From what we could see of it, Auxerre appeared to be a very pretty
place, it being at this time perfectly enwreathed with vines. In
fact, every step of our journey increased our regret that we should be
obliged to hurry through a country which it would have delighted us
to view at leisure, each town that we passed through offering some
inducement to linger on the road. Active preparations were making
for the vintage, the carts which we met or overtook being laden with
wine-casks, and much did we desire to witness a process associated in
our minds with the gayest scenes of rural festivity.

It would not be a fair criterion to judge of the accommodation
afforded at the hotels of the French provinces by those at which the
diligence changed horses; in some I observed that we were not shown
into the best apartments reserved for public entertainment, but in
none did we find any difficulty in procuring water to wash with,
nor did we ever see a dish substituted for a basin. From our own
observation, it seems evident that the inns in the provinces have been
much improved since the peace with England, and it appeared to us,
that no reasonable objection could be made to the accommodation
supplied. Auxerre certainly furnished the worst specimen we met with
on the road; at no other place had we any right to complain of our
entertainment, and at some the fare might be called sumptuous.

On the third morning from our departure from Paris, when nearly
exhausted, the rising sun gave us a view of the environs of Lyons.
We had been afraid to stop at Châlons the day before, having been
informed that the Saône was not sufficiently full to ensure the
certainty of the steam-boat's arrival at the promised time at Lyons.
This was a great disappointment, but we were rewarded by the rich and