LA GRANGE.

It was on a bright autumn morning that I started for the little village of Rosay,—­some two leagues from Paris, and the nearest point by diligence to La Grange.  A railroad passes almost equally near to it now, and the French diligence, like its English and American counterpart, the stage-coach, has long since been shorn of its honors.  Yet it was a pleasant mode of travelling, taking you from place to place in a way to give you a good general idea of the country you were passing through, and bringing you into much closer relations with your fellow-travellers than you can form in a rail-car.  There was the crowd at the door of the post-house where you stopped to change horses, and the little troop of wooden-shoed children that followed you up the hill, drawling out in unison, “Un peu de charite, s’il vous plait,” gradually quickening their pace as the horses began to trot, and breaking all off together and tumbling in a heap as they scrambled for the sous that were thrown out to them.

For a light, airy people, the French have a wonderful facility in making clumsy-looking vehicles.  To look at a diligence, you would say that it was impossible to guide it through a narrow street, or turn it into a gate.  The only thing an American would think of likening it to would be three carriages of different shapes fastened together.  First came the Coupe, in shape like an old-fashioned chariot, with a seat for three persons, and glass windows in front and at the sides that gave you a full view of everything on the road.  This was the post of honor, higher in price, and, on long journeys, always secured a day or two beforehand.  Not the least of its advantages was the amusement it afforded you in watching the postilion and his horses,—­a never-failing source of merriment; and what to those who know how important it is, in a set of hungry travellers, to secure a good seat at table, the important fact that the coupe-door was the first door opened, and the coupe-passengers received as the most distinguished personages of the party.  The Interieur came next:  somewhat larger than our common coach, with seats for six, face to face, two good windows at the sides, and netting above for parcels of every kind and size:  a comfortable place, less exposed to jolts than the coupe even, and much to be desired, if you could but make sure of a back-corner and an accommodating companion opposite to you.  Last of all was the Rotonde, with its entrance from the rear, its seats length-wise, room for six, and compensating in part for its comparative inferiority in other respects by leaving you free to get in and out as you chose, without consulting the conductor.  This, however, was but the first story, or the rooms of state of this castle on wheels.  On a covered dicky, directly above the coupe, and thus on the very top of the whole machine, was another row