Observations and Reflections Made in the Course of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany, Vo | Page 3

done; so
resolving no longer to indulge his vanity or fondness, fairly hung it up
in the convent chapel, and made a solemn vow to look on it no more. I
remember a much stronger instance of self-denial practised by a pretty
young lady of Paris once, who was enjoined by her confessor to wring
off the neck of her favourite bullfinch, as a penance for having passed
too much time in teaching him to pipe tunes, peck from her hand,
&c.--She obeyed; but never could be prevailed on to see the priest
again.
We are going now to leave Calais, where the women in long white
camblet clokes, soldiers with whiskers, girls in neat slippers, and short
petticoats contrived to show them, who wait upon you at the
inn;--postillions with greasy night-caps, and vast jack-boots, driving
your carriage harnessed with ropes, and adorned with sheep-skins, can
never fail to strike an Englishman at his first going abroad:--But what is

our difference of manners, compared to that prodigious effect produced
by the much shorter passage from Spain to Africa; where an hour's time,
and sixteen miles space only, carries you from Europe, from
civilization, from Christianity. A gentleman's description of his feelings
on that occasion rushes now on my mind, and makes me half ashamed
to sit here, in Dessein's parlour, writing remarks, in good time!--upon
places as well known as Westminster-bridge to almost all those who
cross it at this moment; while the custom-house officers intrusion puts
me the less out of humour, from the consciousness that, if I am
disturbed, I am disturbed from doing nothing.

CHANTILLY.
Our way to this place lay through Boulogne; the situation of which is
pleasing, and the fish there excellent. I was glad to see Boulogne,
though I can scarcely tell why; but one is always glad to see something
new, and talk of something old: for example, the story I once heard of
Miss Ashe, speaking of poor Dr. James, who loved profligate
conversation dearly,--"That man should set up his quarters across the
water," said she; "why Boulogne would be a seraglio to him."
The country, as far as Montreuil, is a coarse one; thin herbage in the
plains and fruitless fields. The cattle too are miserably poor and lean;
but where there is no grass, we can scarcely expect them to be fat: they
must not feed on wheat, I suppose, and cannot digest tobacco. Herds of
swine, not flocks of sheep, meet one's eye upon the hills; and the very
few gentlemen's feats that we have passed by, seem out of repair, and
deserted. The French do not reside much in private houses, as the
English do; but while those of narrower fortunes flock to the country
towns within their reach, those of ampler purses repair to Paris, where
the rent of their estate supplies them with pleasures at no very
enormous expence. The road is magnificent, like our old-fashioned
avenue in a nobleman's park, but wider, and paved in the middle: this
convenience continued on for many hundred miles, and all at the king's
expence. Every man you meet, politely pulls off his hat _en passant_;
and the gentlemen have commonly a good horse under them, but

certainly a dressed one.
Sporting season is not come in yet, but, I believe the idea of sporting
seldom enters any head except an English one: here is prodigious
plenty of game, but the familiarity with which they walk about and sit
by our road-side, shews they feel no apprehensions.
Harvest, even in France, is extremely backward this year, I see; no
crops are yet got in, nor will reaping be likely to pay its own charges.
But though summer is come too late for profit, the pleasure it brings is
perhaps enhanced by delay: like a life, the early part of which has been
wasted in sickness, the possessor finds too little time remaining for
work, when health does come; and spends all that he has left, naturally
enough, in enjoyment.
The pert vivacity of La Fille at Montreuil was all we could find there
worth remarking: it filled up my notions of French flippancy agreeably
enough; as no English wench would so have answered one to be sure.
She had complained of our avant-coureur's behaviour. "_Il parle sur le
bant ton, mademoiselle_" (said I), "_mais il à le coeur bon_[A]:"
"_Ouydà_" (replied she, smartly), "_mais c'est le ton qui fait le
chanson_[B]."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: He sets his talk to a sounding tune, my dear, but he is an
honest fellow.]
[Footnote B: But I always thought it was the tune which made the
musick.]
The cathedral at Amiens made ample amends for the country we passed
through to see it; the _Nef d'Amiens_ deserves the fame of a first-rate