novelty of our situation, and the grotesqueness of the conveyance.  Our Postilion was a rare specimen of his species, and a perfectly unique copy.  He fancied himself, I suppose, rather getting “into the vale of years,” and had contrived to tinge his cheeks with a plentiful portion of rouge.[34] His platted and powdered hair was surmounted with a battered black hat, tricked off with faded ribband:  his jacket was dark blue velvet, with the insignia of his order (the royal arms) upon his left arm.  What struck me as not a little singular, was, that his countenance was no very faint resemblance of that of Voltaire, when he might have been verging towards his sixtieth year.  Most assuredly he resembled him in his elongated chin, and the sarcastic expression of his mouth.  We rolled merrily along—­the horses sometimes spreading, and sometimes closing, according to the size of the streets through which we were compelled to pass.  The reins and harness are of cord; which, however keep together pretty well.  The postilion endeavours to break the rapidity of the descent by conducting the wheels over small piles of gravel or rubbish, which are laid at the sides of the road, near the ditch; so that, to those sitting in the cabriolet, and overlooking the whole process, the effect, with weak nerves, is absolutely terrific.  They stop little in changing horses, and the Diligence is certainly well managed, and in general no accidents occur.

The road from Dieppe to Rouen is wide, hard, and in excellent condition.  There are few or no hedges, but rows of apple-trees afford a sufficient line of demarkation.  The country is open, and gently undulating; with scarcely any glimpses of what is called forest-scenery, till you get towards the conclusion of the first stage.  Nothing particularly strikes you till you approach Malaunai, within about half a dozen miles of Rouen, and of course after the last change of horses.  The environs of this beautiful village repay you for every species of disappointment, if any should have been experienced.  The rising banks of a brisk serpentine trout stream are studded with white houses, in which are cotton manufactories that appear to be carried on with spirit and success.  Above these houses are hanging woods; and though the early spring would scarcely have coated the branches with green in our own country, yet here there was a general freshness of verdure, intermingled with the ruddy blossom of the apple; altogether rejoicing the eye and delighting the heart.  Occasionally there were delicious spots, which the taste and wealth of an Englishman would have embellished to every possible degree of advantage.  But wealth, for the gratification of picturesque taste, is a superfluity that will not quickly fall to the lot of the French.  The Revolution seems to have drained their purses, as well as daunted their love of enterprise.  Along the road-side there were some few houses of entertainment; and we observed the emptied cabriolet and stationary voiture, by the side of the gardens, where Monsieur and Madame, with their families, tripped lightly along the vistas, and tittered as John Bull saluted them.  Moving vehicles, and numerous riding and walking groups, increased upon us; and every thing announced that we were approaching a great and populous city.