XVI

We pass those days when Terror held the rein—

When earth out-went the worst we hear of hell:

From crowds we cull the solitary stain

-let that DEAD HOUSE tell

Wherewith they blot us—

How many plunge each night beneath the Seine

For it can answer eloquently well!

And I've been there; seen sights I would forget;

But never, never found it empty yet.

XVII

But hold! I find I'm rather in a passion,

If not upon the verge of the pathetic;

Which having little time for, I must dash on-
My style being, as you see, peripatetic:

Beside, altho' of late so much the fashion,

I own, excuse me, I'm quite apt to get sick Whenever stopp'd or stay'd by blear-eyed PathosThat maudlin sister of old blustering Bathos.

XVIII

Stay! there's another haunt where Rouge et Noir
Oft puts both purse and patience to the trial:

Let's in-that is if you would yet see more

Tho' bad, the best throughout the Palais Royal;
For no gen d'arme is posted at the door,

With keen and hawk-like glance, that he may eye all

At entry and at exit, as elsewhere

It being thought unnecessary there.

XIX

Yet, come along! we shall not now delay
Our progress, save to let you know that here*
The English may be met with every day—
The seventh not excepted through the year.
(I wonder what our grandmothers would say,
If such a shocking scandal they should hear)
To prove old saws shall neither stop nor stun them,
Likewise the good their travelling has done them.

* No. 154.

XX

Allons! 'tis death to draw this tainted air
That steams in fetid vapour o'er each sense,
Till those who breathe it, tho' inured to bear,
Are turn'd to living mummies-let us hence!
The day's dejection, and the night's despair,
Is all they win-behold their recompense!
By Jove! 'tis ten o'clock. Come, mop your brow-
Frescati's mirror'd valves are open now.

XXI

But, whilst upon the way, remark the street-
For drays, dragoons, fiacres, fitted solely:
(The atmosphere, beside, is seldom sweet-
But what of that?-fastidiousness were folly.)
No flag-way offers refuge when you meet
A jumbling cart or splashing cabriolet;
Whereby you run the risk, howe'er you squeal,
Of writhing, like Ixion, on a wheel.

XXII

Yet thro' such streets the gay Bourgeoise trips by,

With mincing gait, and dark glance rolling free;
Tucking her deep-flounced petticoats so high
That one may mark the garter at her knee.
'Tis said those ladies of the liberal eye
Wear spotted reputations—that may be:

I only know they trip thro' streets quite shocking
Without a single speck upon their stocking.

XXIII

Observe those lamps with running lines suspended Midway between the walls, like things that hover: They really seem so many stars descended, Shedding a full and clear effulgence over

The pavement (our's are not by half so splendid) But how they're hung you can't at all discover; Tho' blazing brighter than the Muse can utter Along the surface of the centre gutter.

XXIV

L'Hotel Frescati, voila! Now you'll see

Things better managed: 'tis, in short, a place Where vice itself affects propriety

That puts your vulgar virtue out of face:

The damning evil is, one here may be

Seen, day and night, without the least disgrace Whatever. But of this (in case you want to Know more) you'll find it in the sequent canto.

1