the spirits is much more depressing. Here the people complain of the wind incessantly, but it leaves them the power of complaining; while an east wind with us attacks the trachea, and deprives one nearly of the capability of expressing the injury it inflicts, even when most tormentingly incited to it by physical suffering. The streets and roads, which two days ago were inundated with water and mud, are now as dry as in summer; so completely has the wind parched up the watery substance that covered them.

I believe that a gloomy person is a creature unknown among the French. Whatever cause for discontent or affliction which may occur, the effect is an increase of animation. Joy and sorrow find the same safety-valve for the escape of undue excitement. "Je suis si malheureux," or "Je suis si content," is uttered with an earnestness that leaves no doubt of the truth of the assertion, whatever suspicions it may excite as to the duration of the sentiment that prompted it. The suppression of external symptoms of grief or happiness among the French is rarely practised. They give utterance to their feelings with a naiveté resembling that of children; and this naiveté has a peculiar charm, as an indication of an amiable confidence in the interest of those to whom it is evinced. We betray a deeper knowledge of human nature by concealing, except from a few dear and chosen friends, our sorrow and our joy.

February 8th.-A long chasm in my journal, the result of indisposition. The vent de bise has proved too severe even for my northern nerves, and I have been

unable to read, write, or think, under the severe cold it inflicted. I am told change of air will cure me, and mean to try its effect in a few days.

12th.-Mardi-gras was ushered in with various ceremonies, offering a strange mixture of devotion and profaneness. Processions of the different religious orders, male and female, bearing crosses and other symbols of their faith, were met at every street by groups dressed in the most fantastic and grotesque masquerade habits. All this was not pleasing to English eyes, and was calculated to convey no very favourable notion of the religion that tolerates it. It was curious to see scaramouches and other ridiculous masks bowing to the cross and saintly banners of the church as they came in contact, and then turning away to perform the antics of their rôles.

Aix, 17th.—The parting from our friends at Avignon yesterday was more painful than one could have imagined a parting could be, from persons to whom three months ago we were strangers. But there is truth in the old adage, that "Liking begets liking," and we experienced too many proofs of good-will from our acquaintances, not to feel a lively interest in their welfare, and a strong sympathy in their regret at our separation. The pockets of our carriages were plentifully filled with cakes, bonbons, orange flower water, and bouquets of flowers, each fair friend bringing an offering for our journey; and many were the reiterated good wishes and kind adieus that greeted our ears as

we drove off from the hotel, in which we had spent many agreeable days.

And all this has passed away like a dream, and here we are en route again. The road between Avignon and Orgon has nothing to diversify it, except the wooden bridge of an immense span which crosses the Durance, and the convent of the Chartreuse, which is romantically situated. The aspect of the country is wild and dreary, bounded by barren hills, with sombre olive trees and cedars, which are so few and far between, that they only increase the gloomy character of the scenery. Our courier having advanced rapidly before us, we found an excellent dinner and a blazing wood fire; a dinner so good as to lead to the belief that an inn producing such a one must afford tolerable sleeping-rooms. But this was far from being the case; and more wretched apartments, or more miserable-looking beds than those allotted to travellers, I never beheld. It is a remarkable circumstance that, while even in a bad inn in France a good dinner can generally be obtained, the sleeping and sittingrooms are destitute of all comfort; whereas, in England, it is precisely vice versa. The rooms and furniture in an English inn present really a respectable appearance, while the dinners are in general execrable, and served with a pretension that renders one still less disposed to pardon their badness. Soup tasting of nothing but pepper, fish not often fresh, the everlasting beefsteak with its accustomed garnish of horseradish, an unsuccessful attempt at cutlets panné, halfboiled vegetables, and a stale tart, is the general bill

of fare served up: and all this melancholy resemblance of a dinner is introduced with a flourish of gaudy plated covers, borne by two or three well-dressed waiters headed by the master or mistress, who seem to think that the showy covers are more important than the viands they conceal. The table presents a goodly appearance until the dishes are uncovered; when lo! the paucity and ordinary quality of their contents sadly disappoint the incipient hopes and aspirations of the hungry traveller, whose expectations of a plenteous repast have been most powerfully excited by the attendant finery. Then comes the bill, as ample in its dimensions as the dinner was scanty, every item being a separate charge, and the total amounting to a sum for which an excellent dinner might have been furnished. Yes, with all my love of England, and no one loves it more, I must confess that there are some things in it that require correction; and bad dinners and expensive charges are amongst the number.

In a French inn the table-linen is not remarkable for its fineness or whiteness, but still it is clean; the viands are not served up under richly chased plated covers, nor are the knives of a good appearance, and the dishes are not brought up by two or three welldressed waiters. But a good soup, a fricandeau à-l'oseille, or chicorée, with côtelettes à-la-minute, poulet à-la-Tartare, pomme de terre à-la-maîtred'hôtel, followed by a smoking hot soufflé à-la-vanille, consoles one for these good things being placed on the table by a garçon in a jacket of coarse materials, assisted by a girl whose dress is more picturesque than neat: and, subsequently, a small piece of paper, on

which the sum of five francs per head for each guest is inscribed, is a crowning grace to the whole, and saves time and money. That they manage a dinner, at least, better in a French inn than with us, surely every traveller who is capable of judging of one must admit.

Aix is a place of considerable extent, and has one extremely fine street, which is separated from the boulevards at each side of it by rows of large trees, similar ones dividing the boulevards from the paved narrow street at each side beyond them. A long line of remarkably fine houses bound the view, running the length of the street, and three handsome fountains grace the centre. The effect is very striking, and conveys more the idea of a quarter in some large capital than the principal street in a provincial town.

18th.—The sun shines so brilliantly, and the air is so mild, that one might fancy it the end of April instead of February. How delightful to anticipate the genial spring by two whole months! If this weather will but last, it is worth coming to France to enjoy it; at least to persons like me, who suffer from cold. The climate is, I am told, infinitely superior to that of Avignon; and I can readily believe this from the specimen we have had already, the difference in warmth being very great. The town is of considerable extent, the streets good and clean, the shops apparently well stocked, and the cafés, those indispensable luxuries of French towns, thronged with guests sipping their mocha or lemonade. House-rent is so very moderate here, and provisions so cheap and