We now gained fast upon NANCY, the capital of Lorraine.  It is doubtless among the handsomest provincial towns in Europe; and is chiefly indebted for its magnificence to Stanislaus, King of Poland, who spent the latter part of his life there, and whose daughter was married to Louis XV.  The annexation of Lorraine to France has been considered the masterpiece of Louis’s policy.  Nancy may well boast of her broad and long streets:  running chiefly at right angles with each other:  well paved, and tolerably clean.  The houses are built chiefly of stone.  Here are churches, a theatre, a college, a public library—­palace-like buildings—­public gardens—­ hospitals, coffee houses, and barracks.  In short, Nancy is another Caen; but more magnificent, although less fruitful in antiquities.  The Place de la Liberte et d’alliance et de la Carriere may vie with the public buildings of Bath; but some of the sculptured ornaments of the former, exhibit miserable proofs of the fury of the Revolutionists.  Indeed Nancy was particularly distinguished by a visit of the Marseillois gentry, who chose to leave behind pretty strong proofs of their detestation of what was at once elegant and harmless.  The headless busts of men and women, round the house of the governor, yet prove the excesses of the mob; and the destruction of two places of worship was the close of their devastating labours.

Nancy is divided into the Old and the New Town.  The four principal streets, dividing the latter nearly at right angles, are terminated by handsome arches, in the character of gateways.  They have a noble appearance.

On the first evening of our arrival at Nancy, we walked, after a late cup of tea, into the public garden—­at the extremity of the town.  It was broad moon light; and the appearance of the Caffes, and several Places, had quite a new and imposing effect; they being somewhat after the Parisian fashion.  After a day of dust, heat, and rapid motion, a seat upon one of the stone-benches of the garden—­surrounded by dark green trees, of which the tops were tipt with silver by the moon beam—­could not fail to refresh and delight me:  especially as the tranquillity of the place was only disturbed by the sounds of two or three groups of bourgeoises, strolling arm in arm, and singing what seemed to be a popular, national air—­of which the tune was somewhat psalm-like.  The broad walks abounded with bowers, and open seats; and the general effect was at once singular and pleasing.  The Hotel-Royal is an excellent inn; and the owners of it are very civil people.