more appropriately adapted to coquettish
champagne (using the epithet coquette in its
good sense, as the French often do); to
dulcet, voluptuous, syren-like drinks, such as
Malmsey-Madeira and Muscat-Frontignac.
But burgundy should be an energetic young
vintager of five-and-twenty, in the act of
hiding tongues of flame in his golden vase, at
the moment that he steps forward to pour
out the wine. Claret should be a herculean
man of five-and-thirty, such as Michael
Angelo loved to pourtray, reposing after an
interval of vine-dressing, like a river-god,
with his arm leaning on a half-recumbent
overflowing amphora, from which streams a
purple, violet-scented brooklet that all who
will can come and partake of.

Even from Paris only to Bordeaux is
more than a mere step; it is a tolerably
long hop, skip, and jump—though a pleasant
one; no less, by railway, than five
hundred and eighty-three kilometres, or one
hundred and forty-five French leagues and
three quarters, or three hundred and
sixty-seven English miles, within a
fraction. During the epoch of diligences, it took
three days and two nights of continuous
travelling to accomplish the journey, at a high
fare, and at considerable cost for refreshment
on the road. Now, you may start by an
omnibus train at five minutes before eleven
at night, and reach your journey's end at
half-past seven next evening, for the respective
charges of sixty francs twenty centimes,
or fifty shillings and twopence, first-class;
forty-five francs and thirty centimes, or thirty-
seven shillings and ninepence, second-class;
and thirty-three francs sixty-five centimes,
or twenty-eight shillings and a halfpenny,
third class. An additional tax has lately been
imposed, to pay for the expenses of the war.
Before the invention of the rail, Bordeaux
was isolated from the metropolis and other
great cities of France. The long, tedious land
journey deterred almost all but visits of
necessity. But it was not a barbarous, ignorant,
or poverty-stricken isolation; on the contrary,
it was a wealthy, self-complacent, highly
civilised and sensual independence. Bordeaux
wanted for nothing that the capitals of kingdoms
usually possess. Arthur Young, who
travelled in seventeen hundred and eighty-
seven, writes: "Much as I had heard and
read of the commerce, wealth, and
magnificence of this city, they greatly surpassed
my expectations.  The Place Royale, with
the statue of Louis the Fifteenth in the
middle, is a fine opening, and the buildings
which form it regular and handsome. But
the quarter of the Chapeau Rouge is truly
magnificent, consisting of noble houses, built,
like the rest of the city, of white hewn stone.
I have seen nothing that approaches the
theatre, built about ten or twelve years
ago. The establishment of actors, actresses,
singers, dancers, &c., speak the wealth and
luxury of the place. Dauberval, the dancer,
and his wife, the Mademoiselle Theodore
of London (who remembers Mademoiselle
Theodore? In what other book than Young's
are her pirouettes and entrechats recorded?)
are retained as principal ballet-master and
first female dancer, at a salary of twelve
hundred and twenty-five pounds, sterling.
The mode of living that takes place here
among merchants is highly luxurious. Their
houses and establishments are on expensive
scales. Great entertainments, and many
served on plate: high play is a much worse
thing;—and the scandalous chronicle speaks
of merchants keeping the dancing and singing
girls of the theatre, at salaries which
ought to import no good to their credit.
Journeyed to Barbesieux, situated in a beautiful
country. [Now for a warning touch of
ante- (not anti-) revolutionary aristocracy.]
In this thirty-seven miles of country, lying
between the great rivers Garonne, Dordogne,
and Charente, and consequently in one of the
best parts of France for markets, the quantity
of waste land is surprising. Much of
these wastes belonged to the Prince de
Soubise, who would not sell any part of them.
Thus it is whenever you stumble on a Grand
Seigneur, even one that was worth millions,
you are sure to find his property desert. Go
to their residence, wherever it may be, and
you would probably find them in the midst
of a forest, very well peopled with deer, wild
boars, and wolves. Oh! if I was the legislator
of France for a day, I would make such
great lords skip again!"  They were made to
skip with a vengeance, sooner than even he
anticipated.

Arthur Young's journey to Bordeaux was
made on horse-back, or rather mare-back, on
an animal of unrecorded colour, but
unquestionably gray; for, after resting one day at
Calais to recover from the fatigue of nine
hours' rolling at anchor, not to mention the
voyage in a sailing vessel, she was ready next
morning to start with her master for any
indefinite distance. Now-a-days, such travelling
would be deemed too snail-like, though
it is a capital mode of seeing a country
thoroughly and forming your judgments
deliberately. But now, arrived in a few hours
at Paris, you toss your carpet-bag into a hack-
fiacre, and for twenty-five sous the course, you
drive to the Gare, or station of the Chemin
de Fer d'Orleans. Blessings on the French
railways for one thing; they relieve you of
all care about your luggage. You have it
weighed, entered, you pay your ten centimes
or upwards, you take your ticket, and then
you need trouble no more about your impedimenta,
as the Romans called it, till you reach your
journey's end. But with a tiny little
hand-bag, like mine, which a carrier pigeon
might fetch across the Channel, containing
nothing more than a shirt, a pair of stockings,
a comb, a tooth-brush, a night-cap, and a
piece of soap, you simply slip it under your
seat. You are off; the barriers are left