is cast into his grave like a dog into a hole, and not only uncoffined, but without the ceremonies of religion being performed. One cannot reconcile this with the generally high state of civilization which exists in la belle France-and in a Christian country too! Why, the very idea would have struck terror into the stoutest heart of ancient Rome or warlike Greece, whose people held nothing, except life itself, in greater value than the decent and proper burial of the dead. Do the French want to be reminded of that beautiful passage in the sixth Eneid on this subject, or of Priam's passionate appeal to Mercury in the twenty-fourth Iliad, touching the fate of Hector's body?

“ ἢ ἔτι πὰρ νήεσσιν ἐμός πάις δέ μιν ἤδη

ἦσι κνσὶ πελειστί ταμὼν προΰθηκεν Αχιλλεύς.”

There is another defect in the administration of this country as relates to the dead-the want of the office of coroner, and the inquest held in his court. There is something approaching to it, in the procès verbal, but wanting that rigid and searching inquiry into causes of sudden death that takes place in England, which is a most powerful check to the crime of murder, as well as affording means of satisfactorily accounting for premature death by accident or otherwise, greatly to the consolation of the friends of the deceased, who might not otherwise have the means of accounting for it at all. An instance of this has within the last week occurred in my own experience. A young English gentleman (as the newspapers informed the public), blew out his brains at Calais about a month back. I received a letter from one of his relations, asking me for some particulars of his death, which he says "is involved in mystery." There was, however, no "mystery" in the case, the cause having been detailed by the suicide himself, in a letter to his mother; nevertheless, how much more satisfactory would have been an investigation by the coroner into the melancholy affair. Again,-a boy of fourteen years of age, of English parents, was buried yesterday, having been found starved to death in the late severe frost, and this from sheer neglect of his unfeeling parents. Now in England this would have been a case for a coroner's inquest, and no doubt but the parents of the poor boy, who was imbecile in mind, would have received a severe reprimand from the jury, or the coroner himself, and which might have operated against a repetition of such cruel' conduct by parents, who were not wanting in the means of providing the necessary comfort for their child.

TRAVELLING ON THE CONTINENT.

I have little more to say touching French travelling, which is much on a par with that in most parts of the continent of Europe at least a hundred years behind that in my own country, and so will it continue to be to the end of time. This is the day on which Prince Albert is to arrive in Calais; dinner is to be ordered for him at eight o'clock, nine hours being allowed for his trip (journey we should not call it) from Ostend, a distance of only fifty-four miles! How pleased he will feel, setting other considerations aside, when he finds himself sitting behind four Dover posters on the other side the water, trolling him along at their ease, at the rate of eleven miles in the hour! But I, two years back, was nine hours, en route, from Ostend to Dunkirk, a distance of only thirty-five miles! And think, reader, that at that period, and until within these two months, there should have been no Diligence at all

running between these great towns-second, perhaps, only to the capitals of their countries! There was a tottering cabriolet on the ground to be sure, drawn by two tottering horses; but unless you wished to be dry-smoked, after the manner of bacon, you would not have submitted your person to such an insult, as to make it one of six smockfrocked Dutchmen, all with pipes in their mouths, filled with the worse sort of Belgic tobacco.

Posting in France is a fair subject for the pencil of the caricaturist, but it is a great hardship upon the travelling public, that it is not better conducted than it is, and this merely the effect of conceit and prejudice. There is not a more conceited, self-approving mortal on the face of the earth, than a French postilion, at the same time that he is a perfect nondescript both in person and in action. From the vile form of his saddle, and the extreme length of his stirrups, his seat on his horse is most distressing to the animal who carries him; and, from the little assistance he can give him by the hand and leg, which postboys in England have the power to give, he is afraid to go down a hill at a pace much beyond a walk. Thus no advantage can be taken of falling ground; and as French posthorses are unable, from their want of better breeding, to trot up hills, six miles an hour is the average speed of French posting.

But the French postilion, nondescript as he may be, is civil and obliging in his manners, and does not think the less of himself for the privileges he enjoys. In the first place, he is exempt from the conscription; in the next, he is entitled to a pension from the government after a certain period of service, and sooner if disabled from an accident on the road, provided he be equipped at the time in the orthodox jack-boot—in itself, at once, an antidote to speed. At the rate at which our postboys drive, they would be knocked to pieces in a very few years were they to ride in the awkward style of the French postilion. But as Lord Jersey says," an English postboy is a sui generis sort of an animal;" there is nothing like him in all the world-take him for his horsemanship, his nerve, his style of dress, his cleanliness of person, his uniform civility, and his hardiness of frame and constitution, which renders him proverbial for long life, despite of the hardships he so often encounters, and the vile stuff in the shape of liquor that finds its way down his throat. As I have before said, who ever heard of a bilious postboy? His calling is an antidote against any obstruction of the liver; and some great man, on seeing the dissection of the human frame, is said to have exclaimed, "He was sure every man was intended for a postilion."

But to return for a moment to France. The awkwardness of the lower orders of the French people in all their proceedings with horses is something quite extraordinary, and it is only from the docility of the animals that they can obtain the command over them which they do. Fancy, guiding a powerful, headstrong horse with a single cord, which is almost invariably the only means of guidance resorted to here; and, strange to say, in case there are two cords or reins to a horse's bit, they are purposely clubbed together before they reach the driver's hand! Then as to arranging the coupling-reins of horses working in double harness, to suit their tempers and strength, so minutely attended to in our country, nothing of the kind is thought of; but I need not say that such negligence is the cause of very many accidents, and accounts for

the statement in Galignani's paper, a few days back; namely, that in the course of three years, there were 952 persons injured in the streets of Paris, by being driven over by public carriages, 28 of whom were killed. In 1837 the number driven over was 361, and the editor imputes this wholesale destruction of life and limb to the imprudence of the drivers. Imprudent they may be, but ignorance as to how horses should be put into harness, so as to have them under immediate command, is the great cause, and that ignorance must remain amongst a class of people who, thinking themselves perfect, refuse to be taught better. Will my readers believe me when I say that the estafette mail leaves Calais every day with a pickaxe team (two wheelers and a leader) driven in rope-reins, and timed at ten miles an hour through a hilly country.

There is one advantage in the usages of continental travelling over those of our own country, which I freely acknowledge, and this is, the absence of that mutual reserve, approaching to sullenness, which Englishmen observe to each other, when accidentally thrown together, en route. They generally strive to keep without the sphere of each other's attractions, like two bodies endowed with some repulsive power. I mentioned an instance of this two years back. I was one of two English travellers only, from Brussels to this place. Finding my countryman inaccessible I left him to his reflections, and I do not think we exchanged twenty words in a journey of a hundred and fifty miles. I had an opportunity of knowing, however, that he was punished for his taciturnity, inasmuch as he was subsequently a day longer on his journey, and by a worse conveyance than he would have been had he asked me one simple question, which I should readily have answered.

There are certain charms in English travelling which it is vain to look for on the continent. First, the comfort of the inns; secondly, the reception on arrival at them. From the host and hostess to the very boots himself, all give you welcome; you are ushered into a comfortable room, well warmed by fire in the winter, and well ventilated in the summer; whereas on the continent no such comfort awaits the traveller. He is either shown into a large comfortless apartment, neither well ventilated nor warm, or into the table d'hôte room, which so far from being well ventilated is redolent of every savour, from an étuvée of onions to stale fish, and neither host nor hostess appear to bid him welcome. But this bidding of welcome is rather on the decline in England, the result of modern refinement, which cannot stoop so low. "I hope you found your bed comfortable and rested well," was the usual morning salutation of either host or hostess, twenty years back; and they were words not thrown away. For my own part, many of the most comfortable hours of my life have been passed in good English inns, and if a reckoning had been kept of my sojourning within their walls, "years" might be written for hours."

It is much to be lamented that travelling on the continent, and in France especially, is not better than we find it. I would travel much if I had the means. I like to see mankind at large in the numberless points of view in which they cannot appear in one individual country, and it is only thus that we are enabled to correct the theoretical notions we may have formed of human nature, by the practical knowledge of men.

One word more touching continental travelling. At the present time

the journey from Brussels to Calais is performed in one day, and in a fortnight from this time, such will be the case from Calais to Brussels. Arrangements have been made to start a coach from the former place so as to arrive at Ostend in time for the train to Brussels, instead of, as at present, obliging the Calais passengers to remain a night at Dunkirk. Thus a person leaving London on one day, will be at Brussels

on the next.

A FRENCH COURIER.

Here is another sui generis mortal of the nondescript order. He must be seen to be within the comprehension of an Englishman's mind, forasmuch as his powers of imagination would never half reach him. I will, however, endeavour to convey something like an idea of a French courier.

In the first place his horse. No butcher in England is ever seen on so miserable a looking animal, and, whether formed by nature for it or not (and to do it as it should be done, and with ease to himself or rider, nature must be consulted, inasmuch as with straight hind-legged horses, the canter is an outrage on their physical powers), the canter must be his pace, to enable his rider, who would not be seen rising in his stirrups to his trot on any consideration whatever, to endure a long journey. Then a huge collar of bells round his neck, responding to the up-and-down, jarring action of the unhappy nag, with a saddle of at least thirty pounds weight, and a bridle of equally ancient date, complete this part of the picture. But the rider! can I hit him off so closely? I fear not, but I will try.

On his head-on the very top of it, I should have said, and looking as if a puff of old Boreas would dislodge it—is stuck a cap, à la militaire, encircled with a handsome gilt band. On the upper part of his body is a tight-fitting blue jacket, embroidered down the back d la militaire, whilst the nether parts of the same are cased in very thick, very tight, yellow or green leather-breeches, and, of course, jack-boots, with spurs of some inches of neck. Then away he goes, sitting back in his saddle, flourishing his whip over his head with no small degree of skill, the smacking of which, together with the jingling of the bells, produces a musical medley of no common order. But there is one peculiarity in his dress, not yet noticed, and the most remarkable of all. From under his jack-boots, and drawn, for about a quarter of a yard upwards, over his leathers, appear a pair of coarse worsted stockings! Now what is the object here? I am unable to say further than that it may be either to save irritation from the hard jack-boot, and still harder saddle, or by the rough surface of the stockings to obtain a closer seat. Unsightly as is the appearance of this description of persons to an English eye, and unprepared as they appear to be to withstand the effects of bad weather, their endurance of fatigue in their journeys is far beyond what might be expected; in numerous cases, indeed, surprising. For example; it has been no unusual occurrrence for one of Mr. Rothschild's couriers to came from Paris to Calais, and return to Paris almost immediately on his arrived at the former place, and generally performing the distance, 170 miles, in from eighteen to twenty hours. There are couriers now in Calais who have frequently ridden to Rome, Naples, Madrid, and places equally distant. (To be continued.)

TELLING ONE'S TROUBLES.

BY LAMAN BLANCHARD, ESQ.

No man can hope to enjoy that annual happy new year, which his friends are so apt to "wish he may get" in a tone implying their conviction that he will get no such thing, unless he have done what in him lies to leave the troubles of the old year behind, and to start fair, free from encumbrances. What applies to years applies to months. The new account will never go lightly on if clogged with a heavy balance brought forward. As time moves on with wallet at his back, let sorrows be the "alms" that he puts into it" for oblivion."

All very well, cries the world, but this is sooner said than done! The world, though a year older than it was a twelvemonth ago, is still wrong. In most cases it is no sooner said than done. Tell your trouble, and it is half over; continue talking about it, and it is not felt at all. He who keeps his sorrows to himself, does keep them. While they are secrets they are stingers. Silence is the twin-sister of grief, and acts as nurse to her, but Gabble is her sworn enemy. While the tongue runs, it is twelve chances out of a dozen that the tears will not.

That man understands neither misery nor friendship, who does not communicate to his friends the woes that agitate him. He does not deserve to be wretched-to be human. He is, in fact, little better than a pillar of salt and a suit of clothes. We once heard an insipid but solemn personage whimsically compared to a "basin of gruel in a black cloak." He is even as incongruous as this.

How different from him who, as often as a new trouble turns up, takes out a list of his intimate relatives and acquaintances, and of each in succession makes a sole and especial confidant! whispering his affliction to every one of them as to the only friend he ever had in the wide world, and thus striking from the rock of at least threescore bosoms those streams of sympathy that take their rise from a point singularly near to the fountain of self-love; for if we can persuade ourselves that we are the one honest and generous being picked out to be confided in, the flattery of the preference generally reconciles us to the intrusion, and extracts something pleasant from the dolefulness of the duty imposed. And how is this adoption of the social-system, in opposition to a selfish monopoly, rewarded! Why, by the time the communicative sufferer has confided in all his friends, and exhausted the entire list, he finds that he has exhausted his griefs too, having fairly written and talked himself into a comfortable independence of consolation.

It sometimes happens though, that to meditate these grievous communications is easier than to effect them. When we recommend the miserable to tell their troubles, we should perhaps advise them to catch their friends first. It is as well when you mean to take a man by the button, to be cautious how he gets hold of yours instead. There are mourners about town, whose hearts are so continually bursting with a sense of innumerable grievances-who have been so monstrously illused, and so undeservedly afflicted from their cradles, that they will