The worst bit of the journey is from Chalons to Paris. The road is much frequented. I was obliged to wait a day for places in the diligence, and then could only get bad ones, in the intérieur, with three little boys going to school in Paris from Marseilles, and a sort of tutor conveying them; for boys are never trusted, as with us, to go about alone; such a proceeding would be looked upon as flagrantly improper. Nothing can equal the care with which French youth are guarded from contact with the world; girls in our boarding-schools are less shut up. They rise early, work hard—(a boy once said to me, “We are always at work; but we do it very slow”)—little or no exercise, and poor fare. Such is the fate of the noblest French youths, as well as those of an inferior class, at the highest public schools.
It had been pleasant travelling under different circumstances, in a picturesque country, for the weather continued serene and warm; but the drear extent of this part of France is uninteresting; and besides, two days and two nights in a diligence was, if nothing else, extremely fatiguing. We came to an end at last—the dreary, comfortless moment of arriving in a metropolis by a public conveyance,
