name. The tunny is also caught in
abundance near this part of the coast; and Vernet has introduced the
fishery, from a lack of picturesque circumstances, into one of his
sea-ports, painted by royal order. No other fish can better deserve this
particular compliment, uniting, as it does, size, flavour, and the
merits of both fish and flesh in a great degree. The "thon marine" is
its plainest and best preparation, and is preferable, with a dish of
salad, to all the high-seasoned dishes which form a Provencal bill of
fare; in short, if our national sirloin obtained knighthood, such a good
lenten substitute as the tunny deserves canonization.[39] I cannot say
so much for the dish, common enough among Frenchmen, which a
well-dressed man, the harlequin to a troop of comedians, was eating in
the salle-a-manger when we entered; viz. a raw artichoke with oil and
vinegar. Sterne, it appears, little knew the extent of the ass's good
taste, when he deprived him of this article in the Tabella Cibaria, "to
see how he would eat a macaroon."

[Footnote 39: A similar dignity was conferred by some heathen poet, I
believe, on the _potnia syke_ (the august, or god-like fig).]

We set off at two o'clock in the day on our return to Montpelier, not a
little envying the horses and mules their cool quarters in the immense
remise. Within a mile of Cette lies the breakwater of rough stones,
which forms a prominent object in the foreground of Vernet's picture,
and serves to ascertain the spot from whence he took his design. At
Villeneuve, where we stopped to bait the horses, we were diverted by a
scene characteristic of the country. A bag had just been found on the
road by the conductor of the Cette diligence, which drove up to the inn
while we were there; and on Durand disowning it, a shabby-looking foot
passenger claimed it, but could not establish his plea by identifying a
single article. In a few seconds every soul in the inn, excepting
ourselves, was assembled to take part in the discussion, and argued the
pro and con with a vehemence of voice and action, which would have made
a stranger believe it was a matter of life and death to each. A female
inside-passenger, with an infant in her arms, which she nearly let drop
in her energies, was the coryphee of this chorus of tongues, which could
be compared to nothing but bees in the act of swarming, or the cackle
which the entrance of a fox causes in a hen-roost. We were no longer
surprised at hea