their harness and accoutrements, compared with those of England. From London to Dover, we had bowled away with ease and rapidity; the carriage seemed to cut through the air with a swift and even motion. Now we crawled and jumbled along, as it pleased the fancy of the horses and driver, upon the latter of which no remonstrance of ours would have had any effect. The costume of the post-boy (who drives three horses abreast, a fat, full-sized beast in the middle, his own rather smaller, and the off horse always a ragged flap-eared pony, looking as if he had just been caught up from a common) is whimsical enough; it is universally the royal livery: a shabby, dirty, short-waisted blue jacket, turned up with crimson, and laced sometimes with silver; boots resembling those of our heavy cavalry, and a thick clubbed pigtail, swinging like a pendulum from beneath a rusty japan hat. It was not till we had reached the distance of Abbeville that we met with the celebrated genuine grosses bottes, whose enormous size put me in mind of my nursery days, when I used to listen to the wonderous tale of the giant-killer and his seven-leagued boots. The lash of the post-boy's whip is thick and knotted, and they have a curious method of cracking it upon passing other carriages, to give notice of their approach: this saves their lungs, and has not an unpleasant effect, the cracking sound being of a peculiar nature, double, as if it said "crac-crac" at each stroke. It is not every post-boy, however, who manages this little implement in the true style. They all carry the badge of their profession upon the left arm (like our watermen), being a silver or metal plate with the arms of France upon it. From Calais to Haut-buisson the country is extremely flat, barren and uninteresting, like the ugliest parts of Wiltshire and Sussex; and the straight line in which all the French roads are cut is tiresome and monotonous to a great degree. The case is not mended even when you advance as far as Marquise, and I began to yawn in melancholy anticipation of a similar prospect for nearly a hundred and eighty miles, which yet remained to be passed ere we reached Paris; but upon coming near Beaupres, we were agreeably disappointed, finding the surface of the country more undulated, and patches of woodlands thinly strewn here and there—it is amazing how greatly the eye is relieved by this change. The hamlets between Haut-buisson and Boulogne much resemble those in the west of England; we were perpetually fancying ourselves in a Somersetshire village as we passed through them. On the road-side it is very common to see large crucifixes, raised to a considerable height, with the figure of our Saviour the size of life. We remarked one in particular, painted black, and the image flesh-colour, with the drapery about the middle gilt; another was inclosed in a small railed space (like a village pound), surrounded by four or five clumsy stone images, which I rather imagine were meant to represent the holy women who assembled round the cross during our Saviour's last moments. As we approached Boulogne, we met several old peasants: they all wore cocked hats, and a suit of decent, sad-coloured clothes, not unlike the dress of our villagers on a Sunday.

The entrance to Boulogne is very picturesque: the fortifications are crumbling a little beneath the touch of time, and the walls are partly overgrown by trees and lichens; but a very little exertion would render it formidable enough, I imagine, to besiegers. We dined here at an inn, where they thought they could not do us a greater favour than by sending up a meal in what they believed to be the English style of cookery; consequently it was neither one thing nor the other, and extremely disagreeable: amongst various delicacies, we had melted salt butter swimming in oil, and quite rancid, brought to table in a tea-cup, and a large dish of tough spongy lumps of veal, which they called veal cutlets. As I sat at the window, which opened upon the principal street, I had an opportunity of remarking a specimen of true French flattery, but I was not quite so pervious to its benign influence as Sterne describes his ladies to have been in the Sentimental Journey. A little ragged urchin of about ten years old rather annoyed me, by jumping up and grinning repeatedly in my face: "Allez, allez, que faites vous là?" said I. "C'est que je veux dire bon jour à Madame!"—"Eh, bien donc, vous l'avez dit à present—allez!"—"Ah! mais que Madame est jolie! Mon Dieu! elle est very prit. Elle me donnera un sous, n'est ce pas?"

It was at Poix that we accidentally met a woman of Normandy upon the road. She was well looking, and the costume both singular and becoming: the snow white cap with a deep plaited border, and a crown half a yard in height, fastened on the forehead by a gold pin, the long drop ear-rings and gold cross in a heavy worked setting, suspended round the throat by a narrow black riband, white handkerchief crossed over the bosom, and a body and petticoat of opposite colours, with full white shift sleeves coming over the elbows, formed a remarkably pretty dress.

I ought to have mentioned before now, that on the road between Marquise and Beaupres we were amused by observing an unfinished tower, erected by Bonaparte some years since, designed to commemorate his intended victory over the English, by invasion—a true chateau en Espagne. Wishing to refresh ourselves by leaving the carriage while the horses were changed, I entered a sort of rustic public-house, where I observed with much interest the interior of a French cottage kitchen and its inhabitants. A group of peasants sat round a wood fire, apparently waiting for their dinner, which, as a brisk lively paysanne took it off the embers to pour into a dish, looked and smelt most temptingly; it consisted of a mess of bread, herbs, and vegetables, stewed in broth: there was a member of this little circle who seemed to watch the progress of the cooking with peculiar delight; I mean a large, powerful, yet playful dog, whose exact breed we did not discover, but we were informed he was English—doubtless he recognized his countrymen! The plates and dishes, utensils, &c. were ranged upon shelves from the top to the bottom of the little kitchen, and equally distributed on all sides, instead of being confined to the vicinity of the dresser, as is generally the case in England; they were chiefly of a coarse white clay, painted in a gaudy and sprawling pattern of red flowers: the old woman of the house apologized for their not being quite so bright as they ought to have been, but said the flies dirtied them sadly; however, every thing looked clean and comfortable. The costume of the men is not becoming; they all wear white coarse cotton night-caps, and smock-frocks dyed with indigo; their features and countenances much resemble those of a similar rank in England. It appears to me that the old peasants alone wear the cocked hat in this part of France: perhaps it is a remnant of the national dress in the time of the ancien regime. The young children, from one to five or six years of age, are (generally speaking) very pretty, and some of them have the drollest little faces I ever saw, dark eyes and marked eyebrows and lashes, full of smiles and roguery; their hair is always allowed to hang at full length upon their shoulders, never being shorn and cropt. Having dined at Boulogne, we proceeded on our journey as far as Samer, intending to sleep the first night at Montreuil; but a direct stop was put to any such project, by the circumstance of a total absence of post-horses; they were all too much fatigued to carry us farther, or were employed in the service