The
rest of our drive lay through an open, fairly-cultivated plain with
little manufacturing colonies, thickly scattered among the rural
population. In many cases the tall black chimneys spoil the pastoralness
of the scene.
It was with extreme regret I took farewell of the friendly little
Protestant town of Montbeliard, soon after this journey. I had entered
it a few weeks before, a stranger, I quitted it amid the good wishes,
hand-clasps, and affectionate farewells of a dozen kind friends. Two
hours' railway journey, through a beautiful country, brought me to
Besancon, where, as at Montbeliard, I received the warmest welcome, and
felt at home at once.
CHAPTER VI.
BESANCON AND ITS ENVIRONS.
The hotels at Besancon have the reputation of being the worst in all
France, but my kind friends would not let me try them. I found myself,
therefore, all at once in the midst of all kinds of home comforts,
domesticities, and distractions, with delightful cicerones in host and
hostess, and charming little companions in their two children. This is
the poetry of travel; thus to journey from one place to another,
provided with introductory letters which open hearts and doors at every
stage, and make each one the inauguration of a new friendship.
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