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then taking a turn or two,--and then looking how the world went,
out of the window; so that it was nine o'clock at night before I
had done it.--I then began and read it as follows.


THE FRAGMENT. PARIS.


- Now, as the notary's wife disputed the point with the notary with
too much heat,--I wish, said the notary, (throwing down the
parchment) that there was another notary here only to set down and
attest all this. -

- And what would you do then, Monsieur? said she, rising hastily
up.--The notary's wife was a little fume of a woman, and the notary
thought it well to avoid a hurricane by a mild reply.--I would go,
answered he, to bed.--You may go to the devil, answer'd the
notary's wife.

Now there happening to be but one bed in the house, the other two
rooms being unfurnished, as is the custom at Paris, and the notary
not caring to lie in the same bed with a woman who had but that
moment sent him pell mell to the devil, went forth with his hat and
cane and short cloak, the night being very windy, and walk'd out,
ill at ease, towards the Pont Neuf.

Of all the bridges which ever were built, the whole world who have
pass'd over the Pont Neuf must own, that it is the noblest,--the
finest,--the grandest,--the lightest,--the longest,--the broadest,
that ever conjoin'd land and land together upon the face of the
terraqueous globe.

[By this it seems as if the author of the fragment had not been a
Frenchman.]

The worst fault which divines and the doctors of the Sorbonne can
allege against it is, that if there is but a capfull of wind in or
about Paris, 'tis more blasphemously sacre Dieu'd there than in any
other aperture of the whole city,--and with reason good and cogent,
Messieurs; for it comes against you without crying garde d'eau, and
with such unpremeditable puffs, that of the few who cross it with
their hats on, not one in fifty but hazards two livres and a half,
which is its full worth.

The poor notary, just as he was passing by the sentry,
instinctively clapp'd his cane to the side of it, but in raising it
up, the point of his cane catching hold of the loop of the
sentinel's hat, hoisted it over the spikes of the ballustrade clear
into the Seine. -

- 'TIS AN ILL WIND, said a boatman, who catched it, WHICH BLOWS
NOBODY ANY GOOD.

The sentry, being a Gascon, incontinently twirled up his whiskers,
and levell'd his arquebuss.

Arquebusses in those days went off with matches; and an old woman's
paper lantern at the end of the bridge happening to be blown out,
she had borrow'd the sentry's match to light it: --it gave a
moment's time for the Gascon's blood to run cool, and turn the
accident better to his advantage.--'TIS AN ILL WIND, said he,
catching off the notary's castor, and legitimating the capture with
the boatman's adage.

The poor notary crossed the bridge, and passing along the Rue de

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