Malignity--Life on the Road.

NEAR ST. CLOUD, NINTH WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

It would have done you good to see us getting over that muddy, jagged,
rutty old turnpike that leads off from the south of the Bois de Boulogne
toward St. Cloud and Versailles. Since writing my last, I had been to
Paris _par ballon monte,_ and was now returning in the _diligence_ that
took five American ladies and a couple of war correspondents, all
friends of WASHBURNE, away from the temptation of eating horse-flesh in
the beleaguered city, to such edibles as the rapacity of the German
appetite had left undevoured in the neighborhood of the old "stamping
grounds" of Louis XVI. We were not a jolly party. It rained in torrents,
and our little driver perched upon the box in front smoked the most
infernal tobacco I ever smelt. Moreover, the horses were not lively
steeds. They were rather safe than otherwise, and not given to running
away. Although the driver addressed himself to their flanks, between
each puff of smoke, with a pointed stick, they didn't rear and plunge so
as to frighten the ladies, and that was a point gained, albeit we had
leisure to count the pickets in the fences as we dragged toward our
destination. One of our lady passengers came from Connecticut, and she
talked with a nutmeg dialect that made her garrulity oftentimes quite
spicy. We two sat back to back, and when the vehicle lurched heavily her
chignon took me "amidships" (if I may be permitted the expression) with
a concussion that felt like the impact of a muffled ball from a
six-pound field howitzer. "Goodness gracious, dew git eout of the way
and give me some room, man!" she would exclaim as our wagon plunged into
a three-foot "gore" and the coachee plied his pointed ramrod with
increased vigor to the attenuated haunches of the insensible beasts.

"My dear madam, you will perceive that I cannot 'git' any further
without climbing upon the back of my companion in front." Lord knows I
would have given a hundred francs to be out of her reach; but we had
been all ticketed and labelled through under the same "pass," and there
was no such thing as dissolving partnership _now._

"Ugh!" she muttered, putting her handkerchief to her nose, "and that
horrid smoke too!" But the imperturbable director of our flight took no
heed, and drew away at his clay idol with unabated satisfaction. 'Twas
thus we jogged on for five weary hours, "OLD CONNECTICUT" charging head
foremost at