who lives at the top.  Nothing can surpass the beauty of the view from this cathedral.  At your feet you have the ancient town, with all its regular fortifications and outworks—­the majestic Rhine, with its bridge of boats, and ruined Gothic bridge, sublime in its decay—­and as far as the eye can reach you have an exceedingly rich country, everywhere speckled with towns, and fertilized by luxuriant streams.

    [1] Apropos—­our Supplement contains a fine Engraving of this
    very spot.

I made a point of visiting my venerable friend, the old Comte de Strasbourg, who, unchanged in the rolling on of centuries, lies in his glass coffin, to all appearance in the same freshness of health and vigour in which, when myself a very young man, I saw him many hundred years ago;[1] his countess, his son, and his daughter, keep him company, each in their separate place of repose.  Alas, alas! the sight made me weep.

    [1] The venerable count died about the year 1519.  The glass
    coffins are still shown.

A few days afterwards, I was rather unexpectedly stopped in my tour.  For a night I had taken up my residence in the carriage of a young Englishman, who that day arrived from Rome, the hostler having assured me that he would remain for some time.  I did so, as I found it much quieter and cooler than the hotel “La ville de Lyon,” which was overcrowded.  In the morning, I thought my friends were merely going a short drive, so I kept my seat.  We, however, travelled on till night, when I heard we were bound for London; but as my companions were very agreeable, I thought I might as well accompany them the whole way.  They seemed to be annoyed at every posthouse with their passports, &c.; I was never even asked about the matter.  The custom-house gentry, in their searches, to be sure, occasionally gave me a little trouble, but I was soon up to their tricks.  We had an avant-courier constantly galloping before us, and we travelled with such expedition that we reached London in five days; for my fellow-travellers were idle young men of fortune, who are of course always in the greatest hurry for the end of a journey, because they don’t know what to make of themselves when it is over.

I had not then an opportunity of seeing Paris, as we only changed horses in it.  I have since, however, spent many months there, and have always been very much pleased with every thing I saw, particularly the Catacombs, which were my favourite lounge.  When last in Paris, I made a narrow escape with my life, as I tumbled headlong into a cask of brandy.  I, however, managed to scramble out, with the assistance of a bit of cord, which happened to be hanging over its side, and which my friend pushed in to me.  I was little the worse of my ducking; for, as soon as I got out, I was set a-laughing by his telling me how to spell brandy, in both French and English, in three letters, viz.  “B.R. and Y.” and “O.D.V.”