People who are bound for the Continent should provide themselves with the new edition of Mr. Leigh's descriptive Road Book of France--even before they get their passports at the French ambassador's, or if they only _intend_ to visit Calais, Boulogne, or Dieppe--and the chances are that they will be induced to travel beyond these places, which, in truth, give an Englishman no more idea of France than Dovor would afford a foreigner of England. A few years since, comparatively speaking, people only knew their way from York to London, much less the objects on the road--now, by the economy of guide books they may know every good inn in France, and carry the _ichnography_ of the kingdom in their coat pocket. In the present edition of the "Road Book of France," attention has been paid to the description of the delightful South, especially of Bordeaux, the mineral springs and bathing-places of the Pyrenees, the navigation of the Rhone from Lyons to Avignon, as well as of Marseilles, Toulouse, &c., and some of the principal towns have been illustrated with plans. Dipping into the Itinerary from Calais to Paris, we were reminded of a curious coincidence: Julius Caesar is supposed to have sailed from Boulogne on his expedition against the Britons; and in later times, Napoleon Bonaparte there prepared to carry into execution the invasion of Great Britain. But how different have been the results! * * * * * JOURNEY FROM THE BANK TO BARNES. A lively volume with many shreds of wit and humour, and occasional patches of "righte merrie conceite," has just fallen into our hands, and has afforded us some very pleasant reading. There is fun in the very title, "Personal Narrative of a Journey overland from the Bank to Barnes, &c. with some account of the Regions east of Kensington. By an Inside Passenger. With a Model for a Magazine, being the product of the Author's sojourn at the village of Barnes, during five rainy days." The author is a shrewd, clever fellow, who loves a little raillery on the follies of the day, and joins with our friend, Popanilla in deploring the present artificial state of society; therefore, suppose we give a few _flying_ extracts from his tour, premising that the good people of the little villages through which he passed, are not aware of what good things he has said of them; for his little book would suit every parlour window from Hyde Park Corner to Barnes. _Brentford._