The Press.
London, England, 1854-01-28 00:00:00

THE

PRESS.

breezes of the east, surrounded on all aides by mountain
ranges, the valley of the Loire presents at every turn pic-
tures of unsurpassed beauty and interest; nothing wore
pleasing than to wander without guide or guide-book
through this favoured country ; it is little known to the
regular Madame Starke-ridden tourist, and this seclusion
perhaps lends to it an additional charm. The iron rail
traveress but has not invaded its repose, peaceful hamlets
rest on the banks of the noble Loire, which rolls on its
course with the Balinese of a strong and mighty spirit
conscious of a great purpose. Here commerce recals to
the happy, listless traveller, idling on the river banks, that,
separate himself as he may from the world, there are
links which cannot be broken, and that eventhe silent, un-
conscious river binds man to man, and nation to nation ;
but here it is commerce in her most graceful form, such
as artists love to paint and poets to describe her. Large
rifts, like those on the Rhine, guided with admirable skill
throagh shallows and over rapids, move along dreamlike on
the bosom of the rolling waters. Slow creeping barges
MALL down at times lazily and sluggishly; at others, when
the reach of the river permits it, with their swarthy wide-
swelling sails set to catch the breeze.
La Tonraine has been called, and not inappropriately so,
" Le pays de rire et de rien faire;" where die soil is as
light as the hearts of those who till it, and the harvest of
corn and wine as abundant as man can desire. Each
hamlet is in summer time frequented by admirers and
artists, some, who truly travel Pori the sake of art, and
others, by far the more agreeable ind, who make their
pencil the excuse for travel ; but it is rarely that these tra-
vellers ever diverge far from the river-side, said there are to
be found in general within a short distanceof every poet so
many objects of varied interest, that the time devoted to
excursions is nearly occupied iu examining these. And so
it happens that the people of this district are rarely studied,
for wherever many travellers are in the habit of passing
national habits are speedily eradicated, but in the interior
of the province, where the presence of a stranger is rare as
it is welcome, the people retain all their primitive plat-
ties, and these, for the honour of La Totunine, may be
said to be copied from its nature. Here all the tints are
soft and mellowed ; distance blends into distance in un-
broken harmony ; here are no abnipt effects, no lofty
mountain ranges to appal the awe-stricken traveller; all is
soft, genial, and peaceful. Such is the character of the
people, gentle, mild, and peaceful as the climate ; and to
climate the character owes more than we at first think, for
the severity of the northman and the gentle indolence of
the eastern alike arise from the climate. Hospitable, as
all primitive people are, the traveller is welcomed wherever
he appears. Sad to say, that mistrust and suspicion arise
from intercourse with the world, but here the people are
unsuspecting, because they live secluded. Many a month
may be passed pleasantly in visiting scenes of surpassing
loveliness ; nor are objects of historic interest wanting on
each side ; chateaux which rival any feudal remains in
Europe frown over valleys, or lie buried abbeylike
in
their seclusion ; above all, summer, real, warm, glowing
summer, smiles overthe scene ; the sun, not obscured by
fog and damp as in our climate, here delighteth to run its
course; men shade their eyes as they turn towards him,
the colours of the distance are so blended by the haze that
at midday the outline of forest and bill range can scarcely
be distinguished, the veil of glory is cast over every object,
softening their asperities and mingling their beauties.
A variety of other passages, written with the
same musical sweetness, are to be found in
" Florence the Beautiful " The author is pe-
culiarly happy in his descriptions of old
French castles, and in the skill with which he
invokes their historical associations. From
tnany specimens of his art we will select the

following :
But once within the long gallery of the chateau, the
Comte de Levet forgot his sullies, Madame Itrinville her
sorrows, Mademoiselle de Pompiere her illustrations,
Florence her—no, she did not forget the impressions of
her heart, for love is like a subtle atmosphere which
pervades and Mends with every object presented to it.
Still, if ever affection speaks in whispers, it is when we are
gazing on the ruins and records of the affections of the
past, when we see the memorials of loves and hopes, of
which nothing but pale pictures remain of graceful and
gallant figures, glowing charms. and stern manhood, of
those who lived and died together, sustaining and sus-
tained, but the remembrance of whom is only perpetuated
in musty chrtutieles and faded tapestries. At Chenonceatiz,
by a noble instinct on the part of its princely possessors,
even the trifling ornaments which are associated so deeply
with the interest of the past remain untouched : all the
old curiosities, which, when collected, were prized for
their antiquity, remain as the collector placed them;
there, all around, are the golden salamanders of Franiois,
with the haughty motto; " Nutrio et eztinguo." Lech
piece of tapestry has its tale, each admirable goblet its
interest: a Medicis worked the one, Benvenuto
Cellini
modelled the other ; and there are the Ileurrdelis cariously
wrought, and the I) and H intertwined in love-knots,
which at each coiner tell the tale, more powerful than any
language, of the loves of Henry 11. and Diane de Poitiers.
Gaze on this long mirror, in the richly-decorated oak
frame, placed at the end of the first room you enter, still
hung with black, as it was for the death of Louise de
Lorraine ; think you how many generations have passed
before that mirror, how many vanities it has reflected,
gentle hopes, and baneful triumphs. Heal those clays
when Catherine de Medicia stood here, before she had
marked the sign of the cross in blood upon her forehead,
or Marie de Medicis, shortly before the dagger of Francois
itavaillac deprived her, in her words," of the best husband
in the world, albeit Sillery declared to the gentlemen of
France, " Sirs, be calm, you know the kings of France
never die." See passing in long array the proud line of
kings, queens, mistresses, courtiers, and statesmen, decked