This season, my worthy friends, John Bannister, Mr. Heath, the eminent engraver, and Mr. Nield, the solicitor, made a party to go to Paris. I agreed to accompany them; and took Henry Horrebow, then quite a boy, with us. None of the party, with the exception of myself, could speak French. However, we had a delightful journey. We stopped a day and a half at Calais, where I hired an excellent roomy post-coach, with three horses; and made an agreement, that we should be set down on the fourth day at Paris, or be on the road eight days at our option; the latter seemed most agreeable to my party, as they wished to see every thing worth looking at on the road, and none of us were pressed for time. Our coachman, with whom I made the agreement, was very communicative. One part of the road, between Calais and Boulogne, was rather bad. Our coachman was walking by the side of the coach, and I was singing the romance, in "Richard Coeur de Lion." "Bravo! bravo!" exclaimed coachee; sur mon honneur, vous chantez tres-bien and sing as if you knew music too. Allans, done venire bleu let you and I sing a duet." "With all my soul," said I. He asked me if I knew the duet in the Opera of "Nina." I told him I did. "Allans donc, commences? said he; and to it we went, pell-mell- he had a strong bass voice, and sang perfectly in tune. After the duet, he sang the songs of "O, Richard! O, mon Roi!" and the chanson, "Je suis Lindor," with excellent expression, and much to our astonishment.