the inn looks so unpromising, that I fear we must abandon the project.

The entrance to Vienne offers one of the most striking scenes imaginable. St. Colombe, divided from it by the bright and limpid Rhône, with many a white sail, that, bird-like, seems to skim the blue waters on which it glides, is seen to the right; and on the left, hills covered with vineyards, many of them crowned by ruins of towers and fortresses, with large rocks peeping through foliage as luxuriant as the glowing skies that overhang their leafy canopies. All here is beautiful, while one keeps out of the miserable streets in the interior of the town; but on entering the vile inn, the only one here, all is changed. Filthy stairs, dingy and dirty rooms; attendants possessing all the attributes of the ancient Locrians; and beds in which one is compelled to reflect, feelingly, on the disadvantages of animated nature; repasts where the want of cleanliness is obvious; and noises various and appalling, as if chaos had come again. The grave is said to level all distinctions, and the same observation may well be applied to the "table ronde," the name of our own, for no matter what may be the rank or station of its guests, they are all hurled into one focus; all receive the same attention, or rather want of attention, the same bad fare, and must submit to the same system of imposition. The landady seems to act on the charitable system of never turning away the weary traveller from her door, and of always taking the stranger in. We have engaged nearly the whole inn for ourselves and suite, at an exorbitant price; the proprietor reserving, beside those occupied by the

family, one bed-room and salon for the use of travellers. The stable and cuisine, which are only divided by a narrow passage through which the stairs pass, vie in odour and noise. The landlady seemed no less offended than surprised, on our expressing disapprobation of her inn; and, with a toss of the head, "wondered what we could want more than was to be found at the table ronde.”

A table-d'hôte is kept in the house, at which the passengers of the diligences dine, with the landlady and our servants; and, if we may judge from the noise and laughter we hear, no inconsiderable hilarity prevails at these repasts. My femme-de-chambre told me that the French people only laughed at the bad fare which made the English cross; an observation highly characteristic of the distinction between the two people, though she who made it viewed it only as a proof of the blameable want of fastidiousness of the French.

18th. A barouche, with six inside and four outside passengers, arrived here at a late hour last night, and, to our perfect surprise, the courier was told that there was accommodation for them. They were conducted to the reserved bed-room, containing four beds, the distribution of which the new-comers were left to decide; but males and females, masters and servants, were all expected to share not only the same room, but the same pillows, as in the days of patriarchal simplicity. The greater part of a supper ordered for the hungry travellers was devoured by a ravenous dog, a privileged favourite in this ill-ordered establish

ment, and whose propensity to theft the waiter assured us frequently occasioned similar accidents.

I mounted my horse with great pleasure to-day, in order to explore the interesting environs of Vienne, which are only accessible on foot or on horseback. Some of the tracks we passed require no small portion of courage to encounter; many of them being steep and dangerous, with a precipice on one side, at the bottom of which rushes a foaming stream, and on the other a ridge of steep and rocky mountains, rising abruptly, and only leaving space between their base and the precipice for the precarious passage of a single horse. We were amply repaid by the views which the acclivity of the mountain presented. They were various and beautiful; and the picturesque ruins of the castle of Mont Léans, which we quitted our horses to explore, form a fine feature in the landscape. The castle of Mont Léans stands on a rocky eminence, the base of which is washed by a rapid and winding stream. It is surrounded by wooded mountains, and these are overtopped on its right by the snow-crowned Alps and the Jura, and on the left by the steep and picturesque mountains of Dauphiné. Many a glowing vineyard and verdant valley is seen from the romantic ruins of Mont Léans; amid which wild shrubs and brushwood have sprung up in abundance, adding much to the beauty of the old castle. In many parts a huge rock rears its giant head against the walls, as if to support the mouldering battlements, and wreaths of ivy and wild flowers interlace them together. The castle is supposed to have been built at the time of the

Crusades, and must have been a place of considerable strength. No trace of any road to it remains, and it is only accessible to the pedestrian or equestrian.

The château de Roussillon, and the tower that stands on the mountain of St. Colombe, as also the château de Seyssuel, formerly strong fortresses, now add considerably to the beauty of the scenery; which offers as attractive subjects to the pencil of the artist or amateur as can be found in France. The peasantry we encountered in our ride to-day are peculiarly stupid, and nearly as wanting in intelligence as the flocks they tend. They speak a patois which was as incomprehensible to the ears of the French gentlemen who accompanied us as to ours; nor could they understand the questions addressed to them by their compatriots.

Those who are acquainted only with the post-routes in France, can form no notion of the romantic beauty of some of the scenery in the interior of the country; but the badness of the roads and inns in remote places exclude all but hardy equestrians or pedestrians, who fear not vile paths and worse inns.

19th. We rode to Condrieux to-day. The town is about three leagues from Vienne, and is situated on the opposite side of the Rhône, which is crossed by large boats, that are worked by ropes sustained by cranes, erected at each side of the river. These boats are of considerable dimensions; and continually passing and repassing, freighted with passengers in gay costumes, they add greatly to the animation of the picture. On leaving Vienne we proceeded along the banks of the river for about four miles, through a

country well wooded, highly cultivated, and diversified by hills, rocks, and mountains, which are reflected in the bright waters of the Rhône. We crossed the river, and proceeded by the St. Colombe side, until we reached Condrieux, passing through scenery even still more attractive than that presented on the Vienne side of the water. In one part, an island is formed by two rapid streams, rushing down from the mountains, and falling into the Rhône. This verdant isle is rich in dwarf trees and luxuriant shrubs, which bend as if to refresh their foliage in the limpid streams that surround them; and as the sun sheds its brilliant beams on this fairy isle, and sparkles on the ripples of the water, it resembles a vast emerald set in diamonds.

The town of Condrieux is mean, and the houses of the commonest description. The female inhabitants were seated in groups, on stone benches, in front of their houses, plying the distaff, knitting, or working, and all singing or talking; while their children, nearly in a state of nudity, gambolled around them.

They appeared much surprised, and not a little amused, at seeing a lady on a side-saddle; as females here mount in a most patriarchal mode—that is, precisely as the men do, of which we have already had frequent specimens.

The women were nearly all dark-haired, with sallow or brown complexions, most of them without any covering on their heads, and wearing brown corsets, coloured petticoats, and gaudy handkerchiefs; their countenances were lively, but not one among the many we saw had the slightest pretensions to good looks.