not even allow of the exercise of the postilion’s whip.  Every body, and every thing seemed to be oppressed by it.  The labourer was stretched out in the shade, and the husbandman slept within the porch of his cottage.  We had no sooner entered the little town of La Ferte-sous-Jouarre, and driven to the post-house, when not fewer than four blacksmiths came rushing out of their respective forges, to examine every part of the carriage.  “A nail had started here:  a screw was wanting there:  and a fracture had taken place in another direction:  even the perch was given way in the centre!” “Alas, for my voiture de voyage!” exclaimed I to my companion.  Meanwhile, a man came forward with a red-hot piece of iron, in the shape of a cramp, to fix round the perch—­which hissed as the application was made.  And all this—­before I could say wherefore! or even open my mouth to express astonishment!  They were absolutely about to take off the wheels of the carriage; to examine, and to grease them—­but it was then for the first time, that I opened a well-directed fire of expostulation; from which I apprehend that they discovered I was not perfectly ignorant either of their language or of their trickery.  However, the rogues had four francs for what they had the impudence to ask six; and considering my vehicle to be now proof against the probability of an accident, I was resolved to leave the town in the same good humour in which I had entered it.

On quitting, we mounted slowly up a high ascent, and saw from thence the village of Jouarre, on a neighbouring summit, smothered with trees.  It seemed to consist of a collection of small and elegant country houses, each with a lawn and an orchard.  At the foot of the summit winds the unostentatious little stream of Le Petit Morin The whole of this scenery, including the village of Montreuil-aux-Lions—­a little onwards—­was perfectly charming, and after the English fashion:  and as the sky became mellowed by the rays of the declining sun, the entire landscape assumed a hue and character which absolutely refreshed our spirits after the heat of the previous part of the journey.  We had resolved to sleep at Chateau-Thierry, about seven leagues off, and the second posting-place from where we had last halted.  Night was coming on, and the moon rose slowly through a somewhat dense horizon, as we approached our rendezvous for the evening.  All was tranquil and sweet.  We drove to the inn called the Sirene, situated in the worst possible part of the town:  but we quickly changed our determination, and bespoke beds for the night, and horses for the following morning, at the Poste Royale.  The landlady of the Inn was a tartar—­of her species.  She knew how to talk civilly; and, for her, a more agreeable occupation—­how to charge!  We had little rest, and less sleep.  By a quarter past five I was in the carriage; intending to breakfast at Epernay, about twenty-five miles off.