character to the scenery, the sun, broad and red, was just hiding the lower limb of his disk behind the edge of a purple hill.  A quiet, mellow effect reigned throughout the landscape.  I gazed on all sides; and (wherefore, I cannot now say) as I sunk upon the grass, overwhelmed with fatigue and the lassitude of two sleepless nights, wished, in my heart, I could have seen the effect of that glorious sun-set from, the heights of Dover.  Now and then, as when at school, one feels a little home-sick; but the melancholy mood which then possessed me was purely a physical effect from a physical cause.  The shadows of evening began to succeed to the glow of sun-set—­when, starting from my recumbent position, (in which sleep was beginning to surprise me) I hastened down the heights, and by a nearer direction sought the town and our hotel.  We retired betimes to rest—­but not until, from an opposite coach maker, we had secured a phaeton-like carriage to convey us with post horses, the next day, to Paris.

Excellent beds and undisturbed slumber put me in spirits for the grand entree into the metropolis of France.  Breakfasting a little after nine—­before ten, a pair of powerful black horses, one of which was surmounted by a sprucely-attired postilion—­with the phaeton in the rear—­were at the door of the hotel.  Seeing all our baggage properly secured, we sprung into the conveyance and darted forward at a smart gallop.  The animals seemed as if they could fly away with us—­and the whip of the postilion made innumerable circular flourishes above their heads.  The sky was beautifully clear:  and a briskly-stirring, but not unpleasantly penetrating, south-east wind, played in our faces as we seemed scarcely to be sensible of the road.  What a contrast to the heat, vexation, and general uncomfortableness of the two preceding days of our journey!  We felt it sensibly, and enjoyed it in proportion.  Our first place of halting, to change horses, was at HOUDAN; which may be about four leagues from Dreux; and I verily believe we reached it in an hour.  The route thither is through a flat and uninteresting country; except that every feature of landscape (and more especially in our previous journeys through Normandy) seems to be thrown to a greater distance, than in England.  This may account for the flatness of views, and the diminutiveness of objects.  Houdan is a village-like town, containing a population of about 2000 inhabitants; but much business is done on market days; and of corn, in particular, I was told that they often sold several thousand sacks in a day.  Its contiguity to Paris may account for the quantity of business done.  In the outskirts of the town,—­and flanked, rather than surrounded, by two or three rows of trees, of scarcely three years growth—­stands the “stiff and stower” remains of the Castle of Houdan.  It is a very interesting relic, and to our eyes appeared of an unusual construction.  The corner towers are small and circular; and the