out breakfast, as we had merely stopped to change horses, without
resting for any refreshment since we quitted Paris. Upon our arrival
at Sens, at about seven o'clock in the morning, we were amused by the
appearance of a party of persons running, gesticulating, and talking
with all their might, who brought hot coffee, milk, bread, and fruit
to the carriage-door. At first we were disinclined to avail ourselves
of the breakfast thus offered, but learning that we should not get any
thing else before twelve o'clock in the day, we overcame our scruples,
and partook of the despised fare, which we found very good of its
kind.

The country we passed through was rich with vineyards, and, on account
of the undulating nature of the land, and the frequency of towns
and villages, exceedingly pleasing to the eye. We were continually
delighted with some splendid burst of scenery. There was no want
of foliage, the absence of the magnificent timber which we find in
England being the less remarkable, in consequence of the number of
trees which, if not of very luxuriant growth, greatly embellish the
landscape, while we saw the vine everywhere, the rich clusters of its
grapes reaching to the edge of the road. Though robbed of its
grace, and its lavish display of leaf and tendril, by the method
of cultivating, each plant being reduced to the size of a small
currant-bush, the foliage, clothing every hill with green, gave the
country an aspect most grateful to those who are accustomed to English
verdure.

We made our first halt at Auxerre, when a _dejeuner a la fourchette_
was served up to the travellers in the diligence. A bad English
dinner is a very bad thing, but a bad French one is infinitely worse.
Hitherto, we had fed upon nothing but the most dainty fare of the best
hotels and _cafes_, and I, at least, who wished to see as much as I
could of France, was not displeased at the necessity of satisfying the
cravings of appetite with bread and melon. There were numerous dishes,
all very untempting, swimming in grease, and brought in a slovenly
manner to the table; a roast fowl formed no exception, for it was
sodden, half-raw, and saturated with oil. It was only at the very
best hotels in France that we ever found fowls tolerably well roasted;
generally speaking, they are never more than half-cooked, and are
as unsightly as they are unsavoury. Our fellow-passengers did ample
justice to the meal, from which we gladly escaped, in order to de