c. I cannot say but that the
enumeration reminds me of the merry court of Old King Cole, with his
fiddlers three, his tailors three, and the long list of et ceteras
detailed in the well-known song.]

To Marseilles sixteen miles. At the end of a mile and a half, the road
ascends a hill to the south, marked by a clump of stone pines, which
commands the best view of Aix and its environs. The vale running up to
the right under Mont St. Victoire deserves particular mention, as
uniting the highest degree of beauty and verdure with a certain wildness
of feature; and would give a fair idea of the best parts of Italian
scenery to a person not desirous of crossing the Alps. After taking
leave of this valley, which better deserves to be called the garden of
Provence than any other district I have yet seen, the face of the
country is less pleasing, but in some places more singular and original.
The first few miles were dull enough, it is true; and to add to our
pleasure intensely hot, and destitute of any sort of shade. It was
therefore with no small satisfaction that we stopped for a few minutes
under a grove of tall old trees which overshadowed the road, with a
fountain spouting up in the midst, which completely altered the
atmosphere. No palm island in the deserts of Arabia was ever more
welcome than this cool spot, which belonged, we understood, to the
adjoining Chateau Albertas. Whoever was the planner of it, he has
discovered more true taste and gentlemanly feeling than if he had built
the finest possible entrance or lodge as a mere tribute to self-love:
and were pride alone consulted as a motive, nothing leaves so striking a
recollection on the minds of strangers, or so strongly disposes them to
inquire the name of the proprietor of a spot, as an elegant proof of
attention to their convenience, like the one in question.

Having traversed a second interval of dry parched country, we crossed
another pleasant valley, in which is situated the Chateau Simiane. This
seat, visible about a mile to the left, was the residence of Pauline de
Grignan, wife of the Marquis de Simiane; who is said to have inherited
much of the talent and liveliness of her grandmother and mother. Her
verses beginning with

"Lorsque j'etois encore cette jeune Pauline," &c.

jesting on the annoyance of a lawsuit in which she had to defend her
title to the Grignan estates, are still on record. After passing the
Chateau Simiane, the country became wild and