A few days
ago the black-currant trees were being stripped for the benefit of
Parisian lovers of _cassis_, a liqueur in high repute.
We encounter on our walks carts laden with plums packed in baskets and
barrels on their way to Covent Garden. Later on, it will be the peach
and apricot crops that are gathered for exportation. Later still,
apples, walnuts, and pears; the village not far from our own sends fruit
to the Paris markets valued at 1,000,000 francs annually, and the entire
valley of the Marne is unequalled throughout France for fruitfulness and
abundance. But the traveller must settle down in some delicious retreat
in the valley of the Marne to realize the interest and charm of such a
country as this. And he must above all things be a fairly good
pedestrian, for, though a land of Goshen flowing with milk and honey, it
is not a land of luxuries, and carriages, good, bad, or indifferent, are
difficult to be got. A countless succession of delightful prospects is
offered to the persevering explorer, who, each day, strikes out in an
entirely different direction. I have always been of opinion that the
best way to see a country is to make a halt in some good central point
for weeks at a time, and from thence "excursionize.
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