I wish I
could subjoin an illustration of "How I travelled through
Franche-Comte," for my exploration of these regions was a succession of
pic-nics--host, hostess, their English guest, Swiss nurse-maid, and two
little fair-haired boys, being cosily packed in an open carriage; on the
seat beside the driver, a huge basket, suggesting creature comforts, the
neck of a wine bottle, and the spout of a tea-pot being conspicuous
above the other contents. This is indeed the way I saw the beautiful
valley of the Doubs, and not only the country round about Besancon, but
the border-land of Switzerland and Savoy. The weather--we are in the
first days of September--is perfect. The children, aged respectively
eighteen months and three years and odd, are the best little travellers
in the world, always going to sleep when convenient to their elders, and
at other times quietly enjoying the shifting landscape; in fact, there
is nothing to mar our enjoyment of regions as lovely as any it has ever
been my good fortune to witness.
In consequence of the bad character of the Besancon hotels, even French
tourists seldom break their journey here; but, on the opening of the new
railway line into Switzerland, joining Besancon, Ornans, and Morteau,
new and better hotels are sure to spring up.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133