i879-] A VISIT TO THE THOMERY VINEYARDS. 159 



quire compressing in the centres in order to keep them smooth and 

 even when used in the way I suggest. T. citrioclorus aureus, the 

 Golden Lemon Thyme, is one of the prettiest plants in summer or 

 winter which has been introduced in recent years. 



Such are a few of the many things that might be used with good 

 effect in the flower-garden. If they are handled with taste, there can 

 be no doubt as to the pleasing results which might be obtained, even 

 in summer bedding; while in winter the fresh green and glaucous 

 and other tints of colour which would remain would be a gain ob- 

 tained at small cost. 



W. Sutherland. 



A VISIT TO THE THOMERY VINEYARDS. 



Some 45 miles south of Paris, on the Paris and Marseilles Railway, the 

 train lands the traveller at the secluded little station of Thomery, 

 lying on the skirts of the great forest of Fontainebleau, and only a few 

 miles beyond Fontainebleau itself, with its palace and gardens and fine 

 scenery, so that the traveller may visit both on the same day if he 

 chooses. There is nothing about the little wayside station of Thomery, 

 with its single porter, to lead one to suppose it is the centre of any 

 important industry, though we are assured that it despatches twenty 

 or thirty thousand pounds weight of Grapes daily to Paris during the 

 autumn* months. French railway stations are, as a rule, mean-looking 

 structures compared to those in England, and their sanitary arrange- 

 ments and other conveniences are simply detestable, and this applies to 

 the large stations in Paris as well, — at least to the older ones. St 

 Lazare Station is clean and pretty, and is decorated with flowers like a 

 drawing-room, and the Station du Nord, where English travellers are 

 always arriving or departing, is fitted up more in accordance with 

 English ideas, but the less said about some others the better. An 

 Englishman in France, if he wishes to judge the people charitably, in 

 some things, had better keep the motto " Honi soit qui mal ypense " con- 

 tinually before his mind ; but do as he may, he is apt to think that 

 French civilisation is very much made up of "tops and bottoms." 

 This, however, is by the way. 



The village of Thomery lies about a mile and a half from the 

 station, and a very good bit of the forest is traversed between the two 

 —the trees, oak chiefly, standing thickly together like seedlings in a 

 hotbed. Almost as soon as one emerges from the dense shade of the 

 wood, he finds the road bordered on one side by Vine walls, and on 

 the other by a rough fence, over] which the field Vines scramble in a 

 semi-wild state, like Blackberry bushes, and down in the valley below 

 lies the village surrounded on all sides by Vineyards— some small, and 



