1815.] Smithson Tennant, Esq. 95 
nates, exceed all anticipation. Suppose the scenery of the hot wells at 
Bristol extended 50 miles, with a broader rapid river, higher moun- 
tains, under a glowing climate, and thickly set with white cottages, 
intended to be copied by a painter. Nothing is so fine as the situa- 
tion of Lyons, and the views into the paradisiacal valley from the 
mountains on each side of the town. This wonderful scenery con- 
tinues along the Rhone by Vienne (from whence comes the Coté 
rotie wine) and Tain (from whence Hermitage) till you arrive in 
Provence, where the olive, a new production of the southern cli- 
mates, begins to make its appearance. Through this rich garden or 
forest you come to the calcareous mountains, which on their sum- 
mits are white rocky hills, covered with wild plants, thyme, rose- 
mary, lavender, ilex, quercus coccifera, and innumerable plants 
unknown in our latitude, but which I hope to raise in England next 
year, to renew my impressions of this country. These mountains 
enclose the valley of that wonderfully situated immense town of 
Marseilles. As you descend, the Mediterranean appears, and the 
great city with its endless suburbs in the hollow vallies sloping 
towardsthe sea) * * * * Jt was with infinite regret that [ 
left Marseilles; if I could stay the winter, it should be there. 
Avignon is pleasingly situated; Nismes has fine antiquities ; Mont- 
pellier is in a rich and plentiful country; but they are all triste and 
dead compared with Marseilles, where every attraction is united.” 
On his return from Montpellier to Paris, he writes, while stopping 
for a few days at Lyons, ‘* At Montpellier I had the peculiar advan- 
tage of a most attentive acquaintance (M. Berard), who is one 
of the best chemists in France. The country affords few such; but 
he was brought-up at the feet of Berthollet, who gave me a letter 
to him. He succeeded to the chemical works of Chaptal, which are 
now very extensive, and carried on with great intelligence—On my 
return | visited the great Roman aqueduct of the Pont du Gard, so 
striking for its antiquity, its altitude, its solidity, and the very 
romantic situation where it passes over the valley and river. Pont St. 
Esprit is hardly less interesting, being of such immense extent 
(more than half a mile), and the lowest bridge on the Rhone. It 
was built, not by the Romans, but in the darkest ages by the powers 
of superstition, the great principle of energy and exertion at that 
period. In 1265 the offerings to the convent of St. Esprit were 
sufficient for this undertaking, and were thus applied by the monks, 
with honour to themselves, and with great advantage to a remote 
posterity; for the passage over it is immense at this time.—I 
Stopped for half a day at ‘Tain, from whence we have the Hermitage 
wine. Nothing can be more beautiful than the gold colour of the 
* vine-covered hills,’ nor more extraordinary than the sand or gravel 
in which the plant grows. There is not a particle of soil, but 
merely broken, sharp fragments of granite, chiefly felspar, per- 
fectly clean; for though the roots of the vine are manured ouce a 
year, this totally disappears. The gravel soil is supported by walls. 
