it had acquired. A Frenchman observed,
"_Le vin nest pas mauvais_," which phrase may be taken for a
commendation, as they seldom carry their praise so far as to say a thing
is positively good. The country between Poligny and Moray exhibits a
continued succession of fir-trees, unmixed with any thing to give
variety to the scene. The woods, however, seemed to afford shelter to
but few birds; and in most parts of the continent, even the
singing-birds are not spared, but included in the general proscription
to gratify the palate of the epicure.

We arrived to an _English breakfast_ at Moray; they told us its honey
was in great repute throughout France, and we thought it deserved more
than the ordinary commendation of a Frenchman. Every thing here was neat
and clean, and both the town and appearance of its inhabitants brought
_North Wales_ strongly to my recollection. This being a frontier place,
the French custom-house officers put _seals_ on our portmanteaus, for
which favour we paid two francs for each seal; these were cut off with
great formality on our arrival at Geneva. After having travelled for
many hours amongst a succession of gloomy mountains, which afford
nothing that can either interest or enliven, I never recollect feeling a
greater sensation of delight and astonishment, than when, from the
summit of one of the mountains of Jura, I first beheld the lake and city
of Geneva, backed by the mountains of Savoy, and by the Alps, which,
even at this vast distance, made all the other mountains we had passed
appear but trivial.

It is by contrast that all pleasures are heightened, and even the tour
which I afterwards made amongst the Alps, did not lessen the force of
that impression which the sudden appearance of this magnificent
spectacle had left upon my mind. The road down the mountain is an
astonishing work, and is part of the grand line of road made by
Buonaparte, to facilitate the passage of troops into Italy over the
Grand Simplon. A fountain near the road has an inscription to Napoleon
the Great; in one part the road winds through an excavation in the rock.
One cannot but here exclaim with the poet,

What cannot Art and Industry perform,
When Science plans the progress of their toil!

At Fernay we visited the Chateau, so long celebrated as the residence
of Voltaire. It is now the property and residence of M. de Boudet, who,
as we were informed, has made great improvements in the place since it
has