to him. They
are like great old castles half furnished. The dirty chimneys suit but
ill with the marble chimney-pieces, and the gilded chairs and mirrors,
plundered in the revolution; the tables from which you eat are of ill
polished common wood; the linen coarse though clean. The cutlery, where
they have any, is very bad; but in many of the inns, trusting, no doubt,
to the well known expedition of French fingers, they put down only forks
to dinner.

We left Montargis at seven in the morning, and travelled very slowly
indeed. At five o'clock, after a very tedious journey, we arrived at
Briare, a distance of only 27 miles from Montargis. The landlord here
was the most talkative, and the most impudent fellow I ever saw.
Although demanding the most unreasonable terms, he would not let us
leave his house; at last he said that he would agree to our terms,
namely, 18 francs for our supper and beds: It is best to call it supper
in France, as this is their own phrase for a meal taken at night.

The road between Montargis and Briare, though not of hard mettle and
without causeway, is yet level and in good condition. The country,
except in the immediate vicinity of Briare, is flat and uninteresting;
no inclosures; the soil of a gravelly nature, mixed in some parts with
chalk. It seems, from the stubble of last year and the young wheat of
this, to be very poor indeed. There is here an odd species of wheat
cultivation, in which the grain, like our potatoes, is seen growing on
the tops of high separate ridges. It struck me that the deep hollows
left between each ridge, might be intended to keep the water. The
instruments of agriculture are quite the same as we have seen all along.
Almost all of the peasants whom we saw to-day wore cocked hats, and had
splendid military tails; we supposed, at first that they had all
_marched_. There are great numbers of soldiers returning to their homes,
pale, broken down and wearied. Some of them very polite, many of them
rough and ruffian-looking enough. About Briare, there are innumerable
vineyards, and yet we had very bad grapes; but that was our landlord's
fault, not that of the vines.

The rooms at this inn (Au Grand Dauphin), smoke like the devil, or
rather like his abode. It is a wretched place; the inn opposite, called
La Poste, is said to be better. The weather is now as cold here (10th of
November), as I have ever felt it in winter at home, and it is a more
piercing and searching cold.