AN INVITATION. 0.5 



it would be wise to provide ourselves loith meat and drink. 

 The beds, too, of which so much had been spoken as so 

 "tout ce qu*il faut," began to fade away in a strange 

 manner. My friend "intended to sleep in his clothes; 

 he always did so in the country; he preferred it. Per- 

 haps I would do the same ; it was much better ; no fear of 

 domestic animals." The nice white sheets, the soft feather 

 bed on which he had before dilated, were all mere dis- 

 solving views, of the F^^endi invention. But wliat mattered 

 it to a sportsman, as he gaily said, — it was a mere 

 lark; in fact, rather a pleasure, and enhanced the plea- 

 sui'es of home. In fact, it was evident that the first 

 account was aJl pure flourish, and he was now smoothing 

 off the road to avoid landing me too suddenly in the desert 

 below. 



My friend brought his cabriolet to the door at the time 

 appointed; for, be it said by the way, that he was a 

 punctual man, and this for a Frenchman says much ; and 

 here let me say a word on French private carriages. In 

 Paris, I am aware, the carriages are elegant and superb, 

 and I am aware also that France stood high at the Great 

 Exhibition in carriage building, but not one do you see in 

 the rural part of France. No one can form an idea of the 

 wretched hen-roosts on \Aheels, unpainted, uncleaned, 

 creaking and jolting, which frequently meet the eye. An 

 English farmer of the olden time, who occasionally rolls 

 into his market town in his grandfather's so-called sociable, 

 or some such name, possesses a superior turn-out to many 

 a French nobleman. This is all the more remarkable, in- 

 asmuch as paint is so cheap, and the only explanation is to 



