two months be over
to stand in the spray of Trolhattan, and join a wolf-chase through the
pine-forests of the north. And not only this, but to have opportunities
of seeing life on terms the most intimate, so that society should be
unveiled to an extent that few men of any station can pretend to; to
converse with the greatest and the wisest, the most distinguished in
rank--ay! and better than all, with the most beautiful women of every
land in Europe, who depend on your word, rely on your information, and
permit a degree of intimacy which in their own rank is unattainable; to
improve your mind by knowledge of languages, acquaintance with works of
art, scenery, and more still by habits of intelligence which travelling
bestows."

'"And to do this," said I, burning with impatience at a picture that
realised all I wished for, "to do this----"

'"Be a courier!" said thirty voices in a cheer. "Vive la Grande Route!"
and with the word each man drained his glass to the bottom.

'"Vive la Grande Route!" exclaimed I, louder than the rest; "and here I
join you."

'From that hour I entered on a career that each day I follow is becoming
dearer to me. It is true that I sit in the rumble of the carriage, while
_monseigneur_, or my lord, reclines within; but would I exchange his
ennui and depression for my own light-heartedness and jollity? Would I
give up the happy independence of all the intrigue and plotting of the
world I enjoy, for all his rank and station? Does not Mont Blanc look as
grand in his hoary panoply to me as to him; are not the Danube and the
Rhine as fair? If I wander through the gallery of Dresden, have I not
the sweet smile of the great Raphael's Madonna bent on me, as blandly as
it is on him? Is not mine host, with less of ceremony, far more cordial
to me than to him? Is not mine a rank known and acknowledged in every
town, in every village? Have I not a greeting wherever I pass? Should
sickness overtake me, where have I not a home? Where am I among
strangers? Then, what care I for the bill--mine is a royal route where
I never pay. And, lastly, how often is the _soubrette_ of the rumble as
agreeable a companion as the pale and care-worn lady within?

'Such is my life. Many would scoff, and call it menial Let them, if
they will. I never _felt_ it so; and once more I say, "Vive la Grande
Route!"'

'But your friends of the "Fischer's Haus"?'

'A jolly set of smugglers, with whom for a month or two in summer I