nmolested.
Those fine buildings of which it can boast, take their place amid the
general mass, like a fastidious courtier in low company,

"Wondering how the devil they came there."

Whereas the elegant theatre of Bordeaux appears just in its proper
situation, and supported by suitable accompaniments of well-dressed
people and airy streets. After the sight of the Hotel Dieu, a standing
proof that the Lyonnese can employ their money laudably and well, I will
not pretend to judge whether there is any truth in the charge of avarice
brought against them, and which Voltaire slyly admits in a professed
eulogium on Lyons. There are other reasons accounting in a degree for
its inferiority to Bordeaux in appearance, and the sordid impression
which it leaves on the mind. In the first place, to judge from the
innumerable quantities of villas of all sizes within reach of the town,
it seems that the rich Lyonnese appreciate their fine environs as they
deserve, and consider the country as the scene of display and enjoyment,
while they treat Lyons as a mere counting-house. On the contrary, the
villas in the neighbourhood of Bordeaux appear comparatively few, and
business and pleasure to unite in the town itself. The imagination also
may have some share in giving the preference, particularly after
reading[9] M. de Ruffigny's tirade against his infantine life in the
silk mills of Lyons. One fancies the merchant conversant with a higher
and less sordid class of persons and details than the master spinner,
and vineyards more agreeable objects than dying-houses and treddles. Be
this as it may, appearances are certainly in favour of Bordeaux as the
second city in France.

[Footnote 9: See Godwin's St. Leon.]

CHAP. IV.

LYONS TO MONTELIMART.

MAY 7.--From Lyons to St. Symphorien, our breakfast-stage, twelve miles.
For the first seven, the outskirts of Lyons, extending along the western
bank of the Rhone, continue to exhibit one unvarying appearance of
wealth and population. The Archbishop's palace, which stands about two
miles out of the city, on a hill overlooking the river, does not add
much to the beauty of the country, as it strongly resembles a large
manufactory. St. Symphorien, a neat small town, marked by a ruined
watch-tower to the left of the road, possesses no inn at which a
tolerable breakfast can be procured; but we fared well, in this respect,
at a coffee-house in the middle of the town, situated under the Mairie