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Draguignan itself is not unworthy of the traveller's notice. Its ancient ramparts are washed by a pretty stream, which winds through a green vale opening between two long ranges of olive-clad hills. In the centre of the town, is a curious insulated mount, composed of argillaceous slate, covered with green sod, and crowned by an old fantastic tower seventy or eighty feet in height. From an inscription on its exterior wall, it appears to have been erected in 1661; but for what purpose, it is difficult to conjecture. The eminence on which it stands overlooks the antique stone houses and tiled roofs of Draguignan, as well as a wide extent of the surrounding country. Even this town, though nature has spontaneously embellished its environs with plants and flowers, boasts of its Botanic Garden, which is arranged with taste and skill. Here too are found boulevards, promenades, areas and fountains, presenting a miniature picture of the metropolis. The ten-thousand inhabitants rely chiefly upon official patronage and the manufacture of sweet oil for support.

At 3 o'clock in the afternoon of the same day, we set out for Frejus, situated upon the shore of the Mediterranean, at the distance of twenty miles. The capacious vehicle was of an odd construction, and might perhaps be termed a sociable. Its body was ten or twelve feet in length, and its two seats ran longitudinally along the sides, so that the passengers sat facing one another, and were almost compelled to talk. A coarse military officer, who appeared to be a foreigner and in a state of intoxication, was of the party, and behaved with much rudeness, often bursting out into peals of loud laughter, and dangling his heavy sword to the annoyance of his neighbours. Few instances of such vulgar deportment had been observed, even among the lowest classes, in any part of France; and a court-martial of bootblacks in Paris would have cashiered this mercenary for ungentlemanly and unofficer-like conduct.

Between the foot of the hills, in the midst of which Draguignan is situated, and the Mediterranean, spreads a broad alluvial plain, watered by the Argens, and almost on a level with the sea. Its meagre, sandy soil is comparatively barren, lying unenclosed and untilled, presenting a striking contrast with the green, luxuriant glades that had been left behind. Along the way were seen numerous shepherds, shepherdesses, and swineherds, whose large flocks of black sheep, and droves of pigs were grazing the common, less under the care of the master than of his watchful dog. But the solitary waste was unenlivened by the music of the pastoral pipe; and long-bearded old men in red caps, or squalid girls, with sun-burnt faces and without

shoes or stockings, afforded but a sorry exemplication of those pictures of love and innocence portrayed by Theocritus and Virgil.

We reached Frejus at 7 o'clock in the evening, and took lodgings at the same hotel, in which Napoleon remained three days, while on his way to the Island of Elba. The house is now in a dilapidated condition, and its undulating floors look as if they had been rocked by an earthquake. An attentive landlord showed us into his best apartments, which had evidently seen more prosperous days, and were an emblem both of the town itself and of the fortunes of the imperial exile, who had once been their tenant. The decayed walls were hung with silken tapestry, rich and beautiful in its prime, but now in tatters, according well with unhinged tables, defaced mirrors, and shattered sofas.

After a short walk by moonlight, which was found too dim to disclose the outlines and the ruins of this old Roman town, I turned into one of the canopied couches of our chamber, which happened to be the self same bed, in which the dethroned monarch had thrice slept. There was no proof positive that even the pillows and clothes had been changed, since they gave a temporary repose to the cares of the royal fugitive. What an opportunity was here afforded to dream of the follies of ambition and the phantoms of power, the vicissitudes and vanities of human life!

"I had a dream, but 'twas not all a dream."

The inspiration of the pillow called up the splendid pageants of other times; and the spectres of war and conquest, fields of carnage and conflagrated cities, victories and triumphs, flitted before me in the visions of the night, as they probably did before the eyes of the ExEmperor, on the eve of his departure from thrones and palaces, to a solitary island of the sea!

We rose at day-break the next morning to examine the curiosities of the town of Frejus in season to pursue our journey at an early hour. Frejus may be considered at least semi-classical in its character. Founded originally by the Phocians from Marseilles, it subscquently became like the parent state, an important Roman colony, and gave birth, among other distinguished men, to Julius Agricola, the conqueror of Britain and the father-in-law of the historian Tacitus; as also to Cornelius Gallus, the friend of Virgil, to whom the tenth eclogue of the poet is inscribed. Gallus himself made verses of such merit, as to entitle him to the epithet "divine," in the estimation of

his great contemporary. Both he and Agricola were educated in the schools of Marseilles.

The only objects worthy of the traveller's attention at Frejus are its antiquities; and to these a guide conducted us, beginning with the amphitheatre, in form resembling that at Nismes, but of smaller size, less perfect, and in all respects less interesting. It is built of square stones of moderate dimensions, intermingled with tiles. Its walls are yet tolerably entire, but encumbered with weeds and rubbish. From this desolate pile, the scene of vanished gaieties, we walked quite round the ancient ramparts of the city, making a circuit of a mile or two, which must have once enclosed many thousands of inhabitants, now reduced to a handful of villagers. Traces of the walls are at intervals discoverable, and the massive arches of an extensive aqueduct, the uniform appendage of a Roman town, are yet standing.

Pursuing a narrow pathway, which leads through cultivated fields in which fragments of houses and temples have been disinterred, we visited the Golden Gate, which conducted from the port into the town; as also the remains of the ancient pharos and baths, in the same quarter. The head of Jupiter was found among the ruins of the latter, and now adorns an arch near the modern promenade. All these public works indicate wealth, taste, and splendour. The port itself, and the estuary which connected it with the sea, are now entirely filled up with sand, deposited by the little river Argens, which gurgles beneath the old walls. A pretty garden, blooming with a variety of shrubs and flowers, now occupies the very site of the haven, where the Roman mariner moored his ship. The heights on which the town stands command a charming view of the Mediterranean; of the small harbour at the distance of a few miles, whence Napoleon embarked for Elba; of the circular bay sweeping in a bold, graceful curve to the west; and of the hills of St. Tropez which range along the coast.

After breakfast we again set forward towards Nice, with a coach and five horses, which were chartered at a moderate price to take three of us as far as Antibes. A strong team was required in climbing the pine-clad hills of Lestrelles, which rise to the cast of Frejus and continue in broken ridges for many miles. Their barren, desolate sides are uncultivated, and without a house or a human being to break the solitude of the road, which winds in terraces to their summits, disclosing at intervals splendid views of the Alpine region on one side, and of the shores of the Mediterranean on the other. At length descending from these wilds through deep gorges, and tra

versing a luxuriant plain watered by the Luton, we reached the little sea-port of Cannes, containing three or four thousand inhabitants. Here Napoleon landed on his return from Elba in 1815, and hence rode in triumph to Paris, with renovated hopes and new schemes of ambition. The town consists of a crescent of white buildings, standing upon the very beach, with a low narrow border of sand between the street and the waves, which would form but a feeble barrier against the storms and tumultuous tides of the Atlantic.

A high rocky promontory, crowned with a dismantled fortress and defended by a small battery, shelters the port, in which some half a dozen vessels were seen riding at anchor, their white flags streaming in the wind. In the offing, the islands of St. Marguerite and St. Honorat elevate their brown ledges above the sea. The former is strongly fortified, constituting an artificial as well as natural defence to the harbour. On this barren rock, the Man of the Iron Mask was confined for many years. The large and commodious hotel at Cannes, stands upon the extreme point of land near the port. Its situation is delightful. The green but gentle swells of the Mediterranean break upon the crags under the very windows, and fill the apartments with their soothing murmurs. To such music we dined upon the products of the neighbouring waters, and after resting an hour or two, left with regret a place possessing so many natural attractions.

Between Cannes and Antibes, the road runs through a rich and beautiful country, at the base of olive-crowned hills, and so close to the margin of the sea, as frequently to require terraces hanging upon the rocks. The same brilliant phenomenon was here observed, as in the complexion of the Sorgia at Vaucluse. To the distance of half a mile from the shore, the water is of such moderate depth, and so perfectly pellucid, as to reflect the party-coloured hues of the bottom, composed of porphyry and lime stone, and presenting at the surface a splendid sheet of mosaic, in which purple, green, azure, and other colours are fancifully blended. Nothing can exceed the delicacy and softness of its tints, fading gradually into shades which surpass the mimic touches of the pencil.

At 5 o'clock in the afternoon, the towers of Antibes come in sight, and passing through the portals of its high substantial walls, we took lodgings for the night, at an excellent hotel in the centre of the town. An odd and unexpected saluation was received at the threshold. Two subalterns, in the French uniform, came up and addressed us in English, making some commonplace inquiries, and appearing anxious to enter into conversation. One of them was an Englishman, and the other an American adventurer from Baltimore, who had enlisted

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into the Swiss corps, and now held the rank of corporal in the French service. He was an intelligent, soldier-like man, and seemed rejoiced to see a circle of his countrymen in a land of strangers.

The streets of Antibes like those of Toulon are filled with troops, forming a strong garrison to guard the frontiers. Our ears were assailed by the din of martial music, and the public squares glittered with military parades. As we passed the long ranges of barracks, injudiciously located in the midst of a dense population, sounds of revelry and riot burst from the rooms, evincing as little decency as discipline. The whole of the south of France labours under the curse of an overgrown standing army, quartered upon the people in time of peace, consuming the fruits of their industry, corrupting their manners, and keeping their liberties in check.

An hour was occupied in examining the town and harbour. The latter chiefly merits notice, being capacious and unique in its construction; for it is almost entirely the work of art. On two sides it is sheltered from the winds and waves by a mole, fifteen or twenty feet in height, and wide enough at top to form a fine promenade. In the sides of this rampart, substantially built of stone, are long rows of arched niches, four or five feet in depth; and nearly on a level with the water, a wide quay, like that of Marseilles, extends round the basin for the convenience of lading and unlading ships. At the extremity of the mole there is a strong fortress, which effectually commands the narrow entrance of the port. Neither the number nor character of the vessels in the harbour appeared to justify the expense of such a stupendous work.

The situation of Antibes is peculiarly beautiful, and the view from the mole is one of the finest in the South of France, commanding a wide extent of hills, woods, and waters. A rich border of fields, studded with white villages, extends round the head of the bay, across which Nice is seen at the distance of fifteen or twenty miles; and beyond, the Maritime Alps lift their snowy summits to the clouds, while their bold rocky promontories are washed by the sea. Our last evening in France, (how unlike the inclemencies of the first, on the storm-beaten hills between Calais and Paris!), was mild as summer, and led us to anticipate the delights of that country, the confines of which were now in sight.

Early on the following morning, we resumed our journey, and soon found ourselves on the frontiers of Italy. To the traveller looking back from this point upon the extent of country he has traversed since crossing the Straits of Dover, France appears what it is in fact, an immense empire, boundless in territory as it is in resources. Situated in

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