expressed such unfeigned astonishment at my want of curiosity that I resolved to see the place forthwith, if only for a few minutes. Accordingly, after dinner I mounted Nelly, and set off by what I guessed must be the road thither. The day had been exceedingly hot, the roads were very dusty, and, half irresolute, I rode slowly over the uninteresting parched-up plain between Colombes and Courbevoie, made disgusting, moreover, by the trodden-down corn and carcasses of horses, &c., which marked the old bivouacs. The handsome cavalry barracks for the Imperial Guard at the entrance of Courbevoie detained me a moment, and then I descended the winding shabby street, and came suddenly on the beautiful Pont de Neuilly. The lovely scenery here, above and below the bridge, and the magnificent avenue beyond it, put an end to my Paris trip. For the life of me I could not resolve to exchange such scenery, and pass such an evening in the streets of a city, however fine they might be. This bridge, and the one at St Maxence, are elegant things, certainly; but the straight line, which is one of their great beauties, must not be claimed by the architects as an original idea. The Roman bridges at Alcantra and elsewhere no doubt have been their prototypes. I found here defences similar to those at St Denis--the road to the bridge broken up and obstructed by carts, and a sort of abatis; this was commanded by a 2-gun battery, built across the road on the Paris side, secured at each flank by a stockade. These mementos of war were unpleasing objects certainly, yet they could not divert the mind from the sweet scenery on every side. The Seine came gliding tranquilly along through green meadows, fringed with willows, bordered on each side by villages and villas; several verdant islands, also, decorated with large umbrageous willows, divided its stream into different channels, on which floated boats of various descriptions--some plain and of coarse construction, laden with goods; others of a more elegant construction, gaily painted, and filled with joyous light-hearted people, already forgetful of the downfall of their idolised Emperor--of their national glory tarnished--even that, in these their moments of mirth and recreation, they were in the presence of their conquerors--of their ancient enemy. British soldiers stood on the river-bank as they passed along--British soldiers occupied the barracks of the late Imperial Guard, under which lay their course, and yet the laugh was as joyous, the countenances as bright, as they could have been after the bulletins of Austerlitz or Jena. Not so, I ween, on the slimy Thames had England fallen as low, were London the cantonment of French legions.