le it may occasion them; and this tour
should precede the visit to the maritime provinces, as it will render
their superior comforts and climate the more acceptable from the
contrast. The scenery of the Pyrenees, and the passing acquaintance
formed with the original and picturesque population of the Basque
provinces, secure the traveller against any danger of ennui throughout
the land-journey between the frontier and the city of Burgos.

There does not exist the same security throughout the extent of route
which it is necessary to travel in order to reach this frontier. The
approach to Spain across the south-western provinces of France offers
few objects worthy of detaining us on our way to the Peninsula. It is
one of the least interesting of French routes. From Paris you pass
through Orleans and Tours. At Chatellerault--between the latter city and
Poitiers--the inn-door is besieged by women offering knives for sale. It
is everywhere known that cutlery is not one of the departments of French
manufactures which have attained the greatest degree of superiority. A
glance at the specimens offered for our choice while changing horses at
Chatellerault, showed them to be very bad, even for France.

This did not, however, prevent a multitude of travellers from purchasing
each his knife, nor one of them from laying in a plentiful stock,
stating that he destined a knife for each member of his
family--evidently one of the most numerous in France. I inquired of a
native the explanation of this scene, and whether these knives were
considered superior to those met with in other towns. "Oh no," was the
reply; "but it is usual to buy knives here." I ventured to say I thought
them very bad. "That is of no consequence; because, whenever you have
passed through Chatellerault, every one asks you for a knife made on the
spot." These victims of custom had paid enormous prices for their
acquisitions.

Poitiers is a crazy old town, but contains one of the most admirable
specimens of the architecture immediately preceding the pointed, or
ogivale, and which the French savans call "the Romane." I allude to the
church called "the Notre Dame de Poitiers." The west front is highly
ornamented, and unites all the peculiar richness with the quaintness and
simplicity of design which characterize that fine old style. I must not
omit the forest of Chatellerault, passed through on leaving that town.
It is famous as the scene of the picnic given to the la