hose who live in them: some of them are constructed at the
expence of the farmers, and are let out at a yearly hire of four or
five livres. The fronts are masonry: the small gardens which you see
above, belong to these cottagers; many of them have moreover a cow,
which they feed in the lanes and woods. Altogether, their condition is
more comfortable than you would imagine."

As the distance between Blois and Orleans was too much for one day, we
had divided it into two, and arranged it so as to comprehend Chambord in
the first. This route indeed was considerably out of our direct way, but
Mr. and Mrs. Younge resolved that I should see Chambord, and would hear
of no excuses.

In pursuance of this plan we turned out of the main road, and entered a
narrow one, which by its recluseness and solitude seemed to lead us into
the recesses of the country. Nothing can be more beautiful than these
bye-roads both in France and England. On the highways, and in the
vicinity or route of central and populous towns, the spirit of
improvement, and the caprice of wealth, too frequently destroy the
scenes of nature: the artist in fashion is set at work, and the field
and the meadow is supplanted by the park, the lawn, and the measured
avenue. In the bye-lanes, on the contrary, the country is generally left
in its natural rudeness, and therefore in its natural beauty: no one
thinks of improving the house, orchard, and fields of his tenant; no one
cares whether his gates are painted, or his hedges are trim and even.
The bye-road, therefore, has always been my favourite haunt; and if
ever I should make a pedestrian tour through Europe, I should go in a
track very different from any who have gone before.

The scenery in this cross-road to Chambord, as to its general character,
was exactly what I had anticipated; recluse and romantic to the most
extreme degree. The fields were small, and thickly enclosed; nothing
could be more beautiful than the shocks of corn as seen through the
thick foliage of the hedges. "How pleasant," said Mademoiselle to me,
"would be a walk by sunset under those hedge-rows." I agreed in the
observation, and repeat it as conveying an idea of the character of the
scenery. The gates and stiles to these several fields seemed as if they
had been made by Robinson Crusoe: there is nothing in America more rough
and aukward. We passed several cottages very delightfully situated, and
without a single exception covered with grapes