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" 'Tis not to make me jealous, To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well; Where virtue is, these are more virtuous; Nor from my own weak merits will I draw The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt." Picturesque and Mechanical Theatre. Filtrating and purifying Vases. English Jacobins. A Farewell. Messagerie. Mal Maison. Forest of Evreux.
This unexpected introduction became additionally agreeable, upon my discovery at the Messagerie, that the diligence for Cherbourg would not proceed, till three days from the time of my arrival. The next morning I rambled with my new friends about the city, which is large, and handsome, and is watered by the river Orne. It is much celebrated for its lace trade; on that day I dined with Mrs.
No sooner said than done; there was one of the Messagérie steamers up for Malta next day; got my passport visaed, secured berth, all right.
The rain dashed against the panes of the berime, as we rode past the grim-faced monarch of the "misty shroud." A cold wind went sweeping by, and the Rhone was rushing far below, discernible only in the distance as a rivulet of flashing foam. It was night as we drove into Geneva, and stopped at the Messagerie. I heard with joy a voice demanding if this were Monsieur Besshare.
Having previously determined to return by the way of Lower Normandy, upon the beauty and luxuriance of which I had heard much eulogy, about half past five o'clock in the morning of the 21st of Prairial, I left my hotel, and proceeded to the Messagerie, from which the diligences, all of which are under the control of the nation, set out. The morning was very beautiful.
A modern seafarer, looking from the deck of one of the Messagerie steamers now plying the same line of trade, would regard her curiously, thankful to the calm which held her while he slaked his wonder, yet more thankful that he was not of her passage. She could not have exceeded a hundred tons burthen. At the bow and stern she was decked, and those quarters were fairly raised.
Done in a jiffy; and whoop, crick, crack, whack, rumble, bump, whirr, whisk, away we blazed, till, ere we knew it, another change and another. "As evening drew on, a wind sprang up and a storm seemed gathering on the Jura. The rain dashed against the panes of the berlin as we rode past the grim-faced monarch of the 'misty shroud. It was night as we drove into Geneva and stopped at the Messagerie.
La Joconde, Berselius's yacht, was berthed at the Messagerie wharf, and after déjeuner at the Hotel Noailles, they took their way there on foot. Adams had never seen the south before as Marseilles shows it. The vivid light and the black shadows, the variegated crowd of the Canabier Prolongue had for him an "Arabian Nights" fascination, but the wharves held a deeper fascination still.
"Good-bye," said Adams. He held her hand for a fraction of a second after his grasp had relaxed. Then she was standing on the deck of the Messagerie boat, waving good-bye across the lane of blue water widening between La Joconde and her berth mate.
Well at least, thought I, one thing is well done, I have been quite right in coming to sleep here at the Messagerie Hotel, where the diligence starts from, or the chances are ten to one that I never should wake till the time was past. Now, however, they are sure to call me; so I may sleep tranquilly till then.
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