The road now began to exhibit the usual appearance of an approach to a country fête or fair. Scores of pedestrians, overcome with the heat and dust of the day, might be seen at the little boxes or shops of the _traiteurs_, or cooks, and at the houses of the _marchands de vin et de la biacre_; these by their anticipated anxiety caused the line from Paris to St. Cloud to resemble a road-side fair. Cheerfulness and vivacity were upper-most in the passengers; and the elastic pace of dozens of gaily-dressed _soubrettes_ not a little enhanced the interest of the scene. Neither were these charms impaired by that species of vulgarity which not unfrequently characterizes the road to our suburban fairs; and, what is still more creditable to humanity, there was no brutality towards jaded horses or hacks sinking beneath their loads. Historians attach some antiquarian importance to the village of St. Cloud, it being historically confounded with the earliest times of the French monarchy; for, from the beginning of the first race, the kings of France had a country-seat here.[5] [5] For an engraving and account of the Palace of St. Cloud, see MIRROR, vol. ii. page 225. I now reached the bridge of St. Cloud, an elegant modern structure which crosses the Seine, near the entrance to the village. Here the river loses much of its importance; and in summer, the steam-boats are not unfrequently delayed in their _voyage_ (if it may be so designated) for lack of water. The prospect of the château, or palace, embosomed in trees, and the park variegated with natural and artificial beauties, with the adjoining village on a steep, shelving hill--is unusually picturesque. On the present occasion, however, the principal attraction was the fête, which reminded me more forcibly of John Bunyan's Vanity Fair, than any other exhibition I had ever witnessed.