forthathousehappenstobeMYhouse，andIhavereasontobelievethatwhathesaidwastrue。
Well！Imadenohaltthere，andIsoondroppedtheveryqueersmallboyandwenton。OvertheroadwheretheoldRomansusedtomarch，overtheroadwheretheoldCanterburypilgrimsusedtogo，overtheroadwherethetravellingtrainsoftheoldimperiouspriestsandprincesusedtojingleonhorsebackbetweenthecontinentandthisIslandthroughthemudandwater，overtheroadwhereShakespearehummedtohimself，’Blow，blow，thouwinterwind，’ashesatinthesaddleatthegateoftheinnyardnoticingthecarriers；allamongthecherryorchards，appleorchards，corn-
fields，andhop-gardens；sowentI，byCanterburytoDover。There，theseawastumblingin，withdeepsounds，afterdark，andtherevolvingFrenchlightonCapeGrinezwasseenregularlyburstingoutandbecomingobscured，asiftheheadofagiganticlight-
keeperinananxiousstateofmindwereinterposedeveryhalf-
minute，tolookhowitwasburning。
EarlyinthemorningIwasonthedeckofthesteam-packet，andwewereaimingatthebarintheusualintolerablemanner，andthebarwasaimingatusintheusualintolerablemanner，andthebargotbyfarthebestofit，andwegotbyfartheworst-allintheusualintolerablemanner。
But，whenIwasclearoftheCustomHouseontheotherside，andwhenIbegantomakethedustflyonthethirstyFrenchroads，andwhenthetwigsometreesbythewaysidewhich，Isuppose，neverwillgrowleafy，fortheyneverdidguardedhereandthereadustysoldier，orfieldlabourer，bakingonaheapofbrokenstones，soundasleepinafictionofshade，Ibegantorecovermytravellingspirits。Cominguponthebreakerofthebrokenstones，inahard，hot，shininghat，onwhichthesunplayedatadistanceasonaburning-glass，Ifeltthatnow，indeed，IwasinthedearoldFranceofmyaffections。Ishouldhaveknownit，withoutthewell-rememberedbottleofroughordinarywine，thecoldroastfowl，theloaf，andthepinchofsalt，onwhichIlunchedwithunspeakablesatisfaction，fromoneofthestuffedpocketsofthechariot。
Imusthavefallenasleepafterlunch，forwhenabrightfacelookedinatthewindow，Istarted，andsaid:
’GoodGod，Louis，Idreamedyouweredead！’
Mycheerfulservantlaughed，andanswered:
’Me？Notatall，sir。’
’HowgladIamtowake！WhatarewedoingLouis？’
’Wegototakerelayofhorses。Willyouwalkupthehill？’
’Certainly。’
WelcometheoldFrenchhill，withtheoldFrenchlunaticnotinthemostdistantdegreerelatedtoSterne’sMarialivinginathatcheddog-kennelhalf-wayup，andflyingoutwithhiscrutchandhisbigheadandextendednightcap，tobebeforehandwiththeoldmenandwomenexhibitingcrippledchildren，andwiththechildrenexhibitingoldmenandwomen，uglyandblind，whoalwaysseemedbyresurrectionaryprocesstoberecalledoutoftheelementsforthesuddenpeoplingofthesolitude！
’Itiswell，’saidI，scatteringamongthemwhatsmallcoinIhad；
’herecomesLouis，andIamquiterousedfrommynap。’
Wejourneyedonagain，andIwelcomedeverynewassurancethatFrancestoodwhereIhadleftit。Thereweretheposting-houses，withtheirarchways，dirtystable-yards，andcleanpost-masters’
wives，brightwomenofbusiness，lookingonattheputting-toofthehorses；therewerethepostilionscountingwhatmoneytheygot，intotheirhats，andnevermakingenoughofit；therewerethestandardpopulationofgreyhorsesofFlandersdescent，invariablybitingoneanotherwhentheygotachance；therewerethefleecysheepskins，loopedonovertheiruniformsbythepostilions，likebibbedapronswhenitblewandrained；thereweretheirJack-boots，andtheircrackingwhips；therewerethecathedralsthatIgotouttosee，asundersomecruelbondage，innowisedesiringtoseethem；therewerethelittletownsthatappearedtohavenoreasonforbeingtowns，sincemostoftheirhousesweretoletandnobodycouldbeinducedtolookatthem，exceptthepeoplewhocouldn’tletthemandhadnothingelsetodobutlookatthemallday。I
layanightupontheroadandenjoyeddelectablecookeryofpotatoes，andsomeothersensiblethings，adoptionofwhichathomewouldinevitablybeshowntobefraughtwithruin，somehoworother，tothatricketynationalblessing，theBritishfarmer；andatlastIwasrattled，likeasinglepillinabox，overleaguesofstones，until-madlycracking，plunging，andflourishingtwogreytailsabout-ImademytriumphalentryintoParis。
AtParis，ItookanupperapartmentforafewdaysinoneofthehotelsoftheRuedeRivoli；myfrontwindowslookingintothegardenoftheTuilerieswheretheprincipaldifferencebetweenthenursemaidsandtheflowersseemedtobethattheformerwerelocomotiveandthelatternot:mybackwindowslookingatalltheotherbackwindowsinthehotel，anddeepdownintoapavedyard，wheremyGermanchariothadretiredunderatight-fittingarchway，toallappearanceforlife，andwherebellsrangalldaywithoutanybody’smindingthembutcertainchamberlainswithfeatherbroomsandgreenbaizecaps，whohereandthereleanedoutofsomehighwindowplacidlylookingdown，andwhereneatwaiterswithtraysontheirleftshoulderspassedandrepassedfrommorningtonight。
WheneverIamatParis，IamdraggedbyinvisibleforceintotheMorgue。Ineverwanttogothere，butamalwayspulledthere。OneChristmasDay，whenIwouldratherhavebeenanywhereelse，Iwasattractedin，toseeanoldgreymanlyingallaloneonhiscoldbed，withatapofwaterturnedonoverhisgreyhair，andrunning，drip，drip，drip，downhiswretchedfaceuntilitgottothecornerofhismouth，whereittookaturn，andmadehimlooksly。OneNewYear’sMorningbythesametoken，thesunwasshiningoutside，andtherewasamountebankbalancingafeatheronhisnose，withinayardofthegate，Iwaspulledinagaintolookataflaxen-hairedboyofeighteen，withahearthangingonhisbreast-’fromhismother，’wasengravenonit-whohadcomeintothenetacrosstheriver，withabulletwoundinhisfairforeheadandhishandscutwithaknife，butwhenceorhowwasablankmystery。Thistime，I
wasforcedintothesamedreadplace，toseealargedarkmanwhosedisfigurementbywaterwasinafrightfulmannercomic，andwhoseexpressionwasthatofaprize-fighterwhohadclosedhiseyelidsunderaheavyblow，butwasgoingimmediatelytoopenthem，shakehishead，and’comeupsmiling。’Ohwhatthislargedarkmancostmeinthatbrightcity！
Itwasveryhotweather，andhewasnonethebetterforthat，andI
wasmuchtheworse。Indeed，averyneatandpleasantlittlewomanwiththekeyofherlodgingonherforefinger，whohadbeenshowinghimtoherlittlegirlwhilesheandthechildatesweetmeats，observedmonsieurlookingpoorlyaswecameouttogether，andaskedmonsieur，withherwonderinglittleeyebrowsprettilyraised，iftherewereanythingthematter？Faintlyreplyinginthenegative，monsieurcrossedtheroadtoawine-shop，gotsomebrandy，andresolvedtofreshenhimselfwithadipinthegreatfloatingbathontheriver。
Thebathwascrowdedintheusualairymanner，byamalepopulationinstripeddrawersofvariousgaycolours，whowalkedupanddownarminarm，drankcoffee，smokedcigars，satatlittletables，conversedpolitelywiththedamselswhodispensedthetowels，andeverynowandthenpitchedthemselvesintotheriverheadforemost，andcameoutagaintorepeatthissocialroutine。Imadehastetoparticipateinthewaterpartoftheentertainments，andwasinthefullenjoymentofadelightfulbath，whenallinamomentIwasseizedwithanunreasonableideathatthelargedarkbodywasfloatingstraightatme。
Iwasoutoftheriver，anddressinginstantly。IntheshockIhadtakensomewaterintomymouth，anditturnedmesick，forI
fanciedthatthecontaminationofthecreaturewasinit。Ihadgotbacktomycooldarkenedroominthehotel，andwaslyingonasofathere，beforeIbegantoreasonwithmyself。
Ofcourse，Iknewperfectlywellthatthelargedarkcreaturewasstonedead，andthatIshouldnomorecomeuponhimoutoftheplacewhereIhadseenhimdead，thanIshouldcomeuponthecathedralofNotre-Dameinanentirelynewsituation。Whattroubledmewasthepictureofthecreature；andthathadsocuriouslyandstronglypainteditselfuponmybrain，thatIcouldnotgetridofituntilitwaswornout。
Inoticedthepeculiaritiesofthispossession，whileitwasarealdiscomforttome。Thatveryday，atdinner，somemorselonmyplatelookedlikeapieceofhim，andIwasgladtogetupandgoout。Laterintheevening，IwaswalkingalongtheRueSt。Honore，whenIsawabillatapublicroomthere，announcingsmall-swordexercise，broad-swordexercise，wrestling，andothersuchfeats。I
wentin，andsomeofthesword-playbeingveryskilful，remained。
Aspecimenofourownnationalsport，TheBritishBoaxe，wasannouncedtobegivenatthecloseoftheevening。Inanevilhour，IdeterminedtowaitforthisBoaxe，asbecameaBriton。ItwasaclumsyspecimenexecutedbytwoEnglishgroomsoutofplace，butoneofthecombatants，receivingastraightright-
handerwiththeglovebetweenhiseyes，didexactlywhatthelargedarkcreatureintheMorguehadseemedgoingtodo-andfinishedmeforthatnight。
TherewasratherasicklysmellnotatallanunusualfragranceinParisinthelittleante-roomofmyapartmentatthehotel。ThelargedarkcreatureintheMorguewasbynodirectexperienceassociatedwithmysenseofsmell，because，whenIcametotheknowledgeofhim，helaybehindawallofthickplate-glassasgoodasawallofsteelormarbleforthatmatter。Yetthewhiffoftheroomneverfailedtoreproducehim。Whatwasmorecurious，wasthecapriciousnesswithwhichhisportraitseemedtolightitselfupinmymind，elsewhere。ImightbewalkinginthePalaisRoyal，lazilyenjoyingtheshopwindows，andmightberegalingmyselfwithoneoftheready-madeclothesshopsthataresetoutthere。Myeyes，wanderingoverimpossible-waisteddressing-gownsandluminouswaistcoats，wouldfalluponthemaster，ortheshopman，oreventheverydummyatthedoor，andwouldsuggesttome，’Somethinglikehim！’-andinstantlyIwassickenedagain。