at a future day, when they will be visible to every one else--but she
sees things existing at present, that defy the ken of all other animals,
rational and irrational. While reading her account of the English
vehicles, English cottages, &c. &c. which she observed in her journey
from Calais to Paris, we could not help asking ourselves, where were our
eyes during the time we travelled that road? We are satisfied, however,
that they were in their right place, and tolerably well employed; and
that if they did not encounter the signs of Anglomania mentioned by her
Ladyship, it was because these were to be perceived by no one but
herself. Wide indeed is the difference between travelling in France and
England! The poet Grey, in one of his charming letters, affirms, that in
the former country it would be the finest in the world, were it not for
the terrible state of the inns; but it must have greatly deteriorated
there, or have improved in his native isle since his time, for there can
not be the slightest question as to the superior delights of journeying
in the latter at present. The inns in France are still bad enough, in
all conscience, and offer but a dreary welcome to one who has been
accustomed to the neatness and comforts of English hostels. There are,
however, various other particulars of importance for a traveller's
enjoyment, which Shakspeare's "sea-walled garden" furnishes in by far
the greater abundance. In France the roads are comparatively much
inferior, and the general appearance of the country is less pleasing.
You meet there with few or none of those detached farm-houses, with
their little dependencies of cottages, which everywhere greet the eye in
England, bespeaking the honest and well-conditioned yeoman, and
presenting a picture of prosperity and contentment,--the villages
through which you pass, mostly wear a decayed and squalid
appearance--the magnificent country-seats, with their parks and other
appurtenances, whose frequent recurrence in England constitutes so rich
a feast for the gaze of the stranger, are rarely rivalled in France--the
landscape here, also, is much seldomer able to borrow that venerable
grace and romantic charm which the remains of feudal ages alone can
lend. This last circumstance is one greatly to be regretted; for perhaps
the most exquisite gratification to be derived from travelling through a
country, where for centuries civilization in a greater or less degree
has exercised sway, ar