We arrived the evening before last, and this letter should have been written yesterday if I hadn't been interrupted.

Such a pleasant journey we had, after the curse of the sea! ('_Where there shall be no more sea_' beautifies the thought of heaven to me.

But Frederick Tennyson's prophets shall compound for as many railroads as they please.) In fact, we did admirably by land.

We were of unbridled extravagance, and slept both at Lyons and Dijon, and travelled by express trains besides, so that we were almost alone the whole way, and able to lie at full length and talk and read, and 'Doit et Avoir' did duty by me, I assure you--to say nothing of 'Galignanis' and French newspapers.

I was nearly sorry to arrive, and Robert suggested the facility of 'travelling on for ever so.' He (by help of _nux_) was in a heavenly state of mind, and never was the French people--public manners, private customs, general bearing, hostelry, and cooking, more perfectly appreciated than by him and all of us.