be solicitous to know the manner in which they moved, and already fancy a number of questions which the short picture I have just given, would necessarily suggest, and I think it proper therefore to gratify the curiosity I may have excited. Why travel in an English coach? In France there are but two modes of travelling; in the diligence or publick stage, more slow, inconvenient and disagreeable than any thing which you can possibly imagine; or en hoste, that is to say, with posthorses, furnished by a postmaster appointed by the government, and whose whole conduct, fees and every thing appertaining to the subject, is regulated by a law; which, together with the distances between the posthouses, is published in a book, under the authority of the government, and with which you furnish yourself at the commencement of the tour. The system is admirable, and exceedingly convenient for strangers, and I know but of two faults in it which require a remedy. The first is, your being obliged to pay for six horses,* when four would suffice. I know of no case where four horses would not be sufficient, and in no part of Europe, except France, do they demand more. The second fault is, that the postmasters are not obliged to furnish any kind of carriage. The consequence is, that a single gentleman is obliged to purchase or hire his carriage for the whole journey, and if it breaks he is compelled to wait till it is repaired; for it would be as impos sible to procure a carriage on the road, as it would be to make one. Are all the publick roads paved in France, and are they badly paved? A very large proportion of all the publick roads are payed at a very great expense. In the original formation of these roads, they cost forty eight thousand livres for each league, or three English miles, that is to say, more than three thousand dollars per mile, which is five times as much as the turnpike roads cost in England. They are laid out in the same manner as the road over Boston Neck; a pavement in the centre occupying about one third, and the two sides covered with gravel. The pavement is made of large square stones laid very neatly, and when new, it forms a most excellent road, There is another circumstance in their roads highly worthy of imitation; they are very generally lined with single, and sometimes with double rows of trees, which produce a very handsome effect, and contribute to the pleasure of the traveller. The government of France, therefore, is entitled to great credit for the noble manner in which their publick roads and bridges are constructed, but there are dark shades in the picture, which a love of truth obliges me to give you. In France there are very few canals, while at the same time the internal commerce is immense. All this commerce is carried on by teams; and so bigotted are the French peasants in favour of their ancient usages, that they continue to make use of the narrow wheels which were in use two centuries since. The weight of one of their loads is usually from three to five tons. When, therefore, you consider that during the winter season, they are subjected to perpetual rains, which, falling upon a clayey soil, render their roads extremely soft, you will not be astonished that their pavement is

This has been since remedied by an imperial rescript:

M

extremely liable to be damaged. In order to give you some faint idea of the astonishing number of loaded teams which are perpetually on the road in France, I will state to you one fact to which I paid particular attention. Travelling on the road to Orleans between Paris and Bordeaux, I was so impressed with the number of teams which were constantly passing, that I determined to count them for a given distance. I found that in riding three miles, we passed two hundred teams, and as there was nothing peculiar in that part of the road, but on the contrary, they appeared pretty equally dispersed, through the whole distance, it will follow, that there were at a given moment, no less than four thousand and six hundred teams employed on the road between Paris and Orleans, a distance of about seventy miles. You will not be surprised after this, to hear me say that we rattled over a bad pavement, for it would be impossible to keep such a road in order.

Another circumstance very unpleasant to a traveller is, the straitness and uniformity of the roads in France. I know that it has become exceedingly fashionable in our country to have our new roads as straight as possible, but we shall lose in pleasure all that we gain in distance.

Nothing can equal the dull, tiresome uniformity of a French road; we were exceedingly impressed with it, because we had just quitted the charming roads of Great Britain, where taste and profit, good sense and fancy, appear to have had an equal share in the arrangement. Meandering through the vallies, or winding over the hills, clothed on either side with a verdant hedge, art seems only to have come in aid of nature, and the beauty of the scenery makes you forget, or disregard, the few feet of additional road which this natural arrangement obliges you to pass.

This statement already explains to you in part the reason why travellers in France so generally prefer to ride on from morning till night without alighting. The scenery in general is so uniform, that you very soon get thoroughly fatigued with seeing it, and every other object is absorbed in the single wish of arriving at the great city which is the termination of your journey. In addition to this, there are few or no inns on the road, except in their large towns, where a traveller can find any decent accommodation. Between Paris and Orleans, for example, there is but one single place where you can lodge; and between Tours and Bordeaux, a distance of nearly three hundred miles, there are not more than three places where you can stop with any degree of pleasure.

The surface of the country in France is vastly less varied, and less beautiful than in the New England or middle states. There is not that variety in their cultivation, which renders our scenery so pleasing. Particular portions of the country are devoted to wheat, and others to vineyards. In the wheat country you will ride fifty miles without seeing any thing but wheat fields; and in the wine country you perceive nothing but vineyards. The vineyards are very far from being an ornamental species of culture. When the crop is harvested, the wheat country appears like a vast and dreary desert, and as there are neither fences, walls, or hedges, and a very great scarcity of trees, the eye wanders in vain in search of objects,

whereon to repose itself. I know of no natural views to which I can compare this part, and it is much the largest part of their scenery, but to the ocean where no land is to be seen; but I think the ocean superiour to it in the grandeur of the ideas which it inspires, in the liveliness which its motion affords, and in the beautiful colour and varied form of its waves. If you except Normandy, and the banks of one or two of their rivers, you see very little grass. There are none of those verdant lawns and smiling meadows to which we are accustomed, and which covered with herds and flocks, form the finest scenery in the world. I have often passed one hundred miles in France, without seeing a single domestick animal but the horse. That this species of scenery should be disagreeable to us, is not the effect of prejudice, for we can cite in favour of our opinions all the poets and painters of every age, and of every nation.

The flower enamelled mead, the verdant lawn, the shady bower, the lowing herds, seem almost exclusively appropriated to descriptive poetry; and where would have been the reputation of Claude or Poussin, if they had confined their landscapes to the cheerless, tiresome wheatfields of France ? Let others, then, my dear mother, blazen the beauties of French scenery; my pen, devoted to truth, shall give you the picture as it is, and I will assure you, that with the few exceptions I shall notice, the landscape scenery of France, is inferiour to that of any country I have seen.

im

As I do not intend to follow the example of many travellers who fatigue us with the multiplicity of trifling incidents, with every position of a landlord, every insolent speech of a drunken postillion; and where we find every petty embarrassment wrought up to a catastrophe worthy of a place in some interesting modern novel; I shall give you a short, general idea of those particulars, in which travelling in France differs from what we find in our own country. Information, it appears to me, ought to be the object, which a trav eller should pursue, and which he should communicate to his friends. We read travels to learn the manners, customs, usages, characters and peculiarities of other countries; but there is a sort of lullaby description of ordinary events, which we meet with in the common books of travels, which is the most tiresome, and indeed sickening, that I can conceive of. Such a traveller begins his description, for example, with phrases like the following; "The morning was serene and unclouded; the sun, which just appeared above the horizon, shone majestically bright; the tunesters of the grove, inspired by the beauty of the day, melodiously warbled forth their joy; the herdsman had just brought out his lowing herds; when we stept into the coach," &c. &c. Now, as these circumstances are such as occur pretty generally in all countries, and as we can find much better descriptions of them in every poet, from Virgil down to Thomson, I think, in charity to our friends, we are bound to omit them.

In France, as I have remarked, the travelling by post is regulated by law, and the only persons with whom you have necessarily any connection in your journies, are the postillions, the postmasters, the

innkeepers, and the servants at hotels. I shall give you some géneral idea of these several descriptions of persons.

The postillions may be considered as a kind of inferiour officers. They are under the regulation and protection of the law; they usually continue in the office for life; and, after serving a certain number of years, they are entitled to a pension from government. Their uniform is a blue coat with a red cape, and they are obliged to wear a large silver badge upon their arms, with the imperial eagle upon it. Another peculiarity in their dress is a pair of enormous jack boots, so large, that it is with the utmost difficulty they can mount, and it is impossible to walk in them. I have often been astonished that the French should persevere in adhering to an ancient usage, so painful, inconvenient and dangerous as this is. I have conjectured that the motive for adopting them, was to protect the leg of the postillion from the pole, or from the weight of the horse in case he should fall upon it, which it would most effectually do; but so difficult do they find it to mount and dismount, and so dangerous would these enormous machines be, in case the horses were to start, that I think the balance much against them.

The French postillions, when we consider the nature of their occupation, and their education, may be considered a decent, civil class of men; but I found none of that extreme politeness of behaviour which many travellers have described; on the contrary, every stranger must acknowledge, that there is among them a very general, and indeed almost universal disposition to imposition and extortion. We have rode three hundred miles without finding a single postillion satisfied with the sum which we gave him, though it was double the amount allowed by law, or which a Frenchman would have paid. We have been equally unfortunate in regard to another quality, hitherto universally ascribed to the French nation, their temperance. We have certainly met with many drunken postillions in France, and if we were to compare our experience upon this subject, in England and France, the decision would be in favour of the sobriety of the lower classes in the former. In the course of several tours to the extent of twenty six hundred miles in Great Britain, we never had the misfortune to be driven by a drunken postboy more than once; while in an equal distance in France, our lives were not less than six different times exposed to imminent danger from that cause. Neither do I believe, that the French nation at large deserve the eulogy which is usually made upon their temperance. I would ask these admirers of French virtue, why in every petty village, and in every street, we see the dram shop so temptingly displayed? And whence it arises, that the advertisements of bonne eau de vie" strike your eye more frequently than those even of the necessaries of life? Either the revolution has made a very great change in this particular, or, which I much suspect, travellers have formed their opinion from the habits of the higher classes of society. It is undoubtedly true, that in polite life, it is not the fashfon for the French gentlemen to prolong their convivial meeting's after the more solid parts of the feast are consumed; but I cannot agree to attribute this to their temperance. This virtue appears to

me to consist in a due restraint of all our appetites, and I can never apply it exclusively to those who indulge immoderately in the grati fication of the grossest of them. The French are, without controversy, the greatest gourmands in the world. Their vanity, and their love of power do not exceed their love of eating. I do not well know how I can give you a stronger or a truer picture of it.

To return to the postillions. With the exceptions of occasionally getting drunk, and of being most sturdy beggars where they think any thing is to be obtained, they are very good drivers. They drive with great dexterity, and as you would conclude from the impatience and vivacity of their nation, with great speed. You may pretty fairly reckon upon riding six miles an hour, including the time necessary to change horses, and you can generally ride ninety miles in a day in the summer season, without encroaching upon the night.

The postmasters, who are scattered all over the country, and in almost every village, are generally the most considerable men of the place. They are required by law to be always at their posts; and, as their sole employment consists in superintending the conduct of their postillions, and the management of their horses, they are a pretty indolent set of men. Generally speaking, they are civil and indeed polite; but there are too many of them who watch every opportunity to take in the ignorant or unwary traveller, either by compelling him to take more horses than the law obliges him to take, or by representing the distance for which he is entitled to receive pay, as much greater than it really is. They are allowed thirty sous per poste, or about six cents a mile out, without computing the return of the horses. The horses they furnish you, are generally stallions of the Norman breed; short, strong, and ugly ; exceedingly like the breed of horses in Canada. The harness of a French postmaster is certainly not so expensive as to endanger his ruin. It consists of tackling much simpler and more ordinary than that of our common horse carts. The leather part of the harness is of the natural colour of the leather after it has been tanned without blacking, and the traces are universally of rope. So abominable are these harnesses, that you scarcely can ride a single post in France, without being obliged to stop repeatedly in order to repair the harness, and this sometimes occurs as often as four or five times in as many miles.

The inns in France are certainly not so bad as they have been sometimes represented. If they have generally their disagrémens, they have assuredly, in all cases, their comforts. To compare them with the inns of Great Britain, would be to place them in a disadvantageous light; but, after partaking of the fare allotted you in Germany, Holland, Italy, or especially in the United States, you would think yourself very nobly and agreeably lodged in the greater part of the inns of France.

The innkeepers and their servants are, almost without exception, polite and attentive. As soon as you are driven under an arch through the building into a court yard, or what is still more common, into the stable, you find yourselves surrounded by the host,