broken and hasty though sometimes lively sketches in the present publication. They have been dragged reluctantly into day; and their imperfections and faults are chargeable only on the indiscreet zeal which has disturbed their repose.

The journal, however, through part of Brittany to Angers in Anjou, and thence to Tours by water, is in a less unfinished state than that which relates to Swisserland and Italy. The little island of Jersey, whence Mr. S. took his departure for the Continent, and which has been so long overlooked by our modern race of travellers, as if its beauties were too microscopic for their notice, is glowingly and we believe correctly described:

I entered France, this time, by Saint Maloes, from the beautiful little island of Jersey. Nothing can be conceived more interesting than this small but strong outwork of Great Britain. Its advanced situation, standing almost within the open jaws of our great enemy; the delightfulness of its romantic scenery, in which most of the charms of nature are united on a small scale, that puts every thing under the view in connected order; and the honest simple character of the native islanders, constitute Jersey a place that kindles feelings of the most agreeable and animated kind. The principal road throughout the island is a military one, and is of comparatively late construction: the roads that existed before, are now called lanes, and intersect the island at such small distances, that there is not a spot of it which cannot be seen. These lanes are all finally overshadowed by fruit-trees; and the farmhouses, which are generally of a very respectable kind, are adorned with spreading vines. Cultivation, and the system of inclosure, are here carried to the highest degree of perfection, the islanders being obliged to make the most of their miniature territory. The horses, and even the cows, are not permitted to feed at large; this would be considered a waste of pasture in a place where every inch of ground is an important object. They are to be seen tethered to their limited spaces, and looking wishfully to the luxuriant herbage that grows beyond their allotment,

The whole island of Jersey is almost within the reach of a pedestrian excursion; wherever one goes one meets with all the usual features of nature and society, modelled on so reduced a scale, and at the same time so highly finished, as to excite, at every step, an admiring surprise. The capital is a small markettown, the towns are villages, the villages scarcely reach to the size of hamlets. You are sunk in the silent recesses of a small valley, shut in by woods, and overlooked by romantic elevations, having every characteristic of Alpine mountains but size; the want of which, however, is not felt to reduce the general effect, because every thing is in proportion. In two minutes you are out of this seemingly remote concealment, looking down upon a town, and over an expanse of luxuriant, country, terminated by a rocky shore and the wide ocean. The fortifications, some of which are

perfect,

perfect, and others now in progress, form, from various points of view, a noble addition to the scenery. They crown Saint Hilliers with an imposing diadem, and while the rural beauties of the island speak peace and delight, they give an assurance of strength and courage, and seem to hold a high tone of defiance, directed full against adjoining France.

The living in Jersey is both cheap and good. French wines come over, free of duty, except a very trifling charge imposed for the sake of keeping up the harbour. Poultry is excellent, and its price low. Of fish, the island possesses most of the finest kinds. John-dory and mullet are commonly to be found in the market of Saint Hilliers. The climate is so gentle, that a number of invalids have found it answer all the purposes of a distant journey from Great Britain. A gentleman who had unfortunately cause to leave England on account of his health, lived in Jersey, in a charming cottage, with a beautiful garden, and neatly furnished, for which he paid only a guinea a-week. Fruit is good, plentiful, and cheap. The military officers who have resided in the island some time, bear unanimous testimony to its pleasantness, though I understood its society is not quite so polished and gay as that of Guernsey. The handsome houses and cottages, however, in the outskirts of the capital, and adorning the hills around it, prove that there are many very genteel people residing there.'

Mr. Scott landed at St. Maloes, proceeded to Dinan by water, and thus describes the sail up the river Rance:

France in general cannot be called picturesque; by far its greatest proportion is tame and uninteresting. The banks of the Loire, of which they boast so much, are very tame to an English eye. But the neighbourhood of Dinan can be rivalled by but few spots in the world. The sides of the Rance, as we`advanced up it, became nobly precipitous and rocky. Castellated houses and chateaux were seen on the heights, with old-fashioned gardens, and a countless number of windows. There were numerous ruins also, that attested the popular fury of the Revolution. One of the best of the mansions, distinguished by the beauty of its situation, had been taken by an English nobleman and family, who had here their abode while Buonaparte was last in France. As we were looking at this house, the remark was then made to us, which has been often made since, "Many of you English are fond of Buonaparte."

Brittany possessed a numerous and powerful nobility, whose family-seats were all built in the form of castles. Many of these were destroyed during the Revolution, so that nothing now is more common than to meet with fine ruins adding solemnity to the most exquisite beauties of natural scenery. The town of Dinan had lately attracted considerable notice by its romantic situation: coming up the river, you first catch sight of it, perched on high, overhanging the stream, with its decaying battlements and mouldering towers, admirably variegated, and presenting a glorious study for a landscape-painter. The river here winds ex

cessively,

cessively, so that you approach and recede from this fine object for a long time before you reach it. The steeps on each side are fringed with wood in some places, in others they present inaccessible projections of bare dark grey stone, and in others they afford a scanty herbage between the rugged cliffs, which is browzed by a few sheep and goats, that are seen hanging in the air.

• We landed at a bridge below the town, to which the ascent is remarkably steep, so much so, that it would seem impossible for carriages to go up and down. The walls of the town became every instant more interesting. They are very ancient, and are falling rapidly into ruin. Several detached hills near the town, have each its top encircled by the walls of a decayed castle. Winding footpaths lead down from the main road to villages amongst the rocks, and in the narrow valley below the river, now above the reach of the tide, runs its quick and reduced stream. At every fresh step, you discover a new feature of picturesque beauty : new hills disclose themselves; new rocks start up: the spires of churches and the cottages of peasants discover themselves, some half way up the mountains, others capping their extremest pinnacle. The numerous footpaths add greatly to the beauty of the scenery, for, on catching their zig-zag lines, a single peasant, or a boy pursuing a goat, was seen, and lost, and recovered again, and finally escaped the eye under some projecting cliff.

The town, on entering it through an old gateway, seems silent and worn out. The streets are empty, the houses are falling to pieces, no signs of trade, or any kind of the business of man. It appears to receive one as to a place of other years. In the summer months, however, some strangers resort to it for the sake of its mineral wells, that are situated in a deep valley a mile from the town, where the scenery is even more magnificent than it is in that quarter which I have attempted to describe. Never have I felt the fascinating power of nature so strongly, as on the evening when I first visited these beautiful wells. The sun was setting in splendour behind the lofty rocks, which on all sides enclosed the valley. The path that led down to it was steep in the extreme; the goats were feeding on the shelves of the rocks; children were hunting them from steep to steep with their shrill cries; a single priest, in his sacerdotal robe, was walking slowly, with an umbrella under his arm, along a winding path, through some low wood; a feeble and bent peasant woman was ascending the hill painfully, with a white sack on her back; a dog barked at the bottom from the door of a cottage, and a black lamb suddenly started off down the rock, playing a thousand fantastic freaks as it ran, pursued by two beautiful children.'

Of the filth and wretchedness of the peasants in Brittany, the writer gives us a picture, drawn no doubt from the life. In the course of his walks about Dinan, he was forcibly struck with the wretchedness of the cottages, none of which have glass windows. At the inn of a small village called Chaussée, a long passage up stairs led to six apartments; one open to the

sky,

sky, another half full of chaff, a third half floored, a fourth empty, while the fifth and sixth held the beds of the family, all sleeping together, male and female.

Vitré, on the road to Laval, is interesting for its venerable air of antiquity, and seems to have remained stationary in condition for the last five hundred years. 'It looked as if it had not moved with society, and existed but for itself.' The fine castle is in ruins, the rooms having been destroyed during the Revolution, but the walls and towers are magnificent. The writer's description of this scene, and his reflections on it, form one among numerous other passages in the book, which prove the change that Mr. Scott's political sentiments had undergone, since his feelings were governed by the fervor of youth.

The account of a small town on the banks of the Mayenne, called Château Gontier, presents a picture so different from the usual representations of French towns and French manners, that we must quote it:

We had scarcely entered it, when, from the windows of our voiture, we had discovered enough to make us remark that the place seemed cleaner than any we had ever seen in France. We stopped at a small inn, which fully confirmed or rather increased our first favourable impression. The articles in the kitchen, through which one must always pass to reach the rooms of a French inn, were tidy and complete. The landlady presented herself, a handsome woman, with a tendency to fleshiness becoming in one of her profession. Her own apartment, as we passed it, we saw to be nicely furnished, and the chambers up stairs left us nothing to wish for. Accommodations so unexpectedly excellent, after the wretched treatment and insufficient supplies we had been accustomed to receive, gave our ladies extreme delight. They poured out their encomiums to our civil and prepossessing landlady, and, as the greatest possible compliment, told her, that her inn was as neat as an English one. She seemed much pleased at hearing this, and said, the town of Château Gontier had the reputation of being very aimable.

The walk we took up the streets supported what she said. We understood that the inhabitants were chiefly rich and genteel people, and the cleanliness of the externals of the houses wore the appearance of a Dutch rather than of a French town. After crossing the bridge, from the inn, we found the streets remarkably steep and narrow; the town lying on the side of a romantic hill, of considerable height. The small shops are well furnished and well arranged; but the greater number of the houses are shut up within gardens, and thus shew that their owners are above trade. We did not see a single beggar in the place; whereas usually, in France, the traveller is invaded by them, and assailed at every corner and place of stoppage. 'We afterwards were told, that in fact there was not a single beggar in Château Gontier. The road

on

on which it is situated is not a very frequented one; the route we took being no direct line, either from or to Paris. Very few English, they said, passed through their town, and the appearance of our party of course excited much curiosity, and drew upon it much anxious observation.

Nothing can be imagined more beautiful than the view from the top of the hill, where there is the public promenade. It is crowned by a neat church, with a wooden spire, like the church of an English village. The river runs at its foot, and whether one looks up or down, it presents delightful and luxuriant banks, with mills and pleasant houses. The houses scattered over the hill are beautifully placed among the trees, and the promenade has the most superb prospect from its shaded walk.

We entered the church, which, notwithstanding all we had seen, quite astounded us by its surprising order and decency, compared with the general dilapidation of the churches in France. The passages were matted, a thing we had never seen before in the country. The whole of the interior was kept with the greatest care, and furnished even beyond completeness.

The sexton met us in the principal aisle, being, as he said, in constant attendance on the church. He was in appearance as much above his fellow-sextons as every thing else in the place was superior to what we had before seen in France. The church had

no architectural elegances or pictures to be shown; it was simply neat. He took us into a room where the priests robed for the service, and where there were wash-hand basins, and towels, and a general regularity of arrangement quite novel to us. We began to wonder whether we had not been transplanted to England by enchantment. It seemed as if we had, at least, been removed from France. The old sexton was much pleased with our praises of his church and town, and the more so as we accompanied them with expressions of dissatisfaction with what we had seen in other French places. He also told us that Château Gontier was famous for what we admired in it, and that the people were as good as they were clean.'

Angers also is a town, like Vitré, that in every feature gives evidence of its antiquity:

'We arrived on a Sunday in Angers, and had scarcely set our feet in the inn, before we were told by the landlady, that, if we had a mind to see the promenade, we were almost too late; and it was delightful. This immediate and earnest intimation induced us to think that there must be something peculiarly interesting in the promenade of Angers above that of all other towns. We accordingly made ourselves a little smart, and then set out. The landlady's ideas of the delightful differed in some measure from ours. We found, at the very top of the town, in a place which looked like a horse-market, three or four rows of miserable trees, and a number of people, male and female, walking up and down between them, staring at each other. This sort of ridiculous promenading is in vogue throughout all France: you never scarcely meet a walk

ing

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