arrangements in some of the old ones leave much to be desired in the way of comfort and modern improvements,—­lighting very bad, neither gas nor electricity, and I should think no baths anywhere, hardly a tub.  On the banks of the Seine and the Loire, near the great forests, in all the departments near Paris there are quantities of chateaux—­some just on the border of the highroad, separated from it by high iron gates, through which one sees long winding alleys with stone benches and vases with red geraniums planted in them, a sun-dial and stiff formal rows of trees—­some less pretentious with merely an ordinary wooden gate, generally open, and always flowers of the simplest kind, geraniums, sunflowers, pinks, dahlias, and chrysanthemums—­what we call a jardin de cure, (curate’s garden)—­but in great abundance.  With very rare exceptions the lawns are not well kept—­one never sees in this country the smooth green turf that one does in England.

Some of the old chateaux are very stately—­sometimes one enters by a large quadrangle, quite surrounded by low arcades covered with ivy, a fountain and good-sized basin in the middle of the courtyard, and a big clock over the door—­sometimes they stand in a moat, one goes over a drawbridge with massive doors, studded with iron nails and strong iron bolts and chains which defend the entrance, making one think of old feudal days, when might was right, and if a man wanted his neighbours property, he simply took it.  Even some of the smaller chateaux have moats.  I think they are more picturesque than comfortable—­an ivy-covered house with a moat around it is a nest for mosquitoes and insects of all kinds, and I fancy the damp from the water must finish by pervading the house.  French people of all classes love the country and a garden with bright flowers, and if the poorer ones can combine a rabbit hutch with the flowers they are quite happy.

I have heard W. speak sometimes of a fine old chateau in our department—­(Aisne) belonging to a deputy, who invited his friends to shoot and breakfast.  The cuisine and shooting were excellent, but the accommodations fantastic.  The neighbours said nothing had been renewed or cleaned since the chateau was occupied by the Cossacks under the first Napoleon.

We got very little country life during those years at the Foreign Office.  Twice a year, in April and August, W. went to Laon for his Conseil-General, over which he presided, but he was rarely able to stay all through the session.  He was always present on the opening day, and at the prefet’s dinner, and took that opportunity to make a short speech, explaining the foreign policy of the Government.  I don’t think it interested his colleagues as much as all the local questions—­roads, schools, etc.  It is astonishing how much time is wasted and how much letter-writing is necessitated by the simplest change in a road or railway crossing in France.  We had rather a short narrow turning to get into our gate at Bourneville, and W. wanted to have the road enlarged just a little, so as to avoid the sharp angle.  It didn’t interfere with any one, as we were several yards from the highroad, but it was months, more than a year, before the thing was done.  Any one of the workmen on the farm would have finished it in a day’s work.