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AMONG FRENCH FRIENDS IN BURGUNDY.

DIJON.

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TOTHING is more astonishing to those who know France well

than the hasty scamper of English tourists through the heart of regions so highly interesting from all points of view--social, picturesque, artistic. Out of the thousands of thousands of travellers, for instance, who pass through Dijon from the beginning of June till the close of October, how infinitesimal is the proportion of those who diverge from the Swiss line, or even make a pause on the way! Alike, savant and simple, learned and uninstructed, are without eyes to see and ears to hear, as long as they remain on French soil. They eat their dinner at the deservedly favourite Hôtel du Jura, sleep the sleep of the self-satisfied, pay their bill, and depart !

France, indeed, to the great travelling population of England and America is regarded as merely a district to be passed through, the quicker the better, in fact, in the words of an American table d'hôte neighbour of mine, "a flat uninteresting country,' leading to Switzerland. These table d'hôte dinners are very instructive to those who study human nature as embodied in the great travelling population-people like the Wandering Jew, perpetually on the move, heaven only knows why. “Why should I visit the cathedral here?' said another Transatlantic fellow-diner at the ordinary of the aforesaid hotel. “I have seen dozens of cathedrals in my life, and one is exactly like another. And museums, too! I have seen almost every one in Europe. I hate them all !' And then she added, alluding to the exquisite tombs of the Dukes of Burgundy in the Dijon Museum, ‘People want me to visit this museum ; there are the tombs of some celebrities or other in it. But I have said, I won't, and I won't. Nothing shall induce me to set foot in another as long as I live!'

Such happy immunity from travelling folks of this type constitutes one of the chief charms of France for those who really know what travel means, and who like to study the inside as well as the outside of things. Arrived at the ancient capital of the kingdom of Burgundy, they will be perplexed as to which to choose of the novel and fascinating regions lying within reach. The wild little district of Morvan, the banks of the Saône, the wondrous Auvergne, with its lines of extinct volcanoes, the glorious Jura, the Cévennes, and many others. Dijon, indeed, instead of being regarded as a balt on the Swiss line, should rather figure in travellers' minds as a centre from which innumerable French tours may be made; and Dijon itself, which another table d'hôte neighbour described “as a comfortable tically speaking, in France, whilst its general claims upon the intelligent traveller are too numerous to mention. My object in this paper will naturally be to speak of matters which do not usually come under the observation of travellers, and before speaking of country-life and the people and their ways, to give a few details concerning the town, to which we should dedicate a few days. Its archæological and historic monuments and treasures are fully described in the English and French guide-books, so I pass them by, bidding the tourist, as he strolls through these handsome and picturesque streets, to note a few features—the admirable arrangements for water-supply in the town, for instance; at intervals of a few hundred yards we find taps of delicious fresh, ice-cold spring water, of which to taste is enough to make one renounce wine even in this renowned wine country. The Dijon water-works cost the town £44,000 in 1840, since which time abundance of good water is the happy possession of every soul in the place. By the way, might not our railway companies follow French example, and erect a drinking fountain at every station? We can get water certainly at our refreshment stalls, but not, I believe, without paying for it, whilst the needy traveller in France has only to carry his bottle with him, the greatest possible comfort in hot weather. Continuing our stroll, we now pause to visit one of the sights,' properly speaking, of Dijon, though not named in the guide-books, and only seen by means of special introduction. Now, not all travellers abroad are interested in art, science, or philanthropy, but we may fairly take it for granted that none are quite indifferent on the subject of wine. It may not be generally known that the restaurant of the Dijon railway station is supplied with wine by one of the largest and best known wine merchants in Burgundy, M. Paul Guillemot, whose wine cellars are well worth a visit. Burgundy is, as we all know, the land par excellence of good cellars, the smallest vigneron, as well as the largest, having a first-rate storage place for his wine. When we consider that age is the pre-eminent recommendation of wines of choicest crû,' we shall see the importance of the cellar. The wine merchant, who purchases only the world-renowned vintages, pays the wine-growers a high price to begin with, and has to lay by his wines, in other words to sink bis capital, for five, ten, fifteen, or more years. Thus, if wine is purchased by the merchant from the grower at five francs a bottle, and sold after some years' time at fifteen, we at once understand that the profits are by no means extravagant. Whilst the wine is ripening in the cellar, indeed, the merchant gets no interest on his money, besides which he is losing his actual capital, since the wine, so long as it remains in casks, wastes, every month having to be replenished. The meritoriousness of wine, roughly speaking, consists in its age, and wine-growers in these parts never drink new wine. The wine of poor vintages is sold straight away for foreign markets, only the good being stored in the cellar, whether for sale or private use.

AMONG FRENCH FRIENDS IN BURGUNDY.

DIJON.

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NOTE
OTHING is more astonishing to those who know France well

than the hasty scamper of English tourists through the heart of regions so highly interesting from all points of view--social, picturesque, artistic. Out of the thousands of thousands of travellers, for instance, who pass through Dijon from the beginning of June till the close of October, how infinitesimal is the proportion of those who diverge from the Swiss line, or even make a pause on the way! Alike, savant and simple, learned and uninstructed, are without eyes to see and ears to hear, as long as they remain on French soil. They eat their dinner at the deservedly favourite Hôtel du Jura, sleep the sleep of the self-satisfied, pay their bill, and depart

France, indeed, to the great travelling population of England and America is regarded as merely a district to be passed through, the quicker the better, in fact, in the words of an American table d'hôte neighbour of mine, "a flat uninteresting country,' leading to Switzerland. These table d'hôte dinners are very instructive to those who study human nature as embodied in the great travelling population-people like the Wandering Jew, perpetually on the move, heaven only knows why. Why should I visit the cathedral here?' said another Transatlantic fellow-diner at the ordinary of the aforesaid hotel. “I have seen dozens of cathedrals in my life, and one is exactly like another. And museums, too! I have seen almost every one in Europe. I hate them all!' And then she added, alluding to the exquisite tombs of the Dukes of Burgundy in the Dijon Museum, “People want me to visit this museum ; there are the tombs of some celebrities or other in it. But I have said, I won't, and I won't. Nothing shall induce me to set foot in another as long as I live!'

Such happy immunity from travelling folks of this type constitutes one of the chief charms of France for those who really know what travel means, and who like to study the inside as well as the outside of things. Arrived at the ancient capital of the kingdom of Burgundy, they will be perplexed as to which to choose of the novel and fascinating regions lying within reach. The wild little district of Morvan, the banks of the Saône, the wondrous Auvergne, with its lines of extinct volcanoes, the glorious Jura, the Cévennes, and many others. Dijon, indeed, instead of being regarded as a halt on the Swiss line, should rather figure in travellers' minds as a centre from which innumerable French tours may be made; and Dijon itself, which another table d'hôte neighbour described as a comfortable

tically speaking, in France, whilst its general claims upon the intelligent traveller are too numerous to mention. My object in this paper will naturally be to speak of matters which do not usually come under the observation of travellers, and before speaking of country-life and the people and their ways, to give a few details concerning the town, to which we should dedicate a few days. Its archæological and historic monuments and treasures are fully described in the English and French guide-books, so I pass them by, bidding the tourist, as he strolls through these handsome and picturesque streets, to note a few features—the admirable arrangements for water-supply in the town, for instance; at intervals of a few hundred yards we find taps of delicious fresh, ice-cold spring water, of which to taste is enough to make one renounce wine even in this renowned wine country. The Dijon water-works cost the town £44,000 in 1840, since which time abundance of good water is the happy possession of every soul in the place. By the way, might not our railway companies follow French example, and erect a drinking fountain at every station? We can get water certainly at our refreshment stalls, but not, I believe, without paying for it, whilst the needy traveller in France has only to carry his bottle with him, the greatest possible comfort in hot weather. Continuing our stroll, we now pause to visit one of the sights,' properly speaking, of Dijon, though not named in the guide-books, and only seen by means of special introduction. Now, not all travellers abroad are interested in art, science, or philanthropy, but we may fairly take it for granted that none are quite indifferent on the subject of wine. It may not be generally known that the restaurant of the Dijon railway station is supplied with wine by one of the largest and best known wine merchants in Burgundy, M. Paul Guillemot, whose wine cellars are well worth a visit. Burgundy is, as we all know, the land par excellence of good cellars, the smallest vigneron, as well as the largest, having a first-rate storage place for his wine. When we consider that age is the pre-eminent recommendation of wines of choicest crû,' we shall see the importance of the cellar. The wine merchant, who purchases only the world-renowned vintages, pays the wine-growers a high price to begin with, and has to lay by his wines, in other words to sink bis capital, for five, ten, fifteen, or more years. Thus, if wine is purchased by the merchant from the grower at five francs a bottle, and sold after some years' time at fifteen, we at once understand that the profits are by no means extravagant. Whilst the wine is ripening in the cellar, indeed, the merchant gets no interest on his money, besides which he is losing his actual capital, since the wine, so long as it remains in casks, wastes, every month having to be replenished. The meritoriousness of wine, roughly speaking, consists in its age, and wine-growers in these parts never drink new wine. The wine of poor vintages is sold straight away for foreign markets, only the good being stored in the cellar, whether for sale or private use.

wine less than ten or fifteen years old, and I have tasted choice wine of Beaune that has been mellowing much longer still in these private cellars, and of most exquisite bouquet. In fact, I may say, that I never knew what Burgundy wine was like till I tasted it among my wine-growing Burgundian friends. The sour stuff drunk in England -also in many parts of France—under the name of claret, is no more like the real thing than cream-cheese is like the moon. Until my Burgundian experience, indeed, I never could in the least understand English enthusiasm on the subject of French wines, seeing how unpalatable is the usual potion poured out of the claret jug, cold, sour, vinegar-like, anything but calculated to cheer the mind and warm the body.

These famous cellars I speak of are really wonderful, forming in themselves a little subterranean village or town, where you might as easily lose yourself as in the Catacombs. There seems no end to the long, arched chambers, some having on each side huge casks of wine holding fourteen tuns, others having neat shelves where the bottles are placed with as much order as books in a library. The temperature of the cellars varies slightly, the mean being 150 Centigrade, or about 55° Fahrenheit. The greatest curiosity of its contents is some wine of the 1819 vintage. Three thousand and odd tuns of wine are contained in these cellars, which are as interesting to a wine-lover as some famous library to a bibliophile.

We next pass on to two brand-new buildings on a handsome scale at Dijon, worth noticing from different points of view, the first, the Jews' Synagogue, inaugurated during my visit. There are not more than 500 members of the Jewish community here, and this imposing place of worship, erected at a cost of 300,000 francs, must represent large sacrifices on the part of all. As we well know, the Jews in France are less favourably regarded by their Catholic neighbours than Protestants, but this feeling is fortunately on the decline. French Government contributed 25,000 francs towards this synagogue, whilst the town, with equal liberality, granted the building site. At the opening ceremony, in which Protestant pastors took part, a prayer for the French Republic was offered up by the officiating Rabbi, and the inauguration speeches were all marked by sentiments of patriotism and attachment to Republican institutions. Catholics, it is almost needless to say, are in enormous majority here, as in Auvergne; and not far from this handsome place of Jewish worship is the enormous Jesuits' College, equally new and equally imposing, the sight of which opens up a wholly new line of thought. Will the Jesuits be expelled from France or will they not? This is the burning question in France at the present moment-a question it is much better not to raise in general company, so sore are the feelings of all concerned. On the one hand is sentiment, on the other law.

Catholic parents urge that in a Government based on liberty they should be permitted to choose the teachers of their sons; whilst the large political party

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