ish heads to define the difference between
submission and conquest.

Beef and mutton are 5d. per lb. here. Chickens 3s. the couple, though 24
per cent. was probably added to me as an Englishman. Bread a 100 per
cent. cheaper than in England--at least so I was informed by an
Englishman in the commercial line. Fish cheap as dirt at Havre, 3 John
Dorys for 6d.

From Havre to Rouen, 57 miles, cost us L1 6s. for both; from thence to
Paris, 107 miles, L2; our dinners, including wine, are about 4s. a head;
breakfast 2s., beds 1s. 6d. each.

LETTER III.

PARIS, _June 30th_.

Here we arrived about an hour ago; for the last two miles the country
was a perfect garden--cherries, gooseberries, apple-trees, corn,
vineyards, all chequered together in profusion; in other respects
nothing remarkable....

The first sight of Paris, or rather its situation, is about 10 miles
off, when the heights of Montmartre, on one side, and the dome of the
Hopital des Invalides on the other reminded us of their trophies and
disasters at the same time....

[Illustration: OLD BRIDGE AND CHATELET.

_Paris July 4, 1814_

_To face p. 108._

Now you must enter our rooms in l'Hotel des Etrangers, rue du Hazard, as
I know you wish to see minutely. First walk, if you please, into an
antechamber paved with red hexagon tiles (dirty enough, to be sure), and
the saloon also, into which you next enter through a pair of folding
doors. This saloon is in the genuine tawdry French style--gold and
silver carving work and dirt are the component features. It is about 20
feet square, plenty of chairs, sofas of velvet, and so forth, but only
one wretched rickety table in the centre. Two folding doors open into
our bedroom, which is in furniture pretty much like the rest; the beds
are excellent--fitted up in a sort of tent fashion--and mine has a
looking-glass occupying the whole of one side, in which I may at leisure
contemplate myself in my night-cap, for I cannot discover for what other
purpose it was placed there.

Now let us take a walk--put on thick shoes or you will find yourself
rather troubled with the paving stones, for nothing like a flagged
footpath exists; a slight inclination from each side terminates in a
central gutter, from which are exploded showers of mud by the passing
carriages and cabriolets. You must get on as you can; horse and foot,
coaches and carts are jumbled together, and he who walks in Paris must
have his eyes about him. The st