Part 16
As we drew nearer to the coast, the country became more varied. Montreuil and Saumer are both fortified, and one of these places, standing on an abrupt, rocky eminence, is quite picturesque and quaint. But we did not stop to look at any thing very minutely, pushing forward, as fast as three horses could draw us, for the end of our journey. A league or two from Boulogne, we were met by a half dozen mounted runners from the different inns, each inviting us to give our custom to his particular employer. These fellows reminded me of the wheatrunners on the hill at Albany, though they were as much more clamorous and earnest, as a noisy protestation-making Frenchman is more obtrusive than a shrewd, quiet calculating Yankee. We did not stop in Boulogne, to try how true were the voluble representations of these gentry, but, changing horses at the post, went our way. The town seemed full of English, and we gazed about us, with some curiosity, at a place that has become so celebrated by the great demonstration of Napoleon. There is a high monument standing at no great distance from the town, to commemorate one of his military parades. The port is small and crowded, like most of the harbours on both sides of the channel.
We had rain, and chills and darkness, for the three or four posts that succeeded. The country grew more and more tame, until after crossing an extensive plain of moist meadow land, we passed through the gate of Calais. I know no place that will give you a more accurate notion of this celebrated port than Powles Hook. It is, however, necessary to enlarge the scale greatly, for Calais is a town of some size, and the hommock on which it stands, and the low land by which it is environed, are much more considerable in extent than the spot just named.
We drove to the inn that Sterne has immortalized, or, one at least that bears the same name, and found English comfort united with French cookery and French taste. After all, I do not know why I may not say French comforts, too; for in many respects they surpass their island neighbours even in this feature of domestic comfort. It is a comfort to have a napkin even when eating a muffin; to see one’s self entire in a mirror, instead of _edging_ the form into it, or out of it, sideways; to drink good coffee; to eat good _côtelettes_, and to be able to wear the same linen for a day, without having it soiled. The Bible says, “comfort me with flaggons or apples,” I really forget which,—and if either of these is to be taken as authority, a _côtelette_ may surely be admitted into the _carte de conforts_.
We found Calais a clean town, and possessing a certain medium aspect, that was as much English as French. The position is strong, though I was not much struck with the strength of the works. England has no motive to wish to possess it, now that conquest on the continent is neither expedient nor possible. The port is good for nothing, in a warlike sense, except to protect a privateer or two; though the use of steam will probably make it of more importance in any future war, than it has been for the last two centuries.
We found W—— safely arrived. At one of the frontier towns he had been asked for his passport, and, in his fright, he gave the letter of the Prefet of the Rhone, instead of the explanation I had so cleverly devised. This letter commenced with the words “_Monsieur le Consul_” in large letters, and occupying, according to French etiquette, nearly half of the first page. The _gensdarme_, a _vieux moustache_, held his lantern up to read it, and seeing this ominous title, it would seem that Napoleon and Marengo, and all the glories of the Consulate arose in his imagination. He got no further than those three words, which he pronounced aloud, and, then folding the letter, he returned it with a profound bow, asking no further questions. As the _diligence_ drove on, W—— heard him say—“_apparemment vous avez un homme tres considérable, là dedans, Monsieur le Conducteur_.” So much for our fears, for passports, and for _gensd’armes_!
We went to bed, with the intention of embarking for England in the morning.
END OF VOL. II.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD
Have lately published new editions of the following works by Mr. COOPER:
THE SPY: a Tale of the Neutral Ground.
THE PIONEERS, or the Sources of the Susquehanna: a descriptive Tale.
THE PILOT: a Tale of the Sea.
LIONEL LINCOLN; or the Leaguer of Boston.
THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS: a Narrative of 1757.
THE PRAIRIE: a Tale.
THE RED ROVER: a Tale.
THE WEPT OF WISH-TON-WISH: a Tale.
THE WATER WITCH: or the Skimmer of the Seas.
THE BRAVO: a Tale.
NOTIONS OF THE AMERICANS: Picked up by a Travelling Bachelor.
THE HEIDENMAUER; or the Benedictines. A Legend of the Rhine.
THE HEADSMAN; or the Abbaye des Vignerons: a Tale.
THE MONIKINS: Edited by the Author of “The Spy.”
PRECAUTION: a Novel, revised and corrected.
CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD
HAVE LATELY PUBLISHED
SKETCHES OF SWITZERLAND. By J. FENNIMORE COOPER, Author of “The Spy,” &c. &c. in 2 vols. 12mo.
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE, with an Excursion up the Rhine, and a Second Visit to Switzerland. By the same Author. In 2 vols. 12mo.
“As we take up the pen to note down our impressions of these volumes, we feel as though we had just returned from an excursion in Switzerland, with a companion full to overflowing with an intense love of nature, and an exquisite taste for the picturesque. We cannot give our thanks and praise a more cordial emphasis—but if we could, we would; for so much pleasure are we indebted to Mr. Cooper. After the dull flats and dreary wastes of reading, of which there is abundance in all seasons, how “refreshing” (the word is unavoidable) to ascend with such a guide into the mountainous regions of literature. To those who are at all acquainted with the bold and vivid style of Mr. Cooper’s descriptions of natural marvels and magnificence—and to whom are his original powers of imagery and expression unknown?—we need only say, that these powers have been unsparingly employed in the present volumes. It is only necessary to remind the reader of what Mr. Cooper can do, when his enthusiasm is kindled, to bid him recollect that the scene of the author’s excursions is Switzerland. Upon such a subject as the scenery of Switzerland, how could Mr. Cooper fail to write with infinite freshness, grace, energy, and poetic ardour. Many of the letters moreover (for the work is in that form) have the advantage of being written under the immediate feelings excited by a first, unfading view of the beauties and wonders described. In short, this is just the work for every body to read and every body to relish.
Mr. Cooper has attempted, in these letters, little beyond descriptions of external nature. Switzerland, as he remarks, enjoying probably the sublimest as well as the most diversified beauties of this sort that exist on the globe, would seem to have a claim to be treated sui generis. Man, says the writer, appears almost to sink to a secondary rank in such a country. We feel all the force of this remark, and are quite content that Mr. Cooper should have confined the range of his genius to the higher ground. He has found room and reward there, much as it had been described before.”—_Court Journal._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.