A TRIP TO BOULOGNE.

BY ONE WHO NEVER WAS OUT OF ENGLAND BEFORE.

BOULOGNE is no longer the exclusive resort of duellists and debtors from England : a trip to Boulogne has now become as common as an excursion to Rainsgate or Margate ; and since the fares of the steam- boats have been reduced by competition to their present low rate, thousands of curious Coeknies of all grades have been afforded a cheap pretence for talking of being "on the Continent," and giving their opinion of " France" and " the French," in virtue of having passed a Sunday in an English hotel at a French watering-place, or at the most traversed an extent of territory comprised in the space of one sixteenth part of an inch on the map of Europe. But were the mob of "the great vulgar and the small" daily vomited on the Quay of Boulogne more motley than it is, the interest of the trip would not be the less. Boulogne, though half Anglicized, presents a picture so novel and striking to English eyes that have not seen other than English scenes, that the visit is well worth making on this account alone. Such as test the merit of what is French by the standard of Dogfish habits and customs, will of course return confirmed in their national predilections for sea-coal fires, roast-beef, and brandied port, if not with an antipathy to all that is French. Of this class we saw a few pretty specimens : one was a trio of holyday-makers from White- chapel, who most profusely anathematized the country and the people ; and another was of a seemingly better class, who devoutly aspirated a wish that he might never leave dear old England again, and vowed that be should kneel down and kiss the shore when be arrived ! Fancy the poetical Cockney recovering from a paroxysm of sea-sickness, kneel- ing down on the strand at the TowerStaiirs and kissing the in uddy shingle, amid the jeers and laughter of the crowd of watermen! These and other vagaries of some of our dear ignorant countrymen make one feel a little ashamed of one's nation ; but the intelligent Frenchman knows how to discriminate between the vulgar Cockney and the citizen of the world, and is quite content to enjoy a laugh at the follies which he makes John Bull pay for indulging in. The result of this increased intercourse between the two neighbour nations, which arises from the fresh facilities offered to the throng of pleasure tourists by the Bou- logne boats, will tend nevertheless to draw still closer the bond of amity between us.

We will suppose the voyager has left the Thames at midnight ; he will then arrive in the port of Boulogne about noon the next day ; and the transition from the noisy brick and mortar Babel, veiled in its murky mantle of smoke, to the clean and quiet little town of Boulogne, with its handsome stone houses, all windows and shutter- blinds, dazzlingly white under a bright sun and an atmosphere guiltless of coal-smoke, with the clear green sea-waves flowing across the pier- head and whitening the sand with foam, will produce a striking impres- sion, which further observation will confirm. A second glance shows him he has arrived in the land of gayety and ornament: the red and blue dresses of the fishwomen, their white caps and large gold ear- rings, give brilliant colour to the scene, and render its strangeness pic- turesque. The first shock to English prejudice is the appearance of the Douaniers in their military costume; for though we have got pretty well reconciled to a Government Police in civil uniform, a Gendarmerie is distasteful still, albeit the Douaniers at Boulogue are better behaved and not more troublesomely strict than the Customhouse-officers of Dover and London. The next shock to our notions is not readily got over; and indeed it is a revolting custom, that is a grievous imputation on French gallantry,—we allude to the employment of women as porters. The business of carrying the luggage of passengers from the Douane to their hotels is claimed as a privilege by the wives of the fishermen: and they perform the duty with an alacrity that, coupled with their idea of gain, materially lessens the sympathy of the traveller. But this is only one of the many painful evidences of the prevalent cus- tom, in France, of employing women in hard and heavy labour : the mode in which they carry their burdens fastened on their backs by a cord across the bosom, makes the custom, to us, still more revolting, indifferent as the sufferers themselves may be to it. The employment of females in shops is not objectionable—indeed it is an improvement upon the English man-milliner system ; but this practice of converting women into porters and labourers is against nature ; and its injurious effects on the race are seen in the dwarfed forms of the common people. The undersized soldiery of the French is not the effect of the con- scription and destructive wars merely; the cause is deeper-seated. The women of the poorest class, however, all look clean and tidy, and especially neat about the head and feet : they wear good strong leather shoes and sound stockings, mostly blue—the prevalent colour in the dress of the country-people of both sexes. The sabots, or wooden shoes,

are as rare in Boulogne as the cocked bat among the male peasantry; and instead of the dirty battered bonnet, that gives such a squalid air to English women of the poorer class, a snow-white cap, with a deep plaited border, sometimes with a kerchief thrown loosely over it and tied under the chin, or the additional covering of the hood of the cloth or printed cotton cloak in bad weather, is the almost universal head-

gear : children too wear caps ; the hair is seldom seen uncovered out of doors. The style in which the middle classes of Frenchwomen dress;

gives them a great advantage in personal appearance over the same

class of Englishwomen—the latter appear in comparison either dowdy or fine : the difference is in the mode only. There is a point and brit-

honey in the toilet of a Frenchwoman that our countiywomen do not

attain to ; but in loveliness there is no comparison. The unembar- rassed ease and unreserved manner of the Frenchwomen are agreeable to the stranger ; but we confess that the retiring diffidence, and even the bashfulness and mauvaise honte of English girls—like the bloom on the fruit, that denotes its freshness—has a charm for us, that the confidence and self.possession of the Frenchwomen failed to inspire. But we are forgetting that we are only on a visit to Boulogne. The handsome and uniform appearance of the houses, and the solidity of their construction, produce a stateliness very different from the dreamy monotony of our long perspectives of dingy brick walls with slits for doors and windows : the windows of equal size to the top, and open- ing French-fashion, the hewn stone door and window cases, and the pediments to the attic windows, give a bold architectural character to the humblest houses. Many of our best houses are spoiled by the mean way in which the attic window is set in to the roof, as if the builder were ashamed of the contrivance, and wished it not to be seen ; while the very cottages round Boulogne have a substantial look, from the architectural finish which the stone pediment of the attics furnishes ; and the addition of outside shutters or blinds, mostly painted green, completes the gay and handsome appearance of their exterior. The windows opening lengthwise, and the draperies within, give an elegance to the houses in Boulogne, which the sliding sashes and dwarf blinds, cutting the windows across, entirely destroy in English dwellings. But if the exterior of the French houses be all in keeping except the ugly, ill-painted doorg, the interior presents an appearance of incon- congruity startling to the unaccustomed eye. The absence of the grinning grate—that eyesore of English rooms in summer—atones for the vacant fire-place ; but the naked floors of tiles or wood inlaid or painted, with sometimes a large mat, or even the " slut's carpet " of sand, are comfortless to feet accustomed to carpets arid rugs : carpets are not imeommon in Boulogne, however, but they are the exception, not the rule. Wherever you go, the mirror, the time-piece, and the flowing drapery meet the eye, even if the walls be whitewashed and the furniture crazy. The fittings of the houses by no means correspond in neatness and completeness with their exterior: show seems an es- sential, comfort the contingency. These are the most prominent ex- ternal peculiarities that strike the English eye in Boulogne : the absence of flagged foot-ways and persons walking in the middle of the road-way, and the market-people with their wares spread out in the open street, may also be noted. On the Sunday, the signs of a Catholic country are more strikingly visible, in the open shops and the people following their usual avoca- tions; a sight that, without any feeling of Andrew-Agnewisin, we may wish may never be familiar to us in England. The priests, in their close-fitting black robe and large three-cornered hats, and the occasional appearance of a Sister of Charity on her errand of mercy, or some other less benevolent order of nuns, and the occasional erection of a crucifix, are signs common to every day in the week. Boulogne is a pleasant place to visit. The bathing is good. There is a fine extent of sea. The country round is beautiful. There are the usual gayeties of a watering-place for those who like them. Good company is to be found at the tables diulte of the hotels ; and though the best class of French visiters keep themselves select, the English who are provided with letters of introduction will be welcome, and even without these social passports they may mix with agreeable society to a certain extent. Boulogne, moreover, is not a mere French Ramsgate: it is an old town abounding with historical associations. Not many miles from it, are the battle-fields of Cressy and Agincourt, and the "field of cloth of gold," where HARRY the Eighth and FRANCIS the First met in the harmless rivalry of wealth and state. Here WO NAPOLEON mustered his flotilla for the invasion of England,—a project not less bond fide in intention than difficult of achievement, though NAPOLEON would fain have had it believed that it was a mere demon- stration. This part of the coast, also, was the scene of that lamentable catastrophe the wreck of the Amphitrite, which is yet fresh in the memory—where a whole ship-load of convicts, principally females, were sacrificed to a mistaken sense of duty on the part of a stupidly obstinate and sordid captain. The bodies that were washed on shore arc buried in the cemetery just out of the town on the road to St. Omer. The old town, called the Haute Ville, is situated on a height, and is joined to the Basse Ville by the ascent of the Grand Rue. The ancient walls and three of the four gates remain ; and the view from the ramparts—. which, being planted with trees, form a delightful promenade—is extensive and varied. The fort and the belfry are the principal old buildings of note. The exterior of the church in the market-place is heavy and unsightly, with only its antiquity to recommend it : the architecture of the interior, however, has some points of elegance at the chancel end ; and the scene during mass is characteristic. The gor- geous pontifical dresses; the incense "from chain, swung censer teem- ing ;" the lusty chanting of the priests, aided by the chorus of the con- gregation, an asthmatic organ, and a bassoon ; the absence of pews, and the substitution of common rush-bottomed chairs, on which the con- gregation (chiefly women and children) kneel and sit alternately, and the woman quietly collecting the sous for their use from each occupant during the service ; and last, not least, the decorated altars, and the military beadle, with his long feather and huge cocked hat, sash and sword, and a halbert in his hand, pacing up and down, and occasionally performing a part in the ceremonial,—these, together with the business- like alacrity with which the rites are performed, as by routine, impress the Protestant English with a sense of the indispensable nature of the worship to the people, and their habitual sincerity there may be the listlessness and indifference of cuetom, but no affectation is appatent, for

none is needed—those who don't choose to go stay away. The black and white crosses and coloured crucifixes M the cemetery and the country churchyards, have a much more picturesque effect than our stone slabs set up on end, though they serve the purpose of inscriptions less conveniently : little crosses, like the lath daggers of children, are stuck in the new-made graves, and often at the foot of a crucifix in a public thoroughfare. The flowers planted or scattered over the graves of those who are cared for by survivors, is one of the most graceful

modes in which French sentiment for the dead manifests itself; and

much more poetical than the painted tears, like inverted commas, on the crosses. The column erected to NArowasi by the army is a hand- some object, and, from its position on the cliff, is visible from a great

distance : the bronze bas-reliefs on the base and the tatue of NA Co. LEON have yet to be placed, but they are to be added by the Govern-

ment. Louis PIIILIP perhaps feels that the loyalty of the French to BONAPARTE, since young NAPOLEON died, is a kind of safeguard of the monarchy. A stately new church is being erected in the high town ; but the pillars that form the drum of the dome have no architrave to support ;a yet : they mutely appeal to good Catholics for subscriptions to complete the structure.

Of the public institutions, the Museum best deserves a visit : it has a pretty extensive collection of curiosities, a .library, pictures, arid a

fine gallery of casts from the antique : it is of course open to the public, and the visiters are numerous and orderly. We had occasion to blush for two beastly Englishmen, who could see nothing in the

antique statues but an occasion covertly to insult two young WOnieli who happened to be near them. But English grossness has not yet been refined by the softening influence of the fine arts : we have not yet got our provincial galleries of sculpture and painting. Excursions into the country are constantly made by the visiters and residents of Boulogne ; and donkies and pony-chaises are in constant requisition for this purpose. Here, much more than in an English watering-place, you may do as you please, arid no one stares at you. The country within the circle of the Boulonnais is beautiful ; the chain of hills encloses a fertile and prettily-wooded valley ; while on one side the forest of Boulogne stretches out to an immense extent. The trees are mostly stunted, partly by their proximity to the sea perhaps, but more by the practice of pollarding them for fire-wood : but round the chateaus will generally be found some fine timber, and tree-bor- dered meadows, and fields enclosed with hedges, as in England. The old chateaus have a stately look, but are lumpy in form ; and the farms near them, with the stone tower for a dove-cote, and the conventual- looking barns and out-buildings, and the old church (or rather chapel) near them, the whole embosomed in foliage, make the spots interesting and picturesque. Among the most charming that we saw, were Belle— worthy of its name—where there are the ruins of a fort said to have been built by the father of the famous GODFREY of Boulogne, which was battered down by the English ; Pergne ; and Souverain Moulin, whose chateau is the seat of the Counts of Bethune, the descendants of the great SULLY. The chapels are barn-like, with a raised gable serving as a belfry, and the chancel end elevated above the nave to give dignity to the altar. At one, Le 1Vast—a perfect spccimen of a French village—is a fine Norman door-way ; and the building evidently forms part of an old abbey, as many others do. The thin weed-choked crops, and starveling cattle and poultry of the French farmers, look wretched to English eyes ; and the filth about the farm-houses and cottages, and the neglected appearance of every thing, are not agreeable, certainly. But the country-people are happy and contented, and polite to strangers and one another. They do not bow servilely to your coat or your estate, as in England, but exchange a salute with the frankness of good fellowship. It is quite a pleasure to receive and return the common greetings of " bon Jour," or " beau temps," with the peasants. The want of capital, and the niggardly husbandry, which spares all but indispensable outlay to accumulate a pit- tance to buy another acre of ground, tell little for the political economy of divided lands and small holdings ; but the independence and happiness of individuals under this system are not to be overlooked in the estimate. The ever-boiling soup-kettle is replenished at little expense with herbs and vegetables, and the smallest modicum of meat serves to flavour the mess. This spare diet keeps them cheerful arid content ; and the gay dress for the mass or the ducasse, the display of bright pewter platters interspersed with gaudy-painted earthenware that adorns the shelves of the meanest cottage, serving more for show than use, and the nest-egg to buy linen fora daughter's dowry, or add another field to their possessions, are the extent of their wishes. The French covet money as we do, but they deal with you on a par—it is the exchange of one commodity for another : they may overreach you, but they are not servile or insolent. The dueasses are dances that are held on Sunday evenings periodically during the summer at the different villages; and are frequented by all classes, from the peer to the labourer. It is a scene that speaks volumes for the social feeling of the country, to see old and young, rich and poor, rustic and townsman, footing it together in a quadrille, with hearty. unaffected enjoyment : the uncouth dancer—though these are few in France—is in no fear of ill-natured jeers, while the featly-tripping lass receives the full meed of admiration. All parties are at their ease : there is no condescension on the one hand nor assumption on the other. Many English people at- tend these ducasses and it is amusing to contrast the happy faces of a merry group of peasants jolting along to the dance in a Marmite—a cart like a crate upon wheels, or a truck with long shafts—and the grave, careful looks of the English party, in their phaeton. A trip to Bou- logne may at any rate teach the English how cheap real enjoyment is, if they should not learn how to procure it.