ulberry and the vine, that they may be both cultivated on lands which
would otherwise be barren.

We passed several flower-mills on the river Gere; a beautiful stream,
occasionally very thickly wooded, and passing in a channel, which, as
seen from the road, has any appearance but that of a level. The smaller
rivers in France, like the bye lanes, are infinitely more beautiful than
the larger; the water, passing over a bed of gravel, is limpid and
transparent to a degree, and the grounds through which they roll, being
left in their natural rudeness, have a character of wildness, romance,
and picturesque, which is not to be found in the greater navigable
streams. An evening stroll along their banks, would favour the
imagination of a poet. I feel some surprize, that a greater proportion
of the writers of France are not their descriptive poets.

The Gere is animated by numerous flower-mills; there are likewise many
paper-mills. They chiefly pleased me by their lovely situation.
Mademoiselle St. Sillery repeatedly sung a line of a French song, "O
that I were a miller's maid." It is but justice to this lady to say,
that she possessed a sensibility to the charms of Nature, which is
seldom found in tempers so apparently thoughtless.

As we passed several cottages by the road-side, we saw the peasant girls
spinning; some of them were working in silk, others in cotton. They all
seemed happy, gay, and noisy; and where there were one or two of them
together, seemed to interrupt their labour by playing with each other.
It is impossible that a people of this kind can feel their labour. Some
of them, moreover, were really handsome.

We reached Vienne to a late dinner, and resolved to remain there for the
night. Our inn had nothing to recommend it but its situation. Our dinner
however was plentiful, and what is not very common, was very well
dressed. The vegetables would not have disgraced an hotel in London.
Potatoes are becoming as common in France as in England, and the greens
of all sorts are to the full as good. "Confess," said Mr. Younge, "that
you would not have dined better in London, and the price will be about
one-fourth." "And confess," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "that in
London you would not have had such an accompaniment to your dinner, such
a lovely sky, and a garden so luxuriant in flowers." The windows were
open, and looked backwards into the garden, which was certainly
beautiful and luxuriant to a degree. On the