oil-lamps attached to poles, they continued dancing the Ronde until a late hour.

In walking back to Châtelaudren I was much struck by the dangerous position of the houses, immediately under the lake, from which they are only separated by a narrow neck of land. My attention was particularly drawn to this singularity, in consequence of a terrible catastrophe which happened some years ago, when a great rise of the lake caused the dam above the town to give way, and several houses and inhabitants were destroyed.

The sad story is related by Souvestre in his charming work 'Les Derniers Bretons,' and the incidents are so romantic and interesting that I am led to transfer them to these pages.

"If," says he, "you arrive at a town beyond St. Brieuc on the road to Guingamp during the night, you will find yourself in the middle of a long Place, surrounded by large houses, from which no light proceeds and no sound breaks on the midnight air. But at one end of the Place you will see a large church, the windows of which are faintly illumined; a fresh and humid atmosphere will bathe your face, and you will hear the murmur of falling water.

"That dead town is Châtelaudren; that murmur is the waterfall from the lake, which continually threatens the destruction of the place, for Châte

laudren resembles Naples with the contiguous volcano: both have death for their pillow.

"On the 13th of August, 1773 (number doubly fatal), the largest house in the town was brilliantly lighted; laughter, mingling with music, issued in bursts from the open windows, for there was a ball in the house. At the door stood a handsome girl, dressed in white muslin and pink satin shoes, her hands clasping those of a young man in riding costume, whose arm retained the bridle of a horse; they were lamenting the necessity of separating just as the ball was about to commence; but the orders he had received were imperative; the young man had a long ride before him along the bad roads of St. Cled, -delay was out of the question.

"After embracing his betrothed he sprang upon his horse and galloped wildly away, apparently desirous of forgetting his vexation by rapidity of motion. But he was only seventeen years old, and he had engaged to dance the first minuet with the girl in the sandalled satin shoes.

"When he had surmounted the hill above the town, he paused to listen, fancying he might catch strains of music from the festive scene; but he only heard the waves of the lake breaking on the shore, and the waterfall, which had increased in size in consequence of the swollen state of the Stream of Tears (the Bre

ton name for the Leff); he sighed and went on his

way.

Presently the storm increased in violence. The thunder roared, the lightning divided the darkness, the rain fell in torrents, and the earth trembled. The rider was nine miles from Châtelaudren when he thought he heard strange rushing sounds proceeding from the town; but he rode on, comparing his situation to that of his friends at the ball, and he envied them their happiness.

"At that moment they were dead; the lake had burst, and the town was submerged.

"The young man heard the sad news the following morning, and flew to the scene: alas! the chimneytops were all that was visible of Châtelaudren; there was three feet of water above the roofs. In vain did he try to reach the Place, the entire valley was filled with a rushing flood, carrying on its seething breast corpses, furniture, and crops. Two days elapsed before the interior of the town could be reached. Then he found his betrothed, with a rose which he had given her still in her bosom. That young man was my father, at that time Director of Public Works, in the service of the States of Brittany. "Since that day the town has remained as silent as a snail in its shell. A lamp burns nightly in the church, in memory of those who perished on that ter

rible night; and all acquainted with the story of the inundation think of the sad fate of the revellers as they pass those silent and dark houses, see the illumined church, and hear the lake when storms lash the waters to fury, for all retains the impress of a great disaster; the town has not cast off its mourning."

Had the romantic author of this touching tale seen Châtelaudren at the time of my visit, he would have at least modified the last words, for a merrier party I never saw than that which danced beneath my windows, in the Place where Souvestre's father lost his betrothed. But when the last merry-maker had departed, and the lamps on the poles were extinguished, a pale light illumined the great church-windows, and a sound of falling water told that Châtelaudren still sleeps on a pillow of death.

A CHEAP INN.-RAVENOUS WOLVES.-ARRIVAL AT GUINGAMP.MARIE DE BON SECOURS.-THE BARONS OF PENTHIÈVRE.ITALIAN FOUNTAIN. THE TRIEUX.-ANGLING.-DISH OF TROUT. -THE MILL TAIL.-TOUR DU BOIS DE LA ROCHE.-A TROUTY STREAM.-PICTURESQUE SCENE. THE GUINGAMP WASHERWOMEN. NOTRE DAME DE LA GRACE.-CHARLES DE BLOIS.-CURIOUS

"PRAY," said I to the bustling landlady of the 'Lion d'Or,' who had managed to cram an amazing number of guests into her small inn on the night of the fête, "how much have I to pay?" Breton innkeepers have not generally learnt the art of making a bill, but simply inform the traveller the amount of his score; so, in answer to my question, the landlady drew a