"Travellers who are in delicate health, or otherwise not strong, are by

no means advised to undertake the journey from St. Martin to Chamouni on

mules; especially if they are pressed for time, as that method of

conveyance is both fatiguing and dilatory. They will find the guides of

the inn particularly intelligent and conversible, possessing a knowledge

of the mineral and vegetable kingdoms that is quite extraordinary in

men of their situation and rank in life. They are employed during the

winter months in chamois hunting, and other dangerous and hardy

exercises, and are frequently detained (as they told me themselves) by

the snow, for weeks together, in the cheerless shelter of the most

wretched _chalets_."

The next day we devoted to the purchase of some of the curiosities for

which this place is celebrated (_note_ J.), and to taking leave of our

friends, who had shewn us so much attention: we also visited the street

in which Rousseau was born, and which is called after his name, the Rue

de Jean Jacques Rousseau. We took leave of Sir F. and Madame d'I. with a

degree of regret that was only softened by the hope of seeing them in

England ere many ages should elapse. I believe I have not yet mentioned

their children; a fine boy and a very promising little girl, both

extremely young, and in whose welfare and happiness the parents seemed

to be completely wrapped up. Yet Sir F. did not appear to have spoiled

them by injudicious indulgence; on the contrary, he expressed his

conviction of the necessity and importance of _early_ moral restraint,

and I had one accidental opportunity of witnessing that his practice

perfectly harmonized with his theory: this desirable union does not

always take place, even among parents who pride themselves upon a

superior system of education.

On September 17th, we bade adieu to this delightful neighbourhood, and

proceeded upon our route to Lausanne. We continued for a great length of

way to wind along the borders of the lake, which sparkled like a diamond

in the morning sun, and whose extensive surface was slightly rippled by

a fresh and animating breeze from the mountains. With respect to the

extraordinary exhilaration of mountain air, which first struck me in

crossing Mont Cenis, and has been confirmed by subsequent experience, I

had heard and read a thousand times of its effect; but a truth, when

personally proved for the first time, always seems like a discovery,

rather than a sober confirmation of the words of other people. This

pure atmosphere appears to me the finest remedy possible for every sort

of nervous indisposition. It would even lighten (I should think) the

heavy pressure of real affliction, acting as a perfect cordial to the

spirits, as well as a tonic to the body--but Rousseau has expressed this

opinion so admirably in the first volume of his _Nouvelle Heloise_, that

while I recal his magical description, any other seems powerless and

inadequate. (_Note_ K).

We now passed though the village of Coppet. Necker's house is still

shewn here, to which he retired upon being denounced by the French

government as an enemy to his country, and where the adversity of this

great and amiable character was soothed by the presence of his equally

celebrated daughter, Madame de Stael. I feel an involuntary sensation of

_attendrissement_, whenever I think of the singular degree of affection

that subsisted between this venerable parent and his daughter, and which

breathes so touchingly in every line of her _Memoires de la Vie privée

de Monsieur Necker_, lately published in our own country. An affection

so highly wrought, as to bear rather the character of passion, and which

has therefore been objected to, by many people, as overstrained and

unnatural. But let it be remembered that the great virtues, the

attractive gentleness, the grand and expansive mind, and superior

talents of Necker, were (in her eyes) unique, and might therefore well

have the effect of creating a more than ordinary portion of admiration,

respect, and love: nor, in judging of Madame de Stael, should it ever be

forgotten, that her extraordinary depth of feeling, and her native

enthusiasm of disposition, rendered it impossible for her to experience

sensations of any sort, in a mediocre degree, or even in that rationally

moderated force, which can alone secure the possession of real

happiness. This peculiarity of feeling, which unfortunately induced some

errors in her conduct, has been admirably commented upon, by the

Edinburgh Review, in its critique upon her works in general. It

explains and apologizes, I think, for those wildly warm expressions in

which she has indulged, when speaking of Necker's character, and which

might perhaps sound strange, if uttered by a less energetic personage,

or if applied to those sort of parents who are usually met with in

common life. The woman who has been allowed by the general voice of her

cotemporary judges to be "the greatest writer of a female, that any age,

or any country, has produced;" (nay even by one distinguished genius[8]

has been called "the most powerful author, whether man or woman, of her

day;") has surely a high claim upon the forbearance of all who have been

charmed by her transcendent talents. At the same time, let me not be

mistaken, as to my own particular sentiments upon the subject; for I

have no hesitation in avowing, that as a general principle, I extremely

disapprove of the admission of what is termed passion into the filial

affections, and _vice versa_. I believe it to answer no wise or

rational end, but to be, on the contrary, in nine cases out of ten, a

fruitful source of disquietude and disappointment.

I fear my earnestness in the cause of a writer whose abilities I so

greatly admire, has led me into a dissertation which may prove tedious

to some of my readers.--_Revenons à nos moutons_. The country, the whole

of the way to Lausanne, is one continued scene of beauty; and the

pastoral air of the verdant meadows, the rich cultivation of the hills

(sprinkled with the prettiest little hamlets), the appearance of comfort

and neatness in the cottages (each with a garden and orchard), and the

grandeur of the lake and mountains beyond, altogether formed a scene of

peace, loveliness and delight, that is far more easily imagined than

described. Were it possible for me to forget the charms of my dear

native land, it is here that I could happily live, and tranquilly die.

Not that it possesses the Armida-like fascination of the shores of the

Lago Maggiore in Italy, or the high romance of parts of Savoy: the

imagination here is less excited, but the heart is more interested. I

turned from one to the other, with the kind of sensation which the mind

experiences, when comparing a brilliantly beautiful and accomplished, a

highly enchanting and charming acquaintance, with a tender, cheerful,

and amiable friend.

We stopped to take breakfast at Rolle, a neat little town, where at the

humble inn (_la Couronne_) we hailed with great satisfaction the

comforts of cleanliness and domestic order, so totally unknown to the

natives of the other countries through which we had passed.

Morges; a remarkably pretty town. In this neighbourhood there were many

vineyards, which yielded the fruit of which the wine called _vin de

cote_ is made. The lake became much narrower here, and the mountains

upon the opposite side seemed to rise abruptly from the water. Their

dark purple hue contrasted finely with the light aqua-marine tint of

the latter, and the fresh verdure of the banks, where the peasants were

mowing their second crop of hay. The beauty of some of the cottages also

struck us with admiration, but we observed as yet no particular costume.

We arrived at Lausanne to dinner. The entrance was cheerful and pretty,

and the town itself is clean and gay, built upon the side of a very

steep hill; the grand street forming as precipitous an ascent as that of

Lansdown in Bath. We found all the inns full, therefore took lodgings at

a charming house upon a hill overhanging the lake, (the view of the

Chateau de Chillon and mountains, in the distance) and to which there

was a garden and terrace, ornamented with green-house plants and

flowers. We could hardly have desired _une plus jolie campagne_ even for

our own permanent residence and property. The restaurateur (who was an

appendage to this establishment, and lived in part of the house) was a

civil bustling personage, who extremely loved to hear himself talk: he

told us that these lodgings ought to stand high in reputation, for they

had been occupied successively by _les plus grands seigneurs_, who had

all expressed themselves greatly pleased with their accommodations; a

fair hint this, how _we_ were expected to behave. We found, however,

upon parting, that the hostess had overcharged us for these wonderful

accommodations in a very preposterous manner, and she was so conscious

of it, that she consented without much difficulty to take off part of

her bill, and to allow us to pay for her apartments in French money,

instead of the Swiss, which makes a very material difference. We

breakfasted the next morning upon honeycomb from the mountains; I

believe I have mentioned this before. It is a very common article for

breakfast in Switzerland, and always brings an agreeable association of

ideas to my mind. I ought perhaps to have made earlier mention of the

great opportunity afforded to the traveller of leisurely surveying and

enjoying the beauties of scenery, from the circumstance of his not being

able to travel _post_ through Switzerland: the system of _voituring_

is, however, rather tedious, and very expensive.

The environs of Lausanne are almost equally attractive with those of

Geneva, but the latter were impressed upon my memory in such bright and

bewitching colours, that I could never think any other part of

Switzerland quite so delightful.

We quitted Lausanne, Sept. 19, for Berne. Our road still led us through

beauties innumerable. On the right was the lake, once more expanded into

a breadth like the ocean, bounded, as usual, by mountains. On the left

were vineyards, gardens, and hamlets. The grape ripens later here than

in France, but is equally luxuriant and delicious in flavour. We

frequently passed so near the glowing clusters of this tempting fruit,

that we might easily have gathered as many as we chose from the windows

of the carriage. There was a wonderfully fine growth of walnut trees

also, stretching their long branches for many yards over the water. They

are in such quantities that oil is made from the nut, for purposes of

the commonest use.

We again saw part of the romantic rocks of Meillerie, so celebrated by

Rousseau. We had been reading his _Nouvelle Heloise_ for the last few

days (as we were passing through the same scenes which are so

beautifully depicted there), and felt as if these rocks were our old

acquaintance. I always feel, in reading his works, ready to exclaim,

"I love thee, and hate thee!"

A literary friend (in a long conversation which we had upon the subject

of this author) thought better of his Julie (as a single woman) than I

did, or ever can; but we perfectly agreed in admiration of her conduct

as a wife and mother, mistress of a family, &c. The lessons of morality

(which she there exhibits) are beyond every thing beautiful and

impressive; but I never can forgive the disingenuousness of her conduct

in consenting to marry Monsieur de Wolmar, without having previously

told him her past story. All the reasonings, the arguments, the chain

of entangling circumstances, which Rousseau has contrived to justify her

for not doing so, I think false, perverted, and totally unsatisfactory.

The costume of the peasants in this neighbourhood is not at all

remarkable, except for their straw hats, which are universally of the

gipsy shape, with a very high crown, ending in a point like a Chinese

pagoda, or the top of a parasol. We took a _dejeuné_ at Vevay, and went

in a boat upon the lake, to view the Chateau de Chillon somewhat nearer

than we had hitherto been able to do. The beauty of Lord Byron's

affecting Tale of its Prisoner returned strongly upon my imagination. I

certainly prefer his picture of Captivity to that of Sterne in the

Sentimental Journey. It appears to me to be equally touching, and far

more sublime. One or two of the minor incidents may probably have been

founded upon the legends of the Bastile; but Byron's powerful genius

stamps every line with the character of originality.

A few miles beyond Vevay the country assumed all the refined and

cultivated beauties of an English park. Here (near a miniature lake)

softly swelling hills of velvet turf, ornamented with the rich and

feathery foliage of the beech, rose gently upon the admiring eye. There

vast plantations of aspiring firs expanded their screen of darker green.

Close to the road were meadows enamelled with the lilac crocus, and

various wild flowers, fringed by hedges, where the white convolvulus and

scarlet hawthorn berry mingled gaily with the thick hazel and other

native shrubs. A few ledges of rock now and then started from amid these

mild beauties, as if to evince that we were still in the vicinity of

wilder scenery. This change in the landscape was novel and delightful to

us all. We had not seen any thing exactly in its style since leaving

England, and I almost felt annoyed when a turning in the road displayed

the snowy peaks of the eternal glaciers towering, as usual, in the

distance. Forgive this honest confession, ye exclusive lovers of the

sublime, and recollect, that the eye as well as the mind becomes

fatigued by being kept too long upon the stretch.

Stopping at a little post-house, between Vevay and Moudon, we were

surprised to see a large coarse loaf of bread brought out (instead of

hay) for the refreshment of the horses. They eat it in slices, and

appeared to relish this sophisticated food not a little. One of the

animals, however, would not take the crust in his mouth, tossing it away

in the most ridiculously disdainful manner, when he had carefully

devoured all the crumb, and it was not until he had received two or

three good cuffs on the ears from his driver that he condescended to

swallow it.

We met several prettyish women in the course of this day's journey; but

the style of their beauty did not please us so much as that of France

and Italy. It was mild without being soft, and fresh without being

brilliant: they were, in short, neither _jolie ni belle_; neither had

they _la grace plus belle encore que la beauté_; but formed a class

apart, which I cannot exactly define, but which certainly I did not

like.

Dined and slept at Moudon (inn, _au Cerf_), where we experienced the

comforts of warmth, cleanliness, and good beds; no bad things after a

long and cold journey. We were waited upon by a lively natural young

creature, of the name of Josephine, who, together with several other

girls, was staying at this inn, to learn the French language from the

occasional guests. They were all of them German Swiss. We astonished

them very much, by exhibiting a couple of musical snuff-boxes, which we

had bought when at Geneva. The girls had never seen any thing of the

kind, and were never tired of listening to them. We left Moudon the next

morning at six o'clock: the country still continued to charm us with a

pleasing succession of woods, mossy banks, and rich valleys, watered by

little serpentine silver brooks, softly flowing through green meadows.

We were still in the _Pays du Vaud_. Our servant Christian's national

enthusiasm burst forth at every step. Our friend, who frequently took a

share of his seat behind the carriage, amused us extremely with an

account of his transports. "Ah! there are de cows with bells round their

necks! How I love those bells! There be de neat cottages, all of wood:

dey builds very pretty ones always in my country." At Lausanne (where he

had been at school) it was nothing but "shaking hands," and "greetings

in the market-place."--"There is a friend of mine! I know dat man! There

lives such a one, a very honest person!" In short, the poor fellow was

in a state of continual ecstasy, and carried it so far as to think the

very stones in the road were more than commonly valuable and beautiful;

for, knowing Mr. W. to have made a small collection of spars and

fossils, &c. he drew his attention frequently, upon entering

Switzerland, to the pebbles by the wayside, calling out every now and

then, "There be a pretty stone now, Mr. V.! Very pretty stones all in my

country!" A lady at Geneva, in describing the peculiar attachment of the

Swiss to their native land, told me that her brother, upon being exiled

to England for pecuniary reasons, actually died of the true _maladie du

pays_, pining gradually away in hopeless longings after the dear scenes

amid which his youth had been passed. We now entered the grandest and

most luxuriant beech woods I ever beheld. I never had seen such

magnificent trees, except in some parts of Norbury park, in Surrey;

indeed the whole view strongly reminded me of that exquisite spot, and

brought a thousand agreeable recollections and associations to my mind.

Wherefore is it that the imagination feels a charm and a repose so

delightful amid scenes of this nature? My own peculiar feeling is now

confirmed by long experience, and I can consequently assert, with

renewed confidence, that wood, assisted by a judicious inequality of

ground, forms by far the most satisfactory and soothing feature in a

landscape. A visit to mountains, glaciers, lakes, waterfalls, and

impetuous floods, gives great and animating sensations, but a constant

residence among them I should never desire; though I have no doubt but

that a Highlander or a Swiss mountaineer would extremely despise me for

the homeliness of my taste.

Payerne, a small town. The women here amazed us by their superb

_chevelures_. We saw three in particular, who wore their hair (of a dark

yet golden brown colour) twisted round the head, in a large braid,

beneath an enormous flat straw hat. If these braids had been

dishevelled, I am certain the hair would have swept the ground, and the

thickness of its growth was even yet more remarkable than its length. We

were afterwards informed of a circumstance which explained this apparent

phenomenon, as I shall presently take occasion to mention. There was a

large stone fountain here (with a statue of some warrior, armed from

head to heel), which appeared to form the only ornament of the place.

At Avenche we observed a very singular costume among the _paysannes_; in

addition to the full shift sleeve and becoming _chemisette_, confined

beneath the bosom by a coloured boddice, they wore a head-dress of

black gauze, lace, or thin horse-hair, transparent as a cobweb,

stiffened with fine wire, and standing out widely from the temples, in

the most extraordinary manner, resembling some representations I have

seen of the _cobra capella_, or hooded serpent, the wings of a

Patagonian butterfly, or the sort of bat-winged cap, which Fuseli, in

the extravagance of his wild imagination, has given to his pictures of

Queen Mab. The coarse, tame, insipid style of feature which accompanied

this attire, however, by no means suited its peculiar character. I

looked in vain for the pale, delicate, oval visage, small red lip, and

large gazelle sort of dark eye, with which it would have harmonized so

exquisitely. This is the usual Bernoise costume.

The country here became much more open, and was enlivened by the

glittering waters of the lake of Morat (_note_ L). In almost every house

we passed, we remarked great quantities of green tobacco leaves,

suspended from the projecting roofs, drying in the sun. On the borders

of the lake of Morat was formerly a chapel, filled with the bones of

the Bourguinons, who were killed in battle, in the year 1476, when

Charles the Bold was defeated. It is now destroyed, but the bones are

still left "bleaching in the wind." We got out of the carriage, and

discovered among them some very large thigh bones, &c. The size of the

warriors to whom they belonged must have been wondrous. A small rise,

upon which we stood, was entirely formed of the bodies of the slain. The

fragrant wild thyme and nodding hare-bell grew thickly upon the fatal

spot; and I observed a tuft of the latter wreathing its azure flowers

(as if in mockery) around the fragment of a mouldering skull!

There are several beautiful little _maisons de campagne_ near this

place, with their surrounding vineyards, gardens, orchards, and

fountains. They were a good deal in the style of what we are used to

call cottages _ornées_, so few of which we had hitherto seen upon the

continent, notwithstanding the adoption of a foreign title. There were

also many lovely dwellings belonging to the peasantry, built of

tan-coloured wood (_note_ M.), with stairs and galleries on the outside,

and neatly thatched or tiled. The frontispiece to this little volume,

which has been kindly presented to me by an elegant amateur artist, is a

most correct representation of a Swiss cottage.

We were now in the canton of Berne: passing through another wood of

beech, scarcely less beautiful than the former, the tremulous light,

flitting capriciously across the leaf-strewn paths, and the soft

chirping of the birds above our heads, again gave us exquisite pleasure.

I say we; for my sensations were fully participated by my companions.

We now crossed the river Sarine, by means of a large wooden bridge,

covered overhead like a penthouse, and entered the village of Guminen,

sunk between bold and rocky hills, fringed with rich trees and

underwood. The females in this part of Switzerland all appeared to

possess a qualification which Shakespeare has pronounced (and with

truth) to be "a marvellous excellent thing in woman." I allude to the

soft musical tone of their voices in speaking: it was really remarkable,

and we thought it almost made amends for the want of beauty. We dined at

Guminen, in a cleanly little inn (_l'Ours_), where, on looking out at

the window, we were struck by the sight of a Lucerne _paysanne_ in full

costume. She wore the usual tresses of braided hair hanging down at

length behind, and the black gauze cap; but her boddice was remarkably

curious, being of black velvet, richly embossed with lilac and black

beads (the latter coming from Venice, and extremely small), in the

manner of embroidery; indeed such quantities had been expended, that her

bust looked as if in armour. This boddice was likewise ornamented with

silver filigree buttons, and long silver chains, ending in large tassels

of the same material, gilt. She had also a black velvet collar, studded

with Venetian beads and coloured foil, and a worked linen _chemisette_

and full shift sleeves, white as snow. This dress must have been very

expensive for a woman in her rank of life; and upon inquiry we found

that she was, in fact, the wife of a rich miller. We were not annoyed

here, as in Italy and France, by the clamours of beggars; they very

rarely made their appearance, and even when they did, were always modest

and diffident. It gave us pleasure to pass through so large a tract of

country without being able to discover any trace of abject poverty among

the peasantry: they all wore an air of ease and content, and we found

upon inquiry that they were in general enjoying the most comfortable and

independent circumstances.

From a hill near Berne we first caught the distant harmony of a number

of mellow-toned bells, which pastoral sounds, our Swiss informed us,

were produced by the cattle (round whose necks the bells were

suspended), and who were at that moment descending in large herds from

the mountains, for the evening milking. At the same time we were struck

by a glorious view of the Alps (_note_ N.), their frozen peaks rosy from

the reflection of departing light: one of the highest of them is

called, from hence, Monte Rosa. I have never listened to church bells

(when their clang has been mellowed by distance) without a feeling of

melancholy; but these seemed to breathe of innocent joy, and to tell a

tale of peace, happiness, comfort, and domestic delight. This, I know,

must have proceeded in both cases from early associations, and in the

latter from the influence of ideas connected with poetry. What an

ever-springing source of exquisite enjoyment is that divine gift! A

susceptibility of its powers is like a sixth sense, for which it becomes

all who possess it to be truly grateful to the benevolent Donor.

We now entered Berne. This is a fine large town, with a remarkably

handsome entrance. We obtained most excellent rooms, replete with every

essential comfort, and furnished with taste, at our inn (_au Faucon_),

which was spacious enough to be taken for some ancient castle, when the

feudal lords lodged a hundred or two of retainers, besides guests,

beneath their ample roof. It was built in the form of an oblong square,

with three galleries, one above another (each of which had interminable

passages connected with it, all leading to different suites of

apartments), looking down upon an open court or area in the midst. In

this court a little army of washerwomen were assembled (belonging, I

believe, to the establishment), carrying on the process of purification

with great activity (in tubs almost large enough for brewing vats), and

with hot water, which is an unusual thing upon the continent. Apropos to

cleanliness, we all made the same observation in passing through

Switzerland, namely, that the inhabitants (more especially in the

protestant cantons) seemed to understand the comfort inseparable from

this virtue, and that they certainly practised it in a far higher degree

than any people we had seen since leaving England. We have frequently

met with better accommodations (because cleanliness has been

scrupulously attended to) in the inferior inns of Switzerland than in

the most superb hotels of Paris, Turin, Milan, &c. I am sorry to be

obliged, however, to except those of Geneva, which are allowed by the

inhabitants themselves to be all very dirty.

We walked about Berne the next morning, and gave audience to Christian's

venerable father and to his sister, who came over from their farm in the

neighbourhood to fetch him to spend a day with them. They had not met

for some years; neither father nor daughter spoke a word of any language

but German _patois_; the latter was drest in the complete _Bernoise_

costume, even to the little bouquet of natural flowers in the bosom. I

forget what great author it is who says that "a man who has left his

native place for years is generally anxious to make some figure in it,

upon his return,"--this was truly exemplified in our servant, who, the

morning after our arrival, burst upon his town's folk, in all the glory

of the most dandy English dress, appearing far more smart than his

master, and forming a curious contrast to the rustic figures of his

humble yet picturesque-looking relations. We proceeded, after dinner,

to view the bears, and stags, which have from time immemorial been kept

in the deep fosse, which surrounds the town. There are tall fir-trees

planted in this moat, for the bears to climb, and plenty of green cool

turf for the refreshment of the stags. The animals are separated from

each other, of course. The origin of this custom is singular. In ancient

times, a rich seigneur of the country, and his sons, determined to found

a town, which should transmit their memories to posterity, and should be

called after the name of the first animal that they might happen to kill

in a grand hunting-match, which they assembled for the purpose. This

animal turned out to be a bear; accordingly the town was called Berne,

and the stone image of the creature was erected at the gates--a custom

which is continued to the present moment. When the founders died, they

left a sum of money to be laid out for the sole benefit of this bear,

which in process of time so greatly accumulated, as to form quite a

little fortune; so that all the successive bears have been persons of

property, and accustomed to the enjoyment of those _agrèmens_, which an

easy income can alone secure. Bonaparte pounced upon the senior bruin

(called Monsieur Martin), and carried off both himself and his money to

Paris, where he now lives in high reputation, and equal splendor, at the

bottom of a deep pit, in _le Jardin des Plantes_. The people of Berne

have since obtained some other bears, which are the same that we now

saw, and a proper sum for their support is awarded by the government,

which also is increasing by occasional legacies from individuals.

We passed the evening in company with an Englishman (an old friend of my

husband's), who had spent many years upon the continent, and who had

made it one of his chief objects to visit and inspect the different

prisons there. We were glad (as far as nationality was concerned) to

hear that those of England are (comparatively speaking) carried on upon

a system of benevolence superior to most others. This gentleman told

us, that the prisons of Turin at this day, were a disgrace to humanity,

being the most horrible dungeons that the imagination can picture. We

saw several groups of the convicts at Berne, who wore an iron collar,

and were chained by the leg, to a small light cart, which (like beasts

of burden) they drew daily round the town, to collect and carry away the

dirt of the streets. The prisoners of both sexes are also employed in

sweeping the crossways, pavements, &c. and are drest in a peculiar

uniform, their labour being proportioned to the degree of their guilt.

All the culprits in the country, who are not condemned to death, are

sent to Berne, and are employed in these and similar offices.

The cathedral did not appear to us worth visiting; our eyes had been

satiated with buildings in this style, and after having seen the glories

of the Duomo at Milan, we found all other cathedrals poor and

uninteresting. Most of the shops here are built under stone arches,

which renders them somewhat gloomy, but adds to their convenience in

rainy weather. There are numerous stone fountains in all parts of the

town, many of which have a martial figure on the top; we saw one,

however, with a statue of Moses upon it, no inappropriate patron, as he

could make the solid rock gush out with water. Over one of the principal

gateways, we remarked a colossal image of Goliah, grim and gaunt enough

to frighten all the naughty boys in the place.

Happening to mention the circumstance of the extraordinary growth of

hair, among the women about Payerne, we were informed that it was almost

all false. The _paysannes_ have an ancient and invariable custom of

mixing great quantities of borrowed tresses with their own, in order to

form that singular braid round the head, which had so forcibly attracted

our notice. I should imagine the toilette of these rural belles must be

an operation of some skill, for the false is so very well mingled with

the real hair, that it might defy the sharp eye of the most prying old

spinster to detect the method in which it is done.

We saw several girls at Berne working upon cushions (something in the

manner of lace-makers), under the piazzas; they were embroidering the

collars and stomachers of the Bernoise _paysannes_, in small Venetian

beads (called in England seed beads) of all colours, gold tinsel, foil,

&c. upon a ground of black velvet. Their performance was really very

neat and tasteful. The prince Leopold of Coburg was here, at the same

time with ourselves, looking very melancholy, and almost continually

alone: he was on a visit to his sister, the grand duchess Constantine,

who resides in the neighbourhood. She is separated from her husband, who

is brother to the emperor of Russia. They were married, I believe (in

pursuance of one of those horrible schemes of state policy, where every

better feeling of the heart is cruelly sacrificed and overborne), at the

age of fourteen, and the subsequent catastrophe is not to be wondered

at. Of the society at Berne we could not judge, as our stay did not

exceed three days and a half, but our English friend (lately mentioned,

and who had been a great deal amongst the best families there)

mentioned it to be particularly agreeable. During the winter, there are

concerts and balls, private parties, and a company of actors. The

hospital is a fine establishment, with a garden full of choice flowers

and shrubs, green-house plants, and a fountain, being sustained upon the

most liberal plan; any poor person, passing through the town, may find

food and lodging at the hospital for twenty-four hours, and is sent away

at the expiration of that time with a donation of one franc (value, in

English money, tenpence). There is also an asylum for foundlings, where

the children are maintained till they attain the age of fifteen, and are

then put out to service. It being one of the market days, we saw many

different costumes (belonging to the various cantons) assembled. That of

the women of Guggisberg is frightfully ugly; a napkin is folded flat

across the forehead, and tied behind in a slouching manner; the dress is

of black cotton, with a very long waist, and the petticoat does not

reach to the knee; their legs are terribly thick, but luckily this

circumstance is reckoned amongst themselves as a beauty, and to increase

it, they wear four or five pair of stockings at a time. Mr. B. observed

a Tyrolese peasant, with whose manly beauty and elegant costume he was

much struck. I did not see him myself; they are generally fine figures,

strong and athletic, yet extremely graceful, the dress being always

particularly becoming and highly picturesque.

The women of Lucerne I have already described, in the specimen of the

rich miller's wife that we saw at Guminen. Entering the shop of a famous

picture-dealer here, he shewed us a collection of portraits, of the most

celebrated rural _belles_ of Switzerland, among which was that of the

fair _bateliere_ of the lake Brientz. I hoped to have beheld another

"Ellen, Lady of the Lake," but was greatly disappointed, not being able

to admire the character of her beauty, thinking it far too coarse; but

those persons who have really seen her assured us her picture by no

means did her justice. We were also shewn a set of coloured prints from

the original drawings of a poor wretch of the name of Mind[9]; he died

about two years ago, and his works are very much valued in this country,

not only for their intrinsic merit, but as being the performance of a

_cretin_, which means an idiot, afflicted with a _goître_. We were told

by the picture-dealer, who had known him well, that this Mind was one of

the most deformed and horrible objects of the sort, and was perfectly

imbecile and stupid in every thing that did not immediately relate to

his art. He had (like some idiots who have fallen under my own personal

observation) a prodigiously retentive memory, from the impressions of

which he alone was able to draw. If he met any group of men or animals

in his daily rambles, he would instantly run home, lock himself up, and

produce shortly afterwards the most spirited and accurate drawing of the

objects which had thus fired his fancy. The high finish of his

colouring, also, was equally remarkable with the boldness of his

outline; he more particularly excelled in drawing cats, and had

completed a voluminous collection of these animals, in all their stages

of existence and habits of life; from which circumstance he has obtained

the name of _le Raffaelle des Chats_. At a first view of his works, we

were inclined to doubt the truth of his having been so complete an idiot

in all respects which were unconnected with his art; but as vague

arguments of conjecture and probability, cannot stand against the

positive evidence of attested facts, of course we gave up our

objections, and felt that to persevere in them would be obstinacy,

rather than penetration. The history of this man would, I think, form an

interesting subject of reflection to the philosopher and the physician,

and I wish it were generally known and published. This evening we went

to see the exhibition of Mr. Koenig, an excellent landscape painter;

it consisted of a set of transparent views (beautiful beyond any thing

of the sort that we had ever previously beheld), taken from the most

celebrated scenes in Switzerland; among them, we were most pleased with

the chapel of William Tell (_note_ O.) by moonlight, on the lake of

Zug, and with a cottage (also by moonlight) on the lakes of Bienne and

Thun. The wonderful degree of nature and truth which these paintings

displayed, I shall hardly forget; indeed I cannot say too much in praise

of them, and would advise every traveller who visits Berne to go and see

this enchanting little spectacle: I will venture to say his expectations

will be greatly exceeded.

September 24th.--I must in justice recommend all our friends passing

this way to take up their quarters _au Faucon_, as it is a most

excellent house, and the mistress a very attentive sensible person.

I ought not to take leave of the place without also mentioning the

_promenade_ upon the ramparts, and the glorious view of woods, hamlets,

and glaciers to be seen from thence[10]. We were much amused in watching

the sports of the youth of the town there, who have a green inclosure,

where various games and exercises (resembling the ancient gymnastic) are

carried on every evening, at a certain hour; they are admirably well

calculated to cherish habits of activity and agility, and to promote

both health and strength.

All the public offices here are served by persons who faithfully and

zealously fulfil their functions, without emolument of any sort.

Marriages through Switzerland are much encouraged by some of their

political institutions; in this canton, for instance, a bachelor cannot

arrive at the honourable post of bailiff, or be admitted to the council,

or become what they call a _seigneur_, which is an inferior office in

the government; but at the same time so fearful are these governments of

any circumstance that might in process of time by the accumulation of

fortunes infringe upon their liberties, that marriages between cousins

german are forbidden by law.

In the best statistic account of the population of this country taken

from the public registers, it is estimated inclusive of the allied

provinces at about two millions. The protestant cantons are found to be

the most populous, as they are the most active, industrious, and

commercial, but they are not always the richest.

The police is regulated with the most exemplary vigilance and good

order; the canton is a protestant one.

Upon quitting Berne, we found the country a lovely repetition of rich

waving woods (chiefly of beech and pine); the brilliant autumnal tints

of the former trees glowing beneath the bright blue of a cheerful

morning sky, and the aromatic perfume of the latter, scenting the

freshness of the breeze. How weak and inadequate are words to express

certain feelings of delight! How easy is it to mention woods and plains,

rocks and lakes, and to expatiate upon the charm of each, in appropriate

terms; yet how far are we all the time from conveying to the minds of

our hearers or readers the sensation of enjoyment which thrilled through

our own bosoms while actually beholding the scenes we attempt to

describe.

We passed through several villages which appeared to be the favourite

haunts of peace, health, and humble happiness. The parsonage-house in

one of them was a charming picture of comfort, neatness, and picturesque

taste; close to the cheerful little whitewashed church, it reared its

grey venerable roof. The walls were covered by the spreading branches of

a fruitful pear-tree, and the green latticed windows were shaded by a

vine, which wreathed its graceful foliage, and hung in luxuriant

clusters, likewise, over a small bower, or recess, adjoining the

sitting-room, where I could imagine a simple primitive pastor and his

happy family assembled together, enjoying the social evening meal. La

Fontaine's lovely descriptions of such scenes and such beings, in his

_Nouveau Tableau de Famille_, rushed upon my recollection, and I almost

expected to see his sweet Augusta (in the days of her prime) come forth

from the rustic porch, leaning on the arm of her valuable husband, and

surrounded by their innocent and blooming race. When this same Augusta

becomes a grandmother, I think La Fontaine has painted her too selfishly

forgetful of the happiness of her youthful days, and of the feelings

natural to girls at that age; it is not in character with the virtue and

sentimental graces of her earlier years, and rather conduces to

encourage in the bosom of the reader a sensation of indignant disgust at

the rigid, frigid, and unamiable propensities sometimes found among the

aged. This beautiful and affecting novel is so well known to all persons

of good taste and discrimination, that my allusion to it will I hope be

at once understood and forgiven. Beyond this neighbourhood, the country

opened in the most striking manner, affording a fine and heart-cheering

prospect of cultivated plains, fresh pastures, peaceful flocks and

herds, walnut groves and thatched cottages; the latter looked at a

distance like large beehives, and the inhabitants seemed to evince a

similarity to the bees in their habits of brisk and lively industry. I

can easily understand the pre-eminent attachment of the Swiss to their

native land; they must indeed be senseless were they less alive to the

charms of scenes like this.

[Illustration: _London, Published by I, Murray, 1819._

HERMITAGE of ST^E. FRENE.]

We took an early dinner at Soleure (_note_ R.), or Solothurne. We were

now in a catholic canton, and the difference of our accommodations at

the inn (_la Couronne_) from those we had experienced in the protestant

governments was very apparent, for once more dirt, in various shapes,

made its unwelcome appearance. The houses were, some of them, painted

gaudily on the whitewashed outsides, in the Italian manner, and the

cathedral, of Grecian architecture, was full of paltry paintings. The

costume of the townspeople was both tasteless and dirty; a white linen

cap, with a border of muslin, half a yard in depth, flapping about in

the most unbecoming way, increasing the general plainness of the women's

features. Their persons, also, were awkward and ill made, particularly

about the legs and feet. The place itself was full of bad smells, but

situated in a picturesque part of the country. As we proceeded, we found

the cottages decrease in beauty; nor did they exhibit the same degree of

_aisance_ and comfort as those near Berne. The fields likewise partook

of this spirit of decline, appearing less cultivated and productive. We

could not help attributing this to the people having their time so

perpetually broken in upon by the necessity of going to mass, and by

the too frequent recurrence of _jours de fêtes_.

We passed a fine picturesque old castle upon the left, a few miles

beyond Soleure, and arriving at Balstadt (a dirty-looking village),

where we slept, found a most uncomfortable, slovenly inn, and bad

attendance; and to heighten our miseries, our friend became so much

worse, that we were obliged to send for what medical assistance the

wretched place afforded. Accordingly there arrived the "village leech,"

who had much the air of a farrier, or cow-doctor, and who applied

various nostrums without success. His unfortunate patient made a

vigorous effort to shake him off the next morning, and we went on,

hoping to get as far as Basle. We started with two horses and three

mules, having to ascend a steep mountain immediately upon quitting

Balstadt (or rather Ballstall, in modern orthography). The surrounding

scenery was of a very different nature from that of the preceding day:

the road (in some places nearly as perpendicular as any in the wild

mountains of Savoy) led us through pale grey rocks, scooped

occasionally into quarries, and fringed on one side by an infinite

variety of young trees of every sort, and on the other by extensive

woods of pine, whose shades formed a beautiful contrast to the brighter

verdure of the velvet turf, from which they sprung. We observed (as

usual) great numbers of wild barberry trees, and juniper bushes, while

the purple heath-bell, waving her fairy cups amid the moss and thyme,

upon every bank, gave a smiling character to the foreground.

Falkenstein Castle (a fantastic ruin, crowning the summit of a bold

jutting mass of rock far above our heads) had a very imposing effect.

The battled walls and narrow round towers were so much of the same

colour as the mountain from which they rose, as scarcely to be

distinguished from it at a distance. It reminded us strongly of some of

Mrs. Radcliffe's descriptions, and our fancy easily peopled it with a

terrific baron, a fair suffering heroine, a captive lover, and every

other requisite _et cetera_ of romance. As we were now in _German_

Switzerland, such visions were not inappropriate, and my readers will

pardon them accordingly. We saw another castle, also, further on,

situated upon an eminence in the midst of magnificent woods of beech,

and looking down upon a pretty hamlet of white cottages, each with its

neat little _verger_ and _potager_, some of them shaded by vines, and

almost all furnished with a range of beehives. The inhabitants were

gathering the walnuts, apples, and plums, from their loaded trees, as we

passed: a clear little wimpling stream ran through the village, and the

spire of the church rose among rich tufted foliage in perspective. We

began to suspect, from this appearance of comfort and neatness, that we

were once more in the neighbourhood of a protestant government, which we

found afterwards was really the case. The sweet stream I have just

mentioned was so kind as to accompany us for a considerable way, pure,

sparkling, and dashing its shallow waters over the yellow pebbles, with

a rippling murmur that was delightfully soothing to the ear. The

country again resumed the woody, cultivated appearance, which is so

pleasing to behold, and gradually expanded into lovely meadows, which

the little brook kept forever fresh and verdant.

We stopped at Liestall, where we found a cleaner town, a better inn, and

a more prepossessing hostess than at Ballstall. The people manufacture

gloves here: they were good, but very dear. It is not to be told how

disagreeably the German language grated upon our ears in passing through

these cantons; after the mellifluous harmony of the Italian, and even

when compared with the French, it was doubly intolerable. Our own is

harsh enough, in the opinion of foreigners; yet I can with difficulty

imagine any thing so bad as German.

We arrived to dinner at Basle. This is a very large town (under a

protestant jurisdiction), clean and gay. Its chief attraction to us was

the river Rhine, which rolled its majestic waters beneath the windows of

our auberge (_les Trois Rois_), which was spacious and convenient. We

ascended to our apartments by a curious spiral staircase, in an old

round tower, that formed part of the building.

The Rhine is a noble river, but inferior in beauty of colour to the

Rhone at Geneva. Indeed the latter I cannot at this moment recollect

without a feeling of pleasure and admiration impossible to describe.

We left Basle, Sept. 26. The road as far as Bourglibre, and even

considerably beyond it, was flat and uninteresting; the cottages rather

dirty than otherwise, and extremely ugly; the costume of the peasantry

very indistinctly marked, and by no means becoming, being a wretched

imitation of the French. All this was accounted for, when we recollected

that we had now once more entered the territories of that nation,

leaving modern Germany on our right, and turning our backs upon the

sweet simplicity and unequalled charms of Switzerland. The postillion

also strongly evinced the national character, mounting his horse with a

true _gasconade_ flourish, and cracking his whip in the old

well-remembered style.

We dined and slept at Colmar. The inn (_aux Six Montagnes Noirs_) was

dirty, and the attendance very mediocre; but the beds were good, and

free from vermin. Our host was the most hideous man I ever saw: he was

absolutely strangling with fat; his bristly grizzled hair was strained

off the forehead, and forced into a long thick queue, with so tight a

hand, that the water in consequence was perpetually running from his

little red eyes; his voice in speaking was most unpleasantly guttural,

and rendered still more disagreeable by the absurd mixture of bad French

and German, which he sputtered with great difficulty, in answering our

necessary questions. His daughter usually sat in the bar, playing a

French love ditty upon an old guitar. Of her I can only say, that she

was the "softened image" of her "honoured papa."

The _paysannes_ in the near neighbourhood of Colmar wear a pretty little

flat, round-eared cap, at the back of the head, made either of very gay

coloured silk, or cotton, and sometimes of gold tissue with crimson

spots; their neck handkerchiefs are likewise of the brightest dyes,

thrown carelessly over the gown, and the ends confined before, by a

girdle. These women, generally speaking, are not at all handsome; the

men chiefly wear coats of coarse bright green cloth, without collars,

enormously long waisted waistcoats (sometimes red, laced with gold, and

large buttons), with cocked hats.

The country upon first leaving Colmar was mountainous, but not very

pleasing or interesting, in spite of the inequality of ground, the

presence of verdure, the view of distant villages, and a very fine clear

sky; all of which are notwithstanding the materials for forming a

beautiful landscape. This, to my mind, had an analogy with the persons

of some women I had formerly seen; who possessed fine hair and teeth,

clear bright eyes, a good complexion, were sufficiently young, and not

ill-made; yet with all these requisites to beauty, were plain, awkward,

and totally wanting in agreeable effect. A strange caprice of nature,

but not less true than strange.

The face of things, however, rather improved, upon approaching

Schelestat. The costume of the _paysannes_ brightened into a degree of

taste and neatness that we had not seen equalled since leaving St.

Denis, near Paris. Some of their caps were wholly of white worked

muslin, with a thin clear border, and bound neatly round the head by a

light blue or rose-coloured riband: the gowns also sometimes varied,

being not unfrequently made of white cotton, with gay crimson sprigs

upon them. We continually saw castles and churches upon the surrounding

heights, and a great number of vineyards; but the villages and small

towns were invariably dirty, and very ugly.

Since we had left Basle, we had been travelling through Alsace (ancient

Germany), in the department of the Haut Rhin. A few miles farther,

brought us into the vicinity of very fine fresh pasture lands, bordered

by willows, and relieved by a magnificently rich back ground of high

hills, clothed with young beech-trees, intermingled with oak. Here vast

herds of cattle were feeding; close to the road, and forming a sort of

border to the meadows, were extensive fields of potatoes, turnips,

cabbages, and broccoli, &c. without any guard or inclosure; this (as I

formerly mentioned) spoke well for the honesty of the poor people, and

at all events proved them to be enjoying a degree of ease and plenty, as

far as _vegetable_ riches were concerned. I remarked, in the hedges

here, the first honey-suckles I had seen since leaving England. The

costume of the young infants in this part of the world is very singular;

they all wear little foundling-shaped caps of black velvet, studded with

gold spots, or of white, with silver embroidery upon them, which has a

very strange effect to an English eye; but among the French people there

is such an infinite variety of fanciful attire, that nothing appears

extraordinary or out of the common way.

Passing through a small village, we saw several groups of the peasantry,

mingled with the Austrian soldiery, all dressed in their gayest costume

(it being Sunday evening), and we caught the musical tones of the slow

German waltz, to which national melody some of them were dancing. There

was not the least appearance of riot or disorder; they were blamelessly

rejoicing in the natural gaiety of their hearts, at the close of that

day whose forenoon had been spent in the exercise of their religious

duties;--that day which is devoted, in some parts of the world, to mere

peaceful rest from labour, unattended with any demonstration of

hilarity: in others, to a puritanical gloom, and rigid formality; but in

this, to cheerful, social intercourse, and the enjoyment of a harmless

mode of exercise--I say harmless, because the waltz is not looked upon

by the natives here in at all the same light as it sometimes is, in the

higher ranks of English society; and it is the only dance with which

they are acquainted. How weak and absurd, how really wicked is the

intolerance which leads people to condemn or quarrel with their fellow

creatures, for the different points of view under which they regard this

same day! Although I cannot quote Sterne as a moralist in all cases, I

certainly do most sincerely coincide with him in his sentiments relative

to religious feeling, as expressed in that chapter of his "Sentimental

Journey," called "The Grace." At the same time I am perfectly aware that

a similar method of passing the Sunday evening, after the service of the

day is fulfilled, would not be advisable (even were it possible to try

the experiment), in our own country. It does not agree with the

character and habits of the nation; and the lower orders of people, (in

the present state of existing circumstances), would assuredly debase it

by every species of vice and immorality. They require a strongly marked

line to be laid down, as a rule of right, from which all deviation would

probably be dangerous. Considering the subject in this light, I should

therefore be concerned to behold any great change attempted in the

manner of spending the Sunday evening, and would certainly not be the

first person to put myself forward in the outward display of different

opinions to the generality of individuals in the country, and under the

government to which I belong. We all owe an example, which may be

salutary to our inferiors and dependents.

At St. Marie aux Mines we were obliged to take five horses to the

carriage, as the road beyond that place was very mountainous. We had the

mental refreshment of observing numbers of sweetly pretty women here,

all dressed with native taste and neatness; the children also were

engaging in their appearance, and the men generally good-looking. French

is almost universally spoken among them.

Ascending les montagnes de St. Marie aux Mines, the scenery presented a

beautiful melange of wood and rock; the road likewise was excellent. We

admired the way in which the postillions managed their horses, walking,

the whole of the ascent, by their side, but obliging them to maintain an

unrelaxing steady pace, and this by words alone: the poor animals were

almost as intelligent as their drivers, obeying them with the utmost

readiness and alacrity. I must here indulge myself in marvelling at that

perversion of every generous and rational feeling, which leads man to

torture and abuse these generous, noble creatures. I have before

mentioned, that the conduct of the French drivers to their horses is

highly praiseworthy. The sleek comely appearance of the post-horses

throughout France, as well as the state of their feet, evinces that they

are well fed and kindly treated, and during our whole tour, we met with

no instance of brutality among the postillions. These roads have been

greatly improved by the present king.

We arrived to a late supper at St. Diez, where we slept. We were not

disposed to quarrel with _la Poste_ for being a true country inn: the

host had not been spoiled by too many English travellers, those _Milords

Anglais_, of whose proverbial riches every aubergiste imagines he has a

right to take advantage, and who in consequence render humbler

_voyageurs_ of other nations ready to execrate their very names. We were

taken for Germans, and found our bills reasonable and moderate in

consequence. The _maitresse de la maison_ was a kind-hearted, natural

little _bourgeoise_, and very proud of her only child (a fine infant of

nine or ten months), which she brought to shew us, in hopes of its

being admired and praised. Mothers, in higher life than this poor woman,

are deeply sensible to the charms of this species of flattery; and, even

when they know it to be flattery, are hardly ever able to resist feeling

pleased and propitiated thereby. For myself, I plead guilty at once. The

amount of our charges at St. Diez it may perhaps be as well to mention:

for supper (which was a good one), beds, apartments, wine, fruit,

lemonade, and breakfast the next morning, we three persons did not pay

more than twelve English shillings.

We started from hence at eight o'clock the following day, and found the

road for the first stage mountainous and woody. Most of the cottages

were ugly (as usual), and the inhabitants appeared dirty and lamentably

poor. For the two or three following stages the country grew perceptibly

flatter, and more open; the highway began to resume the old French line

of undeviating straightness, and avenues of puny seedling trees were

planted by its side. Large (or rather vast) tracts of arable land, in

all the baldness of a recent harvest, spread their tawny surface

around, and the whole presented a picture of monotony that was far from

agreeable.

All the people in this part of France seemed attached to the memory of

Bonaparte. The postmaster at Menilflin had a conversation with the

gentlemen upon the subject. He said that "the nation entertained a good

opinion of the private virtues of Louis XVIII., and wished him well; but

it was impossible not to remember what vast improvements of various

sorts Bonaparte had introduced, what noble works he had achieved, and to

what a pitch of military glory he had raised the country." He then

asked, with some appearance of reproach, "Why the English kept him so

barbarously immured in a dreadful prison?" All attempt to soften this

representation of Napoleon's present circumstances seemed of no avail;

our host only shook his head, and seemed to entertain a very strong

persuasion of the needless cruelty of the British nation.

Beyond Menilflin the scene again changed to a view of pasture lands,

with hills and woods in the distance; and upon approaching the latter we

found they were chiefly of oak. The potatoe was here generally

cultivated, and in great quantities. Formerly the French despised this

fine vegetable, but at present they are fully sensible of its

importance.

Just beyond the large town of Luneville there were many vineyards, and a

profusion of walnut-trees. The vines were planted alternately with the

potatoe, in patches, and the contrast of the two different shades of

green was singular, and not unpleasing. Beggars at this time began to

make their reappearance, clamouring, in the old cant, at the windows of

the carriage.

We now passed through a landscape of wonderful richness and verdure, and

enjoyed a succession of woods and vineyards for many miles. It was the

time of _les vendanges_. Every waggon we met was loaded with grapes, and

every peasant was reeling under the weight of a large wooden bucket (as

long as himself) filled with the same luxuriant and picturesque burden.

Groups of young children followed, each, like a little Bacchus, holding

a ripe cluster in its hand, attended by several women carrying baskets

of the fruit, and all of them singing, laughing, and warmly enjoying the

cheerful scene.

We reached Nancy to dinner. This is a large, clean, and very handsome

town, and the streets are much broader than in most foreign ones. They

resounded, as the evening advanced, with joyous songs in chorus, sung

(often in parts with considerable accuracy) by the common people, in

honour of _les vendanges_; but their mirth soon became rather too loud

for refined ears, as they shouted (men and women together) at the utmost

pitch of their voices, a sort of recitative and chorus, dancing at the

same time _en ronde_, and frequently mingling shrill bursts of laughter

and shrieks with this wild and extraordinary harmony. Every one of the

_garçons_ of our inn ran out in the street to join the peasantry in the

maddening dance. Altogether it was a perfect bacchanalian festival,

strongly resembling those ancient rites in honour of the rosy god

mentioned in the pagan mythology. We went in the evening to the theatre,

to see Baptiste (from Paris), who is reckoned one of the best French

actors in comedy, and who performed here for one night only. The piece

was a little comic pastoral, interspersed with music, but Baptiste's

_role_ was far too trifling for us to form any just idea of his

talents--but how extraordinary it is that this nation, from time

immemorial to the present day, should have been so totally ignorant of

the true genius of vocal music. Rousseau's well-known opinion (in his

letter from St. Preux to Julie, upon the difference of Italian and

French taste in singing) came into my head more than once, and I most

sincerely wished that the French would always confine themselves to what

they so particularly excel in, the dance: their songs make the same sort

of impression upon my mind, when compared with the beautiful productions

of the Italian school, that a Savoyard cretin would do, if placed by the

side of an Apollo Belvidere.

The theatre at Nancy was large, and the decorations and machinery

tolerably good. It was the only one that we had seen illuminated in the

boxes as well as upon the stage, a lustre being suspended above the pit,

which shed a very pleasant light over all the house.

The next day, Sept. 30, we pursued our route. There is a beautiful

Grecian gateway at this end of the town, which is worthy of every

traveller's observation.

The road from hence was in a straight line with a tiresome avenue, as

usual (_note_ S.), and led us through a fine wood of beech and other

trees (none of them of large growth); but it lost nearly all picturesque

effect, from the vicinity of this artificial avenue, and the unbending

line of the highway. The country for many miles is very open, bounded by

hills, and bearing some resemblance to the county of Wiltshire.

Thoul, a pretty town, stands in the midst of wide plains, a small hill

covered with vines sheltering it on one side. It is decorated with long

rows of formal stiff poplars, above which tower the spires of its large

cathedral. The river Moselle runs near this place, an inconsiderable

tame little stream, whose banks can boast no kind of beauty.

The town was adorned by several vineyards and kitchen-gardens, full of

well-cultivated vegetables and fruit; but the country beyond it was

wide, flat, and insipid, for a considerable distance. At length we had

the agreeable variety of entering a remarkably pretty, wild looking wood

of young beech-trees, where we observed an ancient, lone, white mansion,

greatly fallen to decay, yet evidently inhabited, and surrounded by

gardens and walls for fruit, of large size and height: the latter also,

as well as the house, much dilapidated. The wood, closing round on all

sides, gave it an air of singularity and romance; nor could I restrain

my fancy (during a subsequent uninteresting drive) from tracing the plan

of a little _novel_ sort of history, relative to the inhabitants of this

solitude. How delightfully would the late Charlotte Smith have done the

same thing! All her novels (putting on one side her passion for

democracy, and her blind prejudices in favour of the Americans) interest

my feelings extremely. They have a tone of elegant pathos (far removed

from the sickly whine of affected sensibility) peculiar to themselves,

and with many palpable faults are altogether bewitching. I am not

singular in this taste, having, I believe, the honour of acquiescing in

the opinion of some of the best judges.

We were now close upon the borders of Champaigne. Immense woods extended

in every direction, yet they were not sufficiently near, to vary the

landscape agreeably. As far as the eye could distinctly reach, nothing

but vast uninclosed stubble fields appeared in view.

Ligny, a large town (surrounded by vineyards), dull and dead-looking,

and unenlivened by any attempt at costume among the inhabitants. There

are large manufactories of cotton here.

We dined and slept at Bar le Duc, a cheerful, neat town: inn (_au

Cigne_), where we met with excellent accommodations. At dinner we were

attended by a merry active _paysanne_: she brought us some of the wine

to taste, of this year's vintage. It was then in its first state,

previous to fermentation, and much resembled sweet cyder fresh from the

press. When properly clarified, and ripened by age, it would turn out,

we were told, to be a strong bodied red wine. This town, for the last

few years, had been successively occupied by soldiers of all nations,

French, Prussians, Russians, Austrians, and Cossacks: the girl persisted

in calling the latter _Turques_, and told us that during the time of

their _séjour_ here, all the young _paysannes_ of the neighbourhood had

been carefully concealed (herself among the number), by their mothers:

she said that at that period she had not entered service, but was living

at home with _maman_. We observed _maman_ to be the usual title of all

mothers, even in the lowest class of people, and that it was used by the

grown up daughters (in speaking of them), contrary to our English

custom, where the term is a refinement, and not much adopted, except by

the little denisons of the nursery: the unlimited power of _mamans_ of

all classes now appears to be very happily moderated and reduced; a

great moral improvement which has taken place in France in consequence

of the Revolution. The unprincipled system of parents arranging the

marriages of the children, independent of their own choice or consent,

which existed during the _ancien régime_, being nearly abolished, and

consequent crime and misery connected with it, much diminished. I was

happy to learn, from one of the most enlightened and sensible persons at

Geneva, that since that awful _bouleversement_, conjugal attachment and

fidelity, together with a taste for domestic pleasures, had rapidly

increased, and this even in Paris itself. I was assured that the English

(judging of the whole from their experience of a part) have formed an

erroneous idea of the general immorality of French families,

particularly in fancying that their national and innate love of

amusement (springing from climate, constitution, and other causes),

interfered improperly with, or was preferred to the duties of husband

and parent. This defence of the French nation (prompted by a benevolent

love of truth and candour) appeared particularly amiable, coming as it

did from persons, whose government, religious opinions, and habits of

life, were so very different.

Leaving Bar le Duc, October 1st, we proceeded through several woods, and

found the face of the country more varied and agreeable than during the

journey of yesterday: there was an appearance of cleanliness and comfort

in this town, not often met with in France: the dress of the inhabitants

and the neatness of the shops bore a nearer resemblance to an English

country town than any we had yet seen. It is situated on the river

Ornaine, and is as generally called Bar sur Ornaine as Bar le Duc. Being

on the high road to Strasburg, we met with many German travellers, and

were ourselves now, as well as formerly, frequently mistaken for natives

of that country: the similarity of language, and perhaps of features and

complexion, will naturally account for it.

We soon entered Champagne, and continually met bands of joyous peasants

gathering the rich produce of the widely extended vineyards. This is the

only province throughout France where the grape of which this wine is

made will grow, and there must be, I should imagine, some great

peculiarity of soil. The vintage, universally, was finer than had been

known for years. It is generally remarked, that neither in Paris, nor in

any other place upon the continent, is wine to be met with of that very

superior quality, which it is usual to find in England; no other nation

can afford so high a price.

In the vicinity of Vitri sur Marne, the country can scarcely be said to

be the country, if trees, green fields, hills, and dales, give a right

to that appellation. Nothing but one vast boundless uninclosed surface

of stubble was to be seen. It reminded me (in point of monotonous

effect) of the plain in the _Palais de la Verité_ (mentioned by Madame

de Genlis), where a fairy condemns the fickle-minded Azelie to remain

for years, in order to cure her of a passion for variety. During this

wearisome journey, I know not what we should have done without Moliere.

Fortunately we had him in the carriage, and I need not say what an

enlivening _compagnon du voyage_ he was. Turning our eyes therefore from

the "dull realities" of the scene around, we were soon lost in an

imaginary world, full of bright creations and amusing conceptions.

We dined and slept at Chalons sur Marne, where we met with tolerable

accommodations, but were charged very extravagantly, at _la Cloche

d'Or_. We left it at half past six the next morning, and found the road

equally uninteresting: I could hardly have formed an accurate idea of

the bald sort of ugliness of a great portion of France, had I not thus

witnessed its effect. The usual absence of costume continued, and there

was nothing to break the dulness, or to give a ray of animation to the

scene.

We now and then passed through villages, built formally in a long

street, with the high road running between the houses; dirty, ugly,

tasteless, and mean! no gardens, consequently neither fruit nor

vegetables to be seen, and as there was no appearance of trees for such

an immense number of miles, we were at a loss to conceive how the

wretched inhabitants warmed themselves sufficiently, during the winter,

except from the heaps of cinder dirt, at some of their doors, which

proved that coals were burned there; not a very common circumstance in

France. Troops of beggar children now ran after us, bold, audacious, and

filthy in the extreme; all our charitable feelings froze in a moment.

The farther we proceeded, the wider seemed to extend the vast and barren

desert that surrounded us; never can I forget the disgust and ennui

which assailed us in consequence. We tried to awaken our powers of

conversation, when wearied by long continued reading, but it was a vain

attempt. Imagination seemed extinguished, and our minds experienced a

degree of stagnation impossible to describe. After passing through this

country, I must be allowed to differ, for the rest of my life, from

those theoretical reasoners, who think it is even a point of morality

to maintain, that the mental powers are not influenced by local

impressions. I am convinced Madame de Genlis took her idea of the

redoubted plain in her _Palais de la Verité_ before mentioned, from

having travelled through _this_ part of her native country; for surely

she would never have discovered its parallel in any other: even in the

deserts of Arabia the traveller finds a species of sublimity, and

undergoes perils, which at all events prevent his suffering from

_ennui_.

In many of the villages (in all parts of France) we observed the sign of

"Saint Nicholas." He is a very popular saint among this nation, and must

have been a man of taste, as he stands forth the patron of all the young

unmarried damsels, presiding over every _nôce_, and _fête de village_.

He has chosen a most amusing _metier_ altogether, thereby proceeding

upon a far more rational and sensible plan than some of his brethren,

many of whom have made it their business to frown upon the enjoyments of

mankind, and who pretend that the only way to merit heaven in the next

world, is to make a purgatory of this. Fortunately their unhappy

followers are but few, (comparatively speaking); for the great body of

the people, in all ages, seem to be of Sir Toby Belch's opinion, when

Shakespeare makes him indignantly exclaim to his formal censor Malvolio,

"what! dost think that because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more

cakes and ale?" These Roman catholic puritans, let it be remembered,

have the honour of being imitated very closely by many a worthy English

heretic.

It was a great relief to us to enter Rheims, where we took a luncheon,

and afterwards walked about the town, and saw the grand gothic

cathedral. The _façade_ of this building is most superbly beautiful; the

fret work, carving, and imagery, are in some respects superior to those

of the Duomo at Milan; although the edifice is of a less precious

material, much smaller, and in a different taste altogether. The

interior is grandly simple, the windows of the most magnificent old

stained glass, in patterns of infinite variety, and of the most glowing

colours. But the outside of this cathedral is by far more imposing than

any other part, and I was rather discomposed upon being obliged to

acknowledge that our Westminster Abbey is extremely inferior in every

way. Here the ancient monarchs of France used to be crowned (as books of

juvenile information have duly informed us), and we could scarcely

imagine a finer place for such sort of spectacles. The portal was built

in the thirteenth century, and the other parts as far back as about the

seventh or eighth.

We did not remark any thing particularly worth notice in the town (which

is nevertheless very large), and the only thing which struck us forcibly

was the general ugliness of the _bourgeoises_, and also the _paysannes_

of the environs. The country beyond was exactly in the same wearisome

character with what we had already passed, and the road for many miles

extremely bad.

Owing to repeated delays about horses, we did not arrive at Laon until

nine o'clock in the evening, by which means we lost the view of the two

last stages before reaching that place, where the country is said to

improve in a very striking manner, swelling occasionally into lofty

hills, enriched with wood.

Laon is built upon an abrupt and rocky eminence, shaded by trees, and

commanding a very extensive bird's-eye prospect of the surrounding

country. There was a high appearance of cultivation and fertility of

soil, while the immediate vicinity of vineyards, filled with cheerful

groups of people, was very enlivening; but no costume was to be observed

except the almost universal cross worn round the necks of the women[11].

Our inn (_à la Hure_) was extremely well appointed; the host an

attentive, civil old man, and we were waited upon with celerity and good

humour by two young _paysannes_, who appeared to think no exertion too

much which could contribute in any way to the comfort of the guests. One

of them (like most French servants) chatted in a natural intelligent

manner, was full of frolic and glee, ready to laugh at every thing,

carolling with the gaiety of a lark, in all parts of the house, and

seeming with difficulty to restrain herself from dancing at the same

time: all this (as I once before mentioned) without the least degree of

immodesty. What a wide difference exists between the ideas of a French

and English woman in this situation of life, on the score of what is

called propriety; a vague term, and changeable as the chamelion in its

nature, however some worthy folks may suppose it confined solely to one

shape, and one definite meaning. The sense of female honour among the

country girls of France, so far from being too lax, or but little

regarded, seems, on the contrary, to be particularly correct, and I have

taken some pains in my inquiries upon this point. The loss of fair fame

is rare, and always accompanied by the utmost disgrace and ignominy; so

much so, that one young woman (whose heart was, I am sure, upon her

lips) told me, "that if such a circumstance occurred, the unfortunate

girl had much better be dead at once; for she never would be looked upon

again by her youthful companions." Let it, therefore, be remembered, to

the credit of the French, that innocence is perfectly compatible with a

lively freedom of manner, and that virtue can be firmly maintained,

although unshackled by the restraints of primness and formality. I am

now convinced that climate has a great deal more influence upon our

feelings and conduct than I was once inclined to think. The chilly fogs

and heavy weight of atmosphere in England do certainly affect, in some

measure, the mental faculties of her children, rendering their ideas of

morality needlessly gloomy and strict. I judge (in part) from my own

occasional sensations. I never feel in so cheerful and happy a frame of

mind, so willing to be candid, and to look upon persons and things in

the most favourable light, as during a fine clear sunshiny day. _Au

contraire_, there have been moments in the cold, humidity, and dark

gloom of winter, when I have been shocked and ashamed at perceiving my

sentiments involuntarily narrowing into prejudices, and my spirits

saddening in proportion. It has required a strong exertion of reason to

get the better of such feelings, and even to divest myself of an idea of

their being in some degree meritorious.

I now hasten to continue the narrative of our route from Laon to

Cambray, which was a day's journey. The road for the first stage

presented us with a welcome variety of landscape, hills, dales, copses,

shady villages, and fertile fields. Never did we see such a profusion of

fine apples as were growing here, on each side of the way. The peasants

were gathering them as we passed, and heaps of this rosy, tempting fruit

were piled up in hillocks beneath the trees from which they had just

been taken. They were even strewed by thousands on the grass around, and

were perpetually rolling into the road under the wheels of our carriage.

Such a triumph of Pomona it is really difficult to imagine without

having seen its animating effect! We stopt to purchase some, and found

them truly delicious; spirited, juicy, and possessing all the acid

sweetness of champaigne. We remarked the soil in which these trees so

peculiarly flourished: it consisted of a loose, light, sandy earth, with

a mixture of clay; but in those parts of England where they thrive best,

I understand that the soil is of a redder earth, with not nearly so

large a proportion of sand. For what are called common fruits and

flowers I have ever entertained a preference, and for the latter I have

almost a passion. The richest collection of rare exotics do not make the

same agreeable and soothing impression upon my imagination as the

unpretending garden which my mother formerly cultivated in Surrey, or

that of a dear and excellent friend, in which from childhood I have ever

delighted, and where the common flowers of each season, fruits,

vegetables, herbs, and shrubs, flourish together, in defiance of the

more refined arrangements of modern days. I recollect the simple charms

of her sitting-room windows (shadowed by the climbing honeysuckle and

sweetbriar), and those of my mother's pretty doorway, half lost in a

thick bower of clematis, with the liveliest feelings of pleasure, while

I have totally forgotten a hundred prouder boudoirs, rich in the odours

of tuberose, cape jessamine, night-blowing geraniums, and other splendid

extravagancies.

The country for the last stage before we reached St. Quentin (a

strong-built large town) was very fast relapsing into the baldness of

that which had so lately annoyed us; but the peasantry were generally

much better looking, cleaner, and altogether gayer in their appearance.

This place is in the direct road from Paris to Brussels. We arrived at

Cambray to supper, slept, and breakfasted there the next morning, when

we proceeded towards the coast. The inn was not very comfortable,

although we had the best apartments in the house. It was a very striking

and singular spectacle to behold, as we now did, English sentinels on

duty at the drawbridges of this town, and an encampment of the same

troops just beneath its walls. How would John Bull have writhed and

raged with shame and grief, if the scene had been exhibited _vice versa_

in our own country? Can we then (with any pretence to candour and

justice) affect to wonder at the deep-felt disgust and dislike of the

French towards us?

We saw the fine regiments of our foot guards, and the 95th, or

sharp-shooters, here. All the men looked clean, bright, and cheerful,

and most of them were decorated with Waterloo medals. Our hearts

sensibly warmed at sight of the well-remembered countenance of our

countrymen, and (without any degree of unjust partiality) we could not

but be forcibly struck with the superiority of appearance and deportment

displayed by our English officers, when we compared them with all the

French whom we had had an opportunity of observing. There is, I think

(generally speaking), a greater suavity and benevolence in the manners

of a Frenchman of birth and education; there is a higher degree of

polish in his address; but in point of personal appearance I must

decidedly award the preference to our manly, graceful, dignified

countrymen. An English gentleman (in the true acceptation of the word)

is the flower of the world. I do not mean to discuss at length, the

different moral virtues and mental perfections of either nation. I have

neither time nor sufficient experience and information for such a task;

but of this I am convinced, "that the head and heart of our countrymen

(taking their fairest specimens) may sustain a comparison with those of

any other race of men upon this habitable globe, and fail not to come

forth with honour and credit from the investigation." Of the

_bourgeoisie_ of each country I cannot pretend to judge; but with

respect to the unsophisticated peasantry, I feel by no means clear that

the superiority lies on our side. We were informed that a great many of

the English soldiers at Cambray, and elsewhere, had taken wives from

among the _paysannes_, but that the _petites bourgeoises_ did not listen

so favourably to their vows. Every where we had the gratification of

hearing praises of the orderly, quiet, and moderate behaviour of the

British regiments.

The country beyond this town, for a considerable distance, was

uninteresting, and the lesser towns and villages were very ugly. What

was wanting in trees seemed to be made up in windmills, which spread

their long arms abroad in every direction. Had Don Quixote been alive,

and travelling this road, he would have found himself in the predicament

of poor Arlechino, _dans l'embarras des richesses_.

We now passed through Douay, a clean, gay-looking, strong-built town. It

was more than usually alive, from the circumstance of a fair which was

going on in the market-place. Among the different articles exposed for

sale, I was struck by the cotton handkerchiefs worn by the _paysannes_.

Their richness and beauty of colour were very remarkable, the dyes being

brilliant beyond any that we possess, and the patterns very fanciful and

pretty. Here the women adopt the same picturesque double gold drops in

the ears, as those of Calais; wearing likewise richly-worked heavy

crosses upon the bosom, and long loose cloaks, made of coloured linen

or black silk, frilled round, with a very deep hood. Two pretty little

girls, from twelve to thirteen years of age, had a highly graceful

effect, as they passed through the crowd, in white gauze or muslin

veils, extremely transparent, and reaching to the ground, thrown

carelessly over their heads. They appeared like young sylphs, flitting

in all their purity among the gayer, yet grosser, figures which

surrounded them.

We arrived in very good time at Lille (frequently spelt Lisle), and

entered through a most beautiful gateway of Tuscan architecture. This

town is extensive, well built, lively, and interesting: there are

excellent shops, with signs of the most fanciful and ingenious devices,

like those of Paris. This place is reckoned impregnable, and the citadel

is of wonderful strength, being the masterpiece of Vauban, the

celebrated engineer. Our inn (_l'hotel de Bourbon_) was very comfortable

in every respect, except that we were bitten by bugs. They, however, are

so common in various parts of the continent that the traveller must

make up his mind to bear with them as things of course. We were amused

by the humour of a _valet de place_ here, who was also hair-dresser and

barber: he was a true disciple of the renowned Vicar of Bray, having

squared his politics according to every change in the government, and

contrived to thrive equally under all. He assured us (as if he had been

enumerating his virtues) that _Vive la liberté! vive Napoleon!_ or

_vivent les Bourbons!_ was all the same thing to him; and he had

constantly held himself in readiness to call out for each, provided they

left heads enough for him to find hair to friz, and beards to mow. His

countenance made us laugh the moment he appeared, being the counterpart

of Liston's, with that peculiar expression of _niaiserie_ which is so

irresistibly ludicrous in him. It was no wonder that we were amazed by

the number of windmills in the environs of this town; for we learnt that

there were no less than two hundred used in making oil, &c.

We quitted Lille the next morning, and in changing horses at Bailleul we

discovered that the cap and linchpin of the axletree had fallen off.

They were found about a quarter of a mile behind us; and it was very

extraordinary that this accident did not occasion our overturn, as the

wheel had really no support. The country now began to improve in point

of trees and verdure, but still wore an air of formality. A disagreeable

_patois_ is spoken here.

The approach to Cassel was very pretty; the trees gradually lost their

prim regularity, and formed a rich wood, which entirely covered a high

hill, called Mont Cassel. It is the only one in the Netherlands, and

commands a most extensive view: no less than twenty-two fortified towns

may be discerned from it. Most of the cottages in these environs are

thatched, and resemble those in England, each having a little garden

(inclosed by neat hedges) full of vegetables. From the summit of the

above-mentioned hill, we were much pleased by a prospect of great

fertility, and some beauty. Seen from this distance, the artificial mode

of planting the trees was not distinguished, and they had a very

luxuriant woody effect altogether. Just at the entrance of Cassel is a

churchyard, in which we observed a tall crucifix, with a wooden image of

our Saviour, larger than life, painted flesh colour, and having a stream

of blood flowing from the side (made of a long strip of wire, standing

far out in a curve from the body), and which was caught in a cup by

another clumsy image (Dutch built) representing a cherubim. The latter

was suspended in the air, by some contrivance (not discoverable at that

distance), so as to appear flying. Nothing could well be more absurd, or

in a worse taste!

We dined and slept at St. Omer, a large town. We found at the inn

(_l'ancienne Poste_) very comfortable accommodations; but it was full of

English officers, who had a mess there, and in consequence we could not

get a morsel to eat, or a creature to attend upon us, till these

_messieurs_ were first served. They were assembled there in readiness

for a ball, which was to take place somewhere in the town, at night.

Suffering under the sharpest pangs of hunger, we felt the warmth of our

feelings towards our compatriots rather decreasing; but we recovered

our nationality after dinner. The next morning we went on to Calais. It

was rather a pretty drive the first two stages; the country woody, and

the villages much neater than usual. No costume, however, made its

appearance (except the long ear-ring and cross), neither could we

observe any beauty.

We breakfasted this morning at the small post-house of Ardres. The old

dame there told us that the behaviour of the British troops had been

most exemplary, and that they would be missed and regretted by some

among the natives.

We were now in Picardy, which we understood was more infested with

beggars than most other provinces. Some half starved children ran after

the carriage, screaming the popular air of _Vive Henri Quatre_. We gave

them a sous or two, purely for the sake of that _père de son peuple_,

whose memory is yet green in their hearts. It is in comparing his

species of greatness with that of Napoleon, that I am most forcibly

impressed with the inferiority of the latter. The union of talent and

benevolence in a sovereign (like that of judgment and imagination in an

author) seems almost indispensable; and, at all events, there can be no

perfection of character without it. How awfully requisite are both these

qualities in the head of an absolute monarchy, and how devoutly to be

wished for, even under the less extensively important influence which

(like our own) is limited by the laws of the constitution. Those

persons, who, from a timid sort of morality, would exalt mere goodness,

in opposition to superior talent, seem to me to be thereby counteracting

the influence of the very principle upon which they profess to act.

Those, on the other hand, who adopt the contrary mode of reasoning are

yet worse, for they assert an opinion which is in direct defiance of

humanity, morality, and religion. Comparing Napoleon with some of his

crowned cotemporaries, I must confess that my admiration of him

alarmingly increases; but place him by the side of _Henri quatre_, and

he sinks at once. Madame de Stael has beautifully and justly expressed

my own sentiments; I must indulge myself in quoting her eloquent

language. Speaking of another political tyrant, (Cardinal Richelieu) she

remarks, "On a beaucoup vanté le talent de ce ministre, parce qu'il a

maintenu la grandeur politique de la France; et sous ce rapport, on ne

sçauroit lui réfuser des talens superieurs! Mais _Henri quatre_

atteignoit au même but, en gouvernant par des principes de justice et de

verité! Le génie se manifeste non seulement dans le triomphe qu'on

remporte, mais dans les moyens qu'on a pris pour l'obtenir."

Upon approaching Calais, we felt our courage quail beneath the idea of

the passage to Dover, which was now so near at hand; but as it never

answers any rational purpose to dwell upon disagreeables which are

inevitable, and as this transient purgatory was the only means of

attaining the paradise of English comforts that awaited us on the other

side of the water, we made up our minds, and prepared for our fate with

becoming resolution. We were very fortunate in arriving at Quilliac's

early in the day, as we had an opportunity of taking possession of a

most comfortable suite of apartments, which would not have fallen to our

share, half an hour later; for the concourse of equipages which soon

followed ours into the inn-yard was quite astonishing. Quilliac's is a

magnificent hotel, and seems to be organized in a manner that does

credit to the head of the master. They make up from a hundred and fifty

to a hundred and sixty beds, and the day of our arrival, they were

serving up little separate dinners to a hundred and forty persons,

exclusive of servants. Yet the attendance was by no means hurried, or

our comforts of any sort diminished, upon that account: every waiter and

_fille de chambre_ seemed to know their particular walk, nor could we

observe any awkward scrambling or jostling among them.

Determined not again to encounter the annoyance of a crowded packet, we

desired inquiries to be made for any family of respectability, who might

wish to share a private one with us: fortune befriended us, for we soon

beheld some English friends drive into the court, who agreed to join

forces, and accordingly we took the Antigone (Capitaine Margollé),

between us. She was accounted the best sailer in the harbour, and we

found the truth of her reputation confirmed the next morning, when at

nine o'clock we all embarked. She brought us into Dover before several

other packets, which had sailed from Calais three hours previous to

ourselves; but the winds were nevertheless against us, as we were

becalmed for seven hours, and the passage lasted altogether ten. I was

the only person on board who suffered much; but I speedily forgot all my

wretchedness, when I found myself happily landed at Dover, and seated by

an English fireside.

We left that place the next day (October 8th), and felt that however we

might justly admire foreign countries, our native land possessed a charm

above all others, for the hearts of its children. We were delighted by

the richness of the woods, and the smiling fertility of the landscape

between Canterbury and Sittingbourne, and also by the peculiar air of

neatness and cleanliness displayed in every cottage and house, both in

the towns and villages: their superiority in these respects to those of

France was very apparent; but I could not help being struck by the

different costume, countenance and air of the lower classes of my

countrywomen, from what I had been used to behold for the last few weeks

among the daughters of the continent. The former certainly did (since

the truth must be told) appear what is called dowdy and heavy, and the

general expression of face was somewhat sullen, in comparison. I also

greatly missed the brilliant dark eye, and the charming shadowy eyelash,

which is generally to be met with abroad.

We were once more gratified by the pre-eminent swiftness, ease, and

dexterity of our English mode of posting; the horses really seemed to

fly, and their spruce effect, together with that of their drivers,

contrasted favourably with those we had left on the other side the

channel.

Passing through Rochester, to Dartford, the river Thames presented a

most imposing spectacle, being covered with innumerable vessels in

full sail, bound for London. A foreigner must have been impressed with a

superb idea of our commercial wealth and glory.

At length we reached home late in the evening, and, full of grateful

pleasure for all we had enjoyed during our absence from it, returned to

the worship of our Penates with all the fervour and sincerity of true

hearted, though not wrong headed, Britons.