark'd forward," and passing by - "Are you married?"
arrived at - "What is your wife's occupation?" "Que fait votre femme?"
said he, suiting the action to the word, and pointing to Madame.
Agamemnon showed his ivories, as he laughed at the idea of Jorrocks
calling his mistress his wife, and by signs and words conveyed to him
some idea of the importance of the personage to whom he alluded. This he
did most completely, for before the diligence came up, Jorrocks pulled
the Yorkshireman aside, and asked if he was aware that they were
travelling with a real live Countess; "Madame la Countess Benwolio, the
nigger informs me," said he; "a werry grande femme, though what that
means I don't know." "Oh, Countesses are common enough here," replied
the Yorkshireman. "I dare say she's a stay-maker. I remember a
paint-maker who had a German Baron for a colour-grinder once." "Oh,"
said Jorrocks, "you are jealous - you always try to run down my friends;
but that won't do, I'm wide awake to your tricks"; so saying, he
shuffled off, and getting hold of the Countess, helped Agamemnon to
hoist her into the diligence. He was most insinuating for the next two
hours, and jabbered about love and fox-hunting, admiring the fine, flat,
open country, and the absence of hedges and flints; but as neither youth
nor age can subsist on love alone, his confounded appetite began to
trouble him, and got quite the better of him before they reached
Abbeville. Every mile seemed a league, and he had his head out of the
window at least twenty times before they came in sight of the town. At
length the diligence got its slow length dragged not only to Abbeville,
but to the sign of the "Fidèle Berger" - or "Fiddle Burgur," as Mr.
Jorrocks pronounced it - where they were to dine. The door being opened,
out he jumped, and with his _Manuel du Voyageur_ in one hand, and the
Countess Benvolio in the other, he pushed his way through the crowd of
"pauvres misérables" congregated under the gateway, who exhibited every
species of disease and infirmity that poor human nature is liable or
heir to, and entered the hotel. The "Sally manger," as he called it, was
a long brick-floored room on the basement, with a white stove at one
end, and the walls plentifully decorated with a panoramic view of the
Grand Nation wallopping the Spaniards at the siege of Saragossa. The
diligence being a leetle behind time as usual, the soup was on the table
when they entered. The passengers quickly ranged themselves round, and,
with his mouth watering as the female garçon lifted the cover from the
tureen, Mr. Jorrocks sat in the expectation of seeing the rich contents
ladled into the plates. His countenance fell fifty per cent as the first
spoonful passed before his eyes. - "My vig, why it's water!" exclaimed
he - "water, I do declare, with worms[21] in it - I can't eat such stuff as
that - it's not man's meat - oh dear, oh dear, I fear I've made a terrible
mistake in coming to France! Never saw such stuff as this at Bleaden's
or Birch's, or anywhere in the city." "I've travelled three hundred
thousand miles," said the fat man, sending his plate from him in
disgust, "and never tasted such a mess as this before." "I'll show
them up in _The Times_," cried Mr. Jorrocks; "and, look, what stuff is
here - beef boiled to rags! - well, I never, no never, saw anything like
this before. Oh, I wish I was in Great Coram Street again! - I'm sure
I can't live here - I wonder if I could get a return
chaise - waiter - garsoon - cuss! Oh dear! I see _Madame de Genlis_ is of
no use in a pinch - and yet what a dialogue here is! Oh heavens! grant
your poor Jorrocks but one request, and that is the contents of a single
sentence. 'I want a roasted or boiled leg of mutton, beef, hung beef,
a quarter of mutton, mutton chops, veal cutlets, stuffed tongue, dried
tongue, hog's pudding, white sausage, meat sausage, chicken with rice, a
nice fat roast fowl, roast chicken with cressy, roast or boiled pigeon,
a fricassee of chicken, sweet-bread, goose, lamb, calf's cheek, calf's
head, fresh pork, salt pork, cold meat, hash.' - But where's the use of
titivating one's appetite with reading of such luxteries? Oh, what a
wife Madame de Genlis would have made for me! Oh dear, oh dear, I shall
die of hunger, I see - I shall die of absolute famine - my stomach thinks
my throat's cut already!" In the height of his distress in came two
turkeys and a couple of fowls, and his countenance shone forth like an
April sun after a shower. "Come, this is better," said he; "I'll trouble
you, sir, for a leg and a wing, and a bit of the breast, for I'm really
famished - oh hang! the fellow's a Frenchman, and I shall lose half the
day in looking it out in my dictionary. Oh dear, oh dear, where's the
dinner dialogue! - well, here's something to that purpose. 'I will
send you a bit of this fowl.' 'A little bit of the fowl cannot hurt
you.' - No, nor a great bit either. - 'Which do you like best, leg or
wing?' 'Qu'aimez-vous le mieux, la cuisse ou l'aile?'" Here the Countess
Benvolio, who had been playing a good knife and fork herself, pricked
up her ears, and guessing at Jorrocks's wants, interceded with her
countryman and got him a plateful of fowl. It was soon disposed of,
however, and half a dish of hashed hare or cat, that was placed within
reach of him shortly after, was quickly transferred into his plate. A
French dinner is admirably calculated for leading the appetite on by
easy stages to the grand consummation of satiety. It begins meagrely, as
we have shown, and proceeds gradually through the various gradations of
lights, savories, solids, and substantiate. Presently there was a
large dish of stewed eels put on. "What's that?" asked Jorrocks of the
man. - "Poisson," was the reply. "Poison! why, you infidel, have you no
conscience?" "Fishe," said the Countess. "Oh, ay, I smell - eels - just
like what we have at the Eel-pie-house at Twickenham - your ladyship, I
am thirsty - 'ge soif,' in fact." "Ah, bon!" said the Countess, laughing,
and giving him a tumbler of claret. "I've travelled three hundred
thousand miles," said the fat man, "and never saw claret drunk in that
way before." "It's not werry good, I think," said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking
his lips; "if it was not claret I would sooner drink port." Some wild
ducks and fricandeau de veau which followed, were cut up and handed
round, Jorrocks helping himself plentifully to both, as also to pommes
de terre à la maitre d'hôtel, and bread at discretion. "Faith, but this
is not a bad dinner, after all's said and done, when one gets fairly
into it." "Fear it will be very expensive," observed the fat man. Just
when Jorrocks began to think he had satisfied nature, in came a roast
leg of mutton, a beef-steak, "à la G - d-dam", [22] and a dish of larks
and snipes.

[Footnote 21: Macaroni soup.]

[Footnote 22: When the giraffe mania prevailed in Paris, and gloves,
handkerchiefs, gowns, reticules, etc. were "à la Giraffe," an Englishman
asked a waiter if they had any beef-steaks "à la Giraffe." "No,
monsieur, but we have them à la G - d-dem," was the answer.]

"Must have another tumbler of wine before I can grapple with these
chaps," said he, eyeing them, and looking into Madame de Genlis's
book: "'Garsoon, donnez-moi un verre de vin,'" holding up the book and
pointing to the sentence. He again set to and "went a good one" at both
mutton and snipes, but on pulling up he appeared somewhat exhausted. He
had not got through it all yet, however. Just as he was taking breath, a
_garçon_ entered with some custards and an enormous omelette soufflée,
whose puffy brown sides bagged over the tin dish that contained it.
"There's a tart!" cried Mr. Jorrocks; "Oh, my eyes, what a swell! - Well,
I suppose I must have a shy at it. - 'In for a penny in for a pound!' as
we say at the Lord Mayor's feed. Know I shall be sick, but, however,
here goes," sending his plate across the table to the _garçon_, who was
going to help it. The first dive of the spoon undeceived him as he heard
it sound at the bottom of the dish. "Oh lauk, what a go! All puff, by
Jove! - a regular humbug - a balloon pudding, in short! I won't eat such
stuff - give it to Mouncheer there," rejecting the offer of a piece. "I
like the solids; - will trouble you for some of that cheese, sir, and
don't let it taste of the knive. But what do they mean by setting
the dessert on before the cloth is removed? And here comes tea and
coffee - may as well have some, I suppose it will be all the same price.
And what's this?" eyeing a lot of liqueur glasses full of eau de vie.
"Chasse-café, Monsieur," said the _garçon_. "Chasse calf - chasse
calf - what's that? Oh, I twig - what we call 'shove in the mouth' at the
Free-and-Easy. Yes, certainly, give me a glass." "You shall take some
dessert," said the Countess, handing him over some peaches and biscuits.
"Well, I'll try my hand at it, if it will oblege your ladyship, but I
really have had almost enough." "And some abricot," said she, helping
him to a couple of fine juicy ones. "Oh, thank you, my lady, thank you,
my lady, I'm nearly satisfied." "Vous ne mangez pas," said she, giving
him half a plate of grapes. "Oh, my lady, you don't understand me - I
can't eat any more - I am regularly high and dry - chock full - bursting,
in fact." Here she handed him a plate of sponge-cakes mixed with
bon-bons and macaroons, saying, "Vous êtes un pauvre mangeur - vous
ne mangez rien, Monsieur." "Oh dear, she does not understand me, I
see. - Indeed, my lady, I cannot eat any more. - Ge woudera, se ge
could-era, mais ge can-ne-ra pas!" "Well, now, I've travelled three
hundred thousand miles, and never heard such a bit of French as that
before," said the fat man, chuckling.


As the grey morning mist gradually dispersed, and daylight began to
penetrate the cloud that dimmed the four squares of glass composing the
windows of the diligence, the Yorkshireman, half-asleep and half-awake,
took a mental survey of his fellow-travellers. - Before him sat his
worthy friend, snoring away with his mouth open, and his head, which
kept bobbing over on to the shoulder of the Countess, enveloped in the
ample folds of a white cotton nightcap. - She, too, was asleep and,
disarmed of all her daylight arts, dozed away in tranquil security. Her
mouth also was open, exhibiting rather a moderate set of teeth, and
her Madonna front having got a-twist, exposed a mixture of brown and
iron-grey hairs at the parting place. Her bonnet swung from the roof
of the diligence, and its place was supplied by a handsome lace cap,
fastened under her chin by a broad-hemmed cambric handkerchief.
Presently the sun rose, and a bright ray shooting into the Countess's
corner, awoke her with a start, and after a hurried glance at the
passengers, who appeared to be all asleep, she drew a small ivory-cased
looking-glass from her bag, and proceeded to examine her features. Mr.
Jorrocks awoke shortly after, and with an awful groan exclaimed that
his backbone was fairly worn out with sitting. "Oh dear!" said he, "my
behind aches as if I had been kicked all the way from Hockleyhole to
Marylebone. Are we near Paris? for I'm sure I can't find seat any
longer, indeed I can't. I'd rather ride two hundred miles in nine hours,
like H'osbaldeston, than be shut up in this woiture another hour. It
really is past bearing, and that's the long and short of the matter."
This exclamation roused all the party, who began yawning and rubbing
their eyes and looking at their watches. The windows also were lowered
to take in fresh air, and on looking out they found themselves rolling
along a sandy road, lined on each side with apple-trees, whose branches
were "groaning" with fruit. They breakfasted at Beaumont, and had a
regular spread of fish, beef-steak, mutton-chops, a large joint of
hot roast veal, roast chickens, several yards of sour bread, grapes,
peaches, pears, and plums, with vin ordinaire, and coffee au lait;
but Mr. Jorrocks was off his feed, and stood all the time to ease his

Towards three in the afternoon they caught the first glimpse of the
gilded dome of the Hospital of Invalids, which was a signal for all
the party to brush up and make themselves agreeable. Even the
three-hundred-thousand miler opened out, and began telling some
wonderful anecdotes, while the Countess and Mr. Jorrocks carried on a
fierce flirtation, or whatever else they pleased to call it. At last,
after a deal of jargon, he broke off by appealing to the Yorkshireman
to know what "inn" they should "put up at" in Paris. "I don't know, I'm
sure," said he; "it depends a good deal upon how you mean to live. As
you pay my shot it does not do for beggars to be choosers; but suppose
we try Meurice's" "Oh no," replied Mr. Jorrocks, "her ladyship tells me
it is werry expensive, for the English always pay through the nose if
they go to English houses in Paris; and, as we talk French, we can put
up at a French one, you know." "Well, then, we can try one of the French
ones in the Rue de la Paix." "Rue de la Pay! no, by Jove, that won't do
for me - the werry name is enough - no Rue de la Pay for me, at least if
I have to pay the shot." "Well, then, you must get your friend there to
tell you of some place, for I don't care twopence, as long as I have a
bed, where it is." The Countess and he then laid their heads together
again, and when the diligence stopped to change horses at St. Denis,
Mr. Jorrocks asked the Yorkshireman to alight, and taking him aside,
announced with great glee that her ladyship, finding they were strangers
in the land, had most kindly invited them to stay with her, and that she
had a most splendid house in the Rue des Mauvais-Garçons, ornamented
with mirrors, musical clocks, and he didn't know what, and kept the best
company in all France, marquesses, barons, viscounts, authors, etc.
Before the Yorkshireman had time to reply, the conducteur came and
hurried them back into the diligence, and closed the door with a bang,
to be sure of having his passengers there while he and the postilion
shuffled the cards and cut for a glass of _eau-de-vie_ apiece.

The Countess, suspecting what they had been after, resumed the
conversation as soon as Mr. Jorrocks was seated. - "You shall manger
cinque fois every day," said she; "cinque fois," she repeated. - "Humph!"
said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, "what can that mean? - cank four - four
times five's twenty - eat twenty times a day - not possible!" "Oui,
Monsieur, cinque fois," repeated the Countess, telling the number off
on her fingers - "Café at nine of the matin, déjeuner à la fourchette at
onze o'clock, diner at cinque heure, café at six hour, and souper at
neuf hour." "Upon my word," replied Mr. Jorrocks, his eyes sparkling
with pleasure, "your offer is werry inwiting. My lady," said he, bowing
before her, "Je suis - I am much flattered." "And, Monsieur?" said she,
looking at the Yorkshireman. He, too, assured her that he was very
much flattered, and was beginning to excuse himself, when the Countess
interrupted him somewhat abruptly by turning to Mr. Jorrocks and saying,
"He sall be your son - n'est ce pas?" "No, my lady, I've no children,"
replied he, and the Countess's eyes in their turn underwent a momentary

The Parisian barrier was soon reached, and the man taken up to kick
about the jaded travellers' luggage at the journey's end. While this
operation was going on in the diligence yard, the Countess stuck close
to Mr. Jorrocks, and having dispatched Agamemnon for a fiacre, bundled
him in, luggage and all, and desiring her worthy domestic to mount the
box, and direct the driver, she kissed her hand to the Yorkshireman,
assuring him she would be most happy to see him, in proof of which,
she drove away without telling him her number, or where the Rue des
Mauvais-Garçons was.

Paris is a charming place after the heat of the summer has passed away,
and the fine, clear, autumnal days arrive. Then is the time to see the
Tuileries gardens to perfection, when the Parisians have returned from
their châteaus, and emigrating English and those homeward bound halt to
renovate on the road; then is the time that the gayest plants put forth
their brightest hues, and drooping orange flowers scent the air which
silvery fountains lend their aid to cool.

On a Sunday afternoon, such as we have described, our friend Mr. Stubbs
(who since his arrival had been living very comfortably at the Hôtel
d'Hollande, in expectation of Mr. Jorrocks paying his bill) indulged in
six sous' worth of chairs - one to sit upon and one for each leg - and,
John Bull-like, stretched himself out in the shade beneath the lofty
trees, to view the gay groups who promenaded the alleys before him.
First, there came a helmeted cuirassier, with his wife in blue satin,
and a little boy in his hand in uniform, with a wooden sword, a perfect
miniature of the father; then a group of short-petticoated, shuffling
French women, each with an Italian greyhound in slips, followed by an
awkward Englishman with a sister on each arm, all stepping out like
grenadiers; then came a ribbon'd chevalier of the Legion of Honour,
whose hat was oftener in his hand than on his head, followed by a
nondescript looking militaire with fierce mustachios, in shining
jack-boots, white leathers, and a sort of Italian military cloak, with
one side thrown over the shoulder, to exhibit the wearer's leg, and the
bright scabbard of a large sword, while on the hero's left arm hung a
splendidly dressed woman. "What a figure!" said the Yorkshireman to
himself, as they came before him, and he took another good stare. - "Yet
stay - no, impossible! - Gracious Heaven! it can't be - and yet it is - by
Jove, it's Jorrocks!"

"Why now, you old imbecile," cried he, jumping off his chairs and
running up to him, "What are you after?" bursting into a loud laugh as
he looked at Mr. Jorrocks's mustachios (a pair of great false ones). "Is
there no piece of tomfoolery too great for you? What's come across you
now? Where the deuce did you get these things?" taking hold of the curls
at one side of his mustachios.

"How now?" roared Mr. Jorrocks with rage and astonishment. "How now! ye
young scaramouch, vot do you mean by insulting a gentleman sportsman in
broad daylight, in the presence of a lady of quality? By Jingo," added
he, his eyes sparkling with rage, "if you are not off before I can say
'dumpling' I'll run you through the gizzard and give your miserable
carcass to the dogs," suiting the action to the word, and groping
under his cloak for the hilt of his sword. - A crowd collected, and the
Yorkshireman perceiving symptoms of a scene, slunk out of the mêlée, and
Mr. Jorrocks, after an indignant shake or two of his feathers and curl
of his mustachios, pursued his course up the gardens.

This was the first time they had met since their arrival, which was
above a week before; indeed, it was nine days, for the landlord of the
house where the Yorkshireman lived had sent his "little bill" two days
before this, it being an established rule of his house, and one which
was conspicuously posted in all the rooms, that the bills were to be
settled weekly; and Mr. Stubbs had that very morning observed that the
hat of Monsieur l'Hote was not raised half so high from his head, nor
his body inclined so much towards the ground as it was wont to be - a
pretty significant hint that he wanted his cash. - Now the Yorkshireman,
among his other accomplishments, had a turn for play, and unfortunately
had been at the Salon the night before, when, after continuous run
of ill-luck, he came away twelve francs below the amount of the
hotel-keeper's bill, consequently a rumpus with Mr. Jorrocks could not
have taken place at a more unfortunate moment. Thinking, however, a good
night's rest or two might settle him down, and put all matters right,
he let things alone until the Tuesday following, when again finding
Monsieur's little "memoire" on one side of his coffeecup, and a framed
copy of the "rules and regulations" of the house on the other, he
felt constrained to take some decisive step towards its liquidation.
Accordingly, having breakfasted, he combed his hair straight over his
face, and putting on a very penitential look, called a cab, and desired
the man to drive him to the Rue des Mauvais-Garçons. - After zigzagging,
twisting, and turning about in various directions, they at last jingled
to the end of a very narrow dirty-looking street, whose unswept pavement
had not been cheered by a ray of sunshine since the houses were built.
It was excessively narrow, and there were no flags on either side; but
through the centre ran a dribbling stream, here and there obstructed
by oyster-shells, or vegetable refuse, as the water had served as
a plaything for children, or been stopped by servants for domestic
purposes. The street being extremely old, of course the houses were very
large, forming, as all houses do in Paris, little squares entered by
folding doors, at one side of which, in a sort of lodge, lives the
Porter - "Parlez au Portier" - who receives letters, parcels, and
communications for the several occupiers, consisting sometimes of twenty
or thirty different establishments in one house. From this functionary
may be learned the names of the different tenants. Having dismissed his
cab, the Yorkshireman entered the first gateway on his left, to take
the chance of gaining some intelligence of the Countess. The Porter - a
cobbler by trade - was hammering away, last on knee, at the sole of a
shoe, and with a grin on his countenance, informed the Yorkshireman that
the Countess lived next door but one. A thrill of fear came over him on
finding himself so near the residence of his indignant friend, but it
was of momentary duration, and he soon entered the courtyard of No.
3 - where he was directed by an unshaved grisly-looking porter, to
proceed "un troisième," and ring the bell at the door on the right-hand
side. Obedient to his directions, the Yorkshireman proceeded to climb a
wide but dirty stone staircase, with carved and gilded balusters, whose
wall and steps had known no water for many years, and at length found
himself on the landing opposite the very apartment which contained the
redoubtable Jorrocks. Here he stood for a few seconds, breathing and
cooling himself after his exertions, during which time he pictured to

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