OF

AT the present moment, when so many of our countrymen are either residing in France, or hastening thither for the purpose of economizing, a plain, honest statement of the real state of things in that country cannot but be useful. The books which are printed and published here in London, under the names of guides, tours, &c., appear to be either compiled at home by persons who never travelled, or to be written by persons who, having travelled, have acquired the traveller's licence of saying what is not true. We are told, for example, in "Reichard's Guide to France"-one of the best books of the kind with which we are acquainted-that at Caen, in Normandy, English persons may enjoy the comforts of life at a third less than in one of the provincial towns of their own country. This is altogether incorrect. Living in Caen, on the contrary, is scarcely one-third cheaper than in London; and as to what are called the "comforts of life" unless by "comforts," the guide-book means wine and brandy-they are not cheaper at Caen than at Exeter, Plymouth, or any of the large towns of Devonshire or Cornwall. Brittany is, perhaps, cheaper than Devonshire, but it is a far less desirable place than Caen to reside in, the language not being pure French; the people rough, uncouth, and ignorant; and the climate no

less humid and variable than that of the southern shores of England.

"Persons," says a gentleman, now visiting the Continent (from whose notes we have extracted some remarks), "who travel in England, sometimes complain of the want of accommodations at some of the inns they meet with on their journey, and no doubt with justice; but I doubt whether it would be possible, at any time of the year, or any hour of the day or night, to find one of the principal hotels of Bath or Bristol so utterly unprovided, that a cup of coffee could not be made for the traveller. This, however, was the case at the Hotel d'Angleterre, where I and my family took up our quarters, on our arrival in Caen. They had wines and spirits of every description; but children do not drink these things, and would have preferred coffee. When I complained of this want of attention to the travellers who might arrive late at the hotel, the female waiter shrugged up her shoulders, said she was exceedingly sorry, but that as to the ' petits enfans,' they would go to sleep and forget it. I smiled at her philosophy, and dismissed her for the night."

Few persons with a family would choose to remain at an hotel of this kind, where, however attentive and obliging the people may be, the quiet and comforts even of lodgings are not to be expected. The first movement to be made, therefore, is to search