. Thackerayana;. whotake your papers. My good people, I hardlysee you. You no more interest me than adozen orange women in Covent Garden, or a postilion a shop book-keeper in Oxford Street. But you make me think ota time when you were indeed wonderful to behold—when the littleFrench soldiers wore white cockades in their shakoes, when the dili-gence was forty hours going to Paris, and the great-booted postilion,as surveyed by youthful eyes from the coupe, with his jurons, hisends of rope for harness, and his clubbed pigtail, was a wonderfulbeing, and productive of endless amusement. You young f
. Thackerayana;. whotake your papers. My good people, I hardlysee you. You no more interest me than adozen orange women in Covent Garden, or a postilion a shop book-keeper in Oxford Street. But you make me think ota time when you were indeed wonderful to behold—when the littleFrench soldiers wore white cockades in their shakoes, when the dili-gence was forty hours going to Paris, and the great-booted postilion,as surveyed by youthful eyes from the coupe, with his jurons, hisends of rope for harness, and his clubbed pigtail, was a wonderfulbeing, and productive of endless amusement. You young folksdont remember the apple-girls who used to follow the diligence upthe hill beyond Boulogne, and the delights of the jolly road ? Inmaking continental journeys with young folks, an oldster may bevery quiet, and, to outward appearance, melancholy; but reallyhe has gone back to the days of his youth, and he is seventeen oreighteen years of age (as the case may be), and is amusing himself * A Roundabout 94 THA CKERA YANA. with all his might. He is noting the horses as they come squealing out of the post-house yard at midnight; he is enjoying the delicious meals at Beauvais and Amiens, andquaffing ad libitum the rich table-dhotewine; he is hail fellow with the con-ductor, and alive to all the incidents ofthe road. A man cant be alive in i860and 1830 at the same time, dont you , I may be in i860, inert, silent,torpid; but in the spirit I am walking about in 1828, let us say, in a blue dress coat and brass buttons,a sweet figured silk waistcoat (which Ibutton round a slim waist with perfectease), looking at beautiful beings withgigot sleeves and tea-tray hats underthe golden chesnuts of the Tuileries, orround the Place Vendome, where thedrapeau blanch floating over the statue-less column. Shall we go and dine atBombardas, near the Hotel Breteuil,or at the Cafe Virginie ? Away ! Bom-bardas and the Hotel Breteuil have been pulled down ever so long. They knocked
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