old. Our informant was
ploughing in a fierce cocked hat, with a team composed of a cow and an
ass. Query, might not cocked hats, which appear to our ideas an
exclusively military costume, have originated in such countries as
these, among the vine-dressers? who flap down the sides alternately, in
a manner that shows they understood the true use of them as a parasol.
Vermanton is a small obscure place, affording an inn slovenly enough,
though not glaringly bad.

From hence to Lucy le Bois, where the horses were baited, fifteen miles.
A pretty sequestered valley occurs about three miles beyond Vermanton;
but the whole of the road, like that of the day before, may be travelled
in the dark without any loss: the best part of it consists of a distant
view of the vale and town of Avalon, backed by the Nivernois hills. In
the old French Fablieux, the valley of Avalon is selected as the spot
where a fairy confined Sir Lanval, her mortal lover; but whether the
French Avalon, or the beautiful vale of Glastonbury was meant, appears
doubtful, as the latter formerly bore the same name. There is a
resemblance between the two districts, which amounts to an odd
coincidence, particularly with regard to one of the Nivernois hills in
the back ground, which presents a strong likeness of Glastonbury Tor. We
should have passed through Avalon, but for a trick of the voiturier, who
took a cross road to avoid paying the post duty there, and save his
money at the expense of our bones. For this manoeuvre he might have been
severely punished, had we chosen to interfere.

From Lucy le Bois to Rouvray, where we slept, the level of the country
becomes gradually more elevated, and its general features much more
English, consisting of corn, woody copses, and pastures full of
cowslips. I cannot say, however, that we found any thing to remind us of
England at the detestable inn where we were quartered for the night, and
have no doubt but that Lucy le Bois or Avalon would have afforded
somewhat much better. The only civilized person was a large black
baker's dog, who, like Gil Blas's first travelling acquaintance, seemed
free of the house, and did the honours of the supper to us with an
assiduity as disinterested, "Ah, messieurs," said his civil master, when
we stept across the street in the morning, to return the dog's visit in
form, "je suis charme que vous trouvez l'Abri si beau; je suis au
desespoir qu'il ne soit pas chez lui a present, mais je vais l