found who would attire herself with a careful attention to taste, though her mirror alone was witness to the effect produced.

31st. The vent de bise has set in, and realised all the fears we entertained of its severity. Nothing can be more detestable or perfidious; for while a bright sun lures one from the fireside, this treacherous wind rushes from behind the corner of the first street you enter, and penetrates through every muscle of the frame, making the cheeks blue, the nose red, and the eyes tearful. Every soul one encounters in the streets, looks like a gorgon; curls are blown into straight and lanky locks; bonnets are twisted into most uncouth shapes, and draperies are driven from the limbs they were meant to cover. In short, the streets present figures that strikingly resemble some of the good prints of a windy day.

The inhabitants, although accustomed to the visits of this rough and disagreeable guest, betray no inconsiderable dread at his approach; and each person one encounters exclaims, Ah, quelle horreur! le vent de bise est venu."

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Our east wind is not to be compared with the

bise in its chilling coldness; although I think its effects on 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 roles.

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 sitting rooms 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