and effect:  but we could not stay ’till the conclusion of the service.  The carriage was at the door; and, reascending, we drove to the lower town, down a somewhat fearful descent, to change horses.  It was impossible to avoid noticing the prodigious quantity of fruit—­especially of currants and strawberries. Ligny was our next halting place, to change horses.  The route thither was sufficiently pleasant.  You leave the town through rather a consequential gateway, of chaste Tuscan architecture, and commence ascending a lofty hill.  From hence you observe, to the left, an old castle in the outskirts of the town.  The road is here broad and grand:  and although a very lively breeze was playing in our faces, yet we were not insensible to the increasing heat of the day.  We dined at St. Aubin.  A hearty good-humoured landlady placed before us a very comfortable meal, with a bottle of rather highly-flavoured vin ordinaire.  The inn was little better than a common ale house in England:  but every thing was “tres propre.”  On leaving, we seemed to be approaching high hills, through flat meadows—­where very poor cattle were feeding.  A pretty drive towards Void and Laye, the next post-towns:  but it was still prettier on approaching Toul, of which the church, at a distance, had rather a cathedral-like appearance.  We drank tea at Toul—­but first proceeded to the church, which we found to be greatly superior to that of Meaux.  Its interior is indeed, in parts, very elegant:  and one lancet-shaped window, in particular, of stained glass, may even vie with much of what the cathedral of this place affords.

At Toul, for the first time since quitting Paris, we were asked for our passports; it being a fortified town.  Our next stage was Dommartin; behind which appeared to be a fine hilly country, now purpled by the rays of a declining sun.  The church of Toul, in our rear, assumed a more picturesque appearance than before.  At Velaine, the following post-town, we had a pair of fine mettlesome Prussian horses harnessed to our voiture, and started at a full swing trot—­through the forest of Hayes, about a French league in length.  The shade and coolness of this drive, as the sun was getting low, were quite refreshing.  The very postilion seemed to enjoy it, and awakened the echoes of each avenue by the unintermitting sounds of numberless flourishes of his whip.  “How tranquil and how grand!” would he occasionally exclaim.  On clearing the forest, we obtained the first glimpse of something like a distant mountainous country:  which led us to conclude that we were beginning to approach the VOSGES—­or the great chain of mountains, which, running almost due north and south, separates France from ALSACE.  Below, glittered the spires of Nancy—­as the sun’s last rays rested upon them.  A little distance beyond, shot up the two elegant towers of St. Nicholas; but I am getting on a little too fast....  The forest of Hayes can be scarcely less than a dozen English miles in breadth.  I had never before seen so much wood in France.  Yet the want of water is a great draw-back to the perfection of rural scenery in this country.  We had hardly observed one rivulet since we had quitted the little glimmering stream at Chateau-Thierry.