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of that church even a less distinguished individual than M. Paul Boucher, the eloquent author of the work entitled "L'Homme en face de la Bible," and of which, in a late number of this journal, we presented some notice to our readers. That Mr. Drury should avail himself of Mr. Boucher's kindness to accommodate his congregation is creditable alike to him who grants and who receives; and we are quite sure that, in the estimation of a large body of English residents at Brussels, we can answer Mr. Trollope's question by stating, " It is quite the thing."

Again, at page 276, when speaking of the progress that Belgium is making in the cultivation of literature, he alludes to Professor Barron, the eminent Greek scholar, forgetting to remark that he is a Frenchman.

He follows up the remark by stating that the only literary journal in Brussels is a weekly sheet called "The Artiste." Has he never seen or heard of "Le National," the Edinburgh Review of Belgium, the opposition journal, supported by the greatest names and first men of the country, Devaux and Lebeau being the editors, two men of unquestionably the widest range of information and most accurate reasoners that modern Belgium has produced,

He stigmatizes the daily press as being absolutely contemptible. It is so; and but for this fact, the articles which figure as leaders in the -accredited paper of the government, "L'Independent," might demand greater attention at the hands of the able individual who acts now as minister at the court of King Leopold. A spirit of insulting hostility to England and the English is the pervading tone of this journal, which never omits

an opportunity to exult at any momentary check to our national prosperity, and to throw an air of ridicule on any customs or habitudes they deem characteristically English.

M. Jobard, the talented editor of "The Fanal," is an exception to his compeers. He is a man of considerable information, and writes with elegance and ease; but, generally speaking, the writers for the periodical press in Belgium are the third and fourth rate contributors of Parisian journals, who make up for any deficiency in caustie wit or biting sarcasm, by the greater license of their abuse, and the more virulent tone of their attacks.

Ere we conclude with Mr. Trollope, let us express our sincere regrets at the unhappy specimen he has met with of Belgian ladies. We, too, know something of the country, and certainly it has never been our lot to see the high play he alludes to in society, much less the unscrupulous conduct he speaks of in page 305:-" Cards are usually played ruinously high, ecarté being the game almost usually selected, and the most unblushing trickery is practised, especially by the ladies."

We lament deeply that Mr. Trollope's researches into national character should have led him to seek for traits of the people in the only walk, we hope and believe, such habits as these exist the fact being, that in society, properly so called, no game is played but whist, the stakes invariably a trifle; it is needless to add, that the players are ladies and gentlemen, who remember that they are such.

We have now closed, and have only to express our fears that a really good work on Belgium and its people has yet to be written.

A DAY AT THE ROCK OF POLIGNAC.

BY LOUISA STEWART COSTELLO.

WE had arrived at the singular town of Le Puy en Velay on a bright day in August, having crossed the mountains of La Chaise Dieu from Thiers, and taken a cross route in order to see the remarkable and wild country which extends for many leagues along that picturesque part of Auvergne.

The hotel we had chosen in the Place du Breuil was a particularly handsome one, and, though our only chambermaid was a Spanish boy, who could speak no French, we were tolerably well attended. It is true that we were awakened at a very early hour, as we had been prevented going to sleep overnight by a tremendous clatter of wooden shoes along a passage close to our chamber, and by violent rattling and shaking of a door just at my bed's head; but as this happened regularly every night and morning during our stay, we tried to get used to it, having discovered that there was no remedy, for the linen of the house was kept in a press there, the lock of the door was rusty, the key would not fit, and it required several persons to assist at the opening of it every time articles were wanting out of it. It had never occurred to the bustling mistress, the half dozen garçons, or the master, who was sometimes called up to open this refractory door, that a carpenter or locksmith might have remedied the evil at once; so the nuisance continued, and we were doomed to hear the lamentations of the whole party over the calamity, "Mais, tenez donc, c'est unique !""est elle entelée-esta porta!"—"mais, mon Dieu, c'est ennuyant !"-much to our discomfort.

The summer of 1841 was very wet, and a fine day was an event to be hailed with delight. We therefore saw with pleasure, the morning after our arrival, that the weather promised well, and during our breakfast, we consulted as to our excursion for the day. We agreed that it would be time enough to explore the pyramidal town of Le Puy on an occasion when there was a duller sky, and the coun

try could be seen to less advantage. Tempting as it seemed to our eyes from the great place without the walls, where we were situated, we consequently determined to defer the enjoyment of climbing up its almost perpendicular streets to the cathedral which crowned the whole. While we were deliberating as to whether it would be well to visit the Cascade de la Raume, at Solignac-sur-Loire, or the grottos of Chaudeyrolls, or the natural temples of Arlempdes, or the curiosities of Yssengeaux; whether we should walk to the village of Vals, hard by, or make discoveries at the chateau of Charles VII. at Espaly, our handsome landlady made her appearance, and peremptorily decided the ques

tion.

"Of course, ladies," said she, "you will stay here some time, and we shall find amusement for you from day to day. No place is better off than Le Puy for sights, and nothing delights my husband more than showing them. He is a capital guide, and devotes himself to our travellers, particularly the ladies. You have only to name your hour; he has nothing to do today, and is quite at your service."

"We can have a carriage, then, and a good horse?" was our inquiry.

"Certainly; my husband will see to that. I recommend you to take advantage of the fine day-there will be no rain. Of course, the first thing you do will be to go to Polignac ;every one goes to Polignac directly they come. There is not such a castle in France-perhaps not in the world. The road is excellent, except just a little bit, which is rather rough. I will order a carriage out for you, and tell M. Mouillard to be ready in half an hour. You can take your sketchbook, for there is plenty to make a picture."

We did not hesitate to accept her offer; but as we knew by experience, half an hour in France means twice as long, we strolled out into the pretty circular promenade, opposite the great square, which is planted with young

trees, neatly kept, and, with its background of graceful mountains, is peculiarly attractive. From hence the town is seen to great advantage; tiers of houses, one above another, rise in a pyramid, with the cathedral towers above, and a ragged dark rock, called Mont Corneille, higher still, where totter the ruins of the ancient castle, threatening to crush the buildings immediately beneath. The trees of the garden of the seminaire above, and others, which appear at the base of the town, give a charming relief to its otherwise stony aspect. And at a distance, nothing can be more beautiful and curious than Le Puy and its satellite, the neighbouring and similarly-formed rock of Aighuille, surmounted, at its highest point, by the mysterious chapel of St. Michel, erected on the very spot where the archangel placed his foot.

We sat down to admire this view, on a bench, by the side of a young and pretty girl, who was working and taking care at the same time of a beautiful, but very impatient child, and we soon entered into conversation. To our inquiries, if the child belonged to her, she answered that she was only its attendant, in so sad a tone that we felt interested and surprised that one so young should be so little joyous.

"You are English, ladies?" said she. "I should like to go with you to your country, for I am fond of travelling, and long very much to do so; but if I ever do, it will be to a different part of the world."

"Why do you suppose so?" I asked.

"Because I wish to follow my poor mother and my brother, of course," said she.

"And where are they gone?" "To Africa. My brother is one of the best young men that ever breathed, and he is gone as cook in a gentleman's family who have left Le Puy to settle at Algiers. We cried very much when he went-my mother, my little sister, and I; but le bon Dieu is sure to take care of him, if he goes on as well as he always did at home; for he worked to support us all more than his strength would almost allow. This was such a good situation that he could not refuse it; and it turned out so well that he sent money home for my mother to go out to him; for she can get a good living there, in the

same family, who are very kind to him. So she provided for us two, my sister Louise and myself, and is gone."

"And how are you both provided for?"

"Oh, Louise is with the bonnes Sœurs de la Misericorde, where she is very happy, and gains a good deal by embroidery, which she does beautifully. I can work, as you see," and she showed us some lace work she was doing, “but nothing like Louise—she is a genius, and can do any thing with her fingers! The ladies of Le Puy, who respected my mother very much, and have employed her ever since she was a widow, all subscribed to pay a pension for Louise, and to buy clothes for us all. I am servant with a very good lady-she is a little impatient, like the baby, but every body has something, and I never contradict or argue with her, so we go on very well. My mother wrote to us. We got her letter a day or two ago. She is very well and prosperous, and thinks in two years we may go out to her. It is all Louise and I wish for in the world. How happy we shall be then! I may see my sister every week for an hour, alone; and then we have such talk! She tells me all her secrets, and I tell her mine. You know one always has little things to say, which no one can understand out of one's own family; and one does not like to tell other people all one feels-so it is such a comfort to us both.

I am sometimes very sad, as I sit here, taking care of the baby, all alone, but I think how le bon Dieu has protected us all, and I look forward to the time when we shall all be together at Algiers, and then I feel quite happy again."

We took leave of Marie with many good wishes, and left her to her pleasing visions of Africa and her mother, as we judged that our carriage was ready.

On reaching the court-yard of the hotel du Palais Royal, we found our hostess busy giving directions, our host whip in hand, and a fine strong horse being placed in a very handsome open carriage, capable of holding two persons comfortably. We were a

little startled when we found that our landlord, a particularly portly man, good-looking, good-humoured, and with rather a military air, was to

form a third in the vehicle. His wife's admonitions, delivered in rather an under-tone, seemed regarded by him in the manner that such " sage advices" are usually received by husbands, as, fixing himself in his bodkinseat, and desiring us to take plenty of room, he drove us out of the yard.

We went briskly along the wide open street which serves as a boulevard, occupying the place where ramparts formerly defended the town, and, leaving the rock of Aighuille on our right, passed the fine old church of St. Laurent, which contains the tomb and effigy, in full armour, of the great constable Du Guesclin.

This circumstance our host did not fail to name: "We will go and see all these curiosities together," said he. "I will take you to the cathedral, and we will climb up to the top of Corneille-only we need not tell my wife,

or she would scold. Not that there is any danger. I have been up often, and can help you up to the very pinnacle, where you will have such a view! We will not stop now for Messire Bertrand, but his tomb is worth seeing; he was a fine fellow, and had a great devotion to Notre Dame du Puy, in those days when religion was the fashion, and desired that his ashes should rest here, though his heart was placed in his wife's tomb, in Brittany, they say."

We delighted him by assuring him that we had seen the monument at Dinan, where the heart of the great warrior lay beside his Tiphaine; he laughed and exclaimed :

"Mais c'est drôle, vous autres Anglaises, vous avez tout vises !"

He then began to sing the famous old Breton ballad, the words of which may be thus translated :—

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"Valley of the Three Rivers," whose small silver streams glittered along their rugged bed, on the large stones of which clothes lay drying. Beyond the vale rose proudly the strange rocks, called Les Orgues d'Espuly; whose prisms, piled in fantastic and irregular masses, resemble in some parts a battery, with the mouths of innumerable cannon pointing towards the beholder: between their ranges floods of red and black lava appear to have poured down, leaving fiery stains on the surface.

We had, after reaching the level, proceeded gaily along the magnificent road, every moment exclaiming at the splendid views which opened upon us, greatly to the enjoyment of our host, who was vaunty" of his own country. We watched eagerly for the moment when the fine rock of Polignac should suddenly burst upon our sight, for we had already caught glimpses of it in approaching Le Puy, on our first arrival: nor had we long to wait, for presently, at a turn, the veiling wall of rock ceased, and the great plain was discovered, where, rising from the midst, the huge black mass of the peak of The Oracle of Apollo came before us, attended by its dark red companion, like a giant and his squire, standing in the path to intercept passengers.

We paused a moment to gaze at the grim apparition, now enlightened by the rays of a bright sun, which struck upon its towers and pinnacles, and made every nook visible. The village lay crouched close at its foot, the church hung half-way up the steep, and the dark castle-walls formed a rude diadem on its brow.

Directing his horse's head down a sort of ravine, M. Mouillard exclaimed, laughing, "Sit fast, ladies-this is our road, and a rough one it is!"

As he spoke, we plunged down a a declivity with a shock which threatened to dislocate our every bone we remonstrated that to descend into this quarry could not be the only way to arrive at the chateau.

"There has never been any other," said he; "and accidents very rarely occur if one is careful-my horse is used to it, and so am I."

Obliged to be content, we jumbled on, and found our host had not too much boasted of his steed, for it picked its way wonderfully amongst irregula

rities which seemed to us insurmountable. The hand of man appeared to have had no part in this road, which must have been originally formed by the eruption of a mountain torrent; but such as it was, we saw no other path, and were forced to follow it, between rude stone fences erected on each side as enclosures to some illcultivated stony ground. At length we came to a broad flat of slippery flint, and found that to remain in the carriage was almost certain destruction, we therefore, amidst the expostulations and laughter of our gay host, insisted on alighting, and he consented to do the same, leading the horse down the steep hill which led to the valley. We could not but congratulate ourselves on our escape, as we observed the vehicle tossing and tumbling before us like a boat on a stormy sea, and saw the efforts of our host to keep his horse from falling, not to mention the broken glass from one of the windows which had been dropping in pieces on my lap all the way, at every fresh jolt, however lightly the fact had been noticed by our insouciant driver.

When about half way down the ravine it was discovered that M. Mouillard had lost his whip; I volunteered to run back for it, and arrived at the place where it had fallen just as a pretty young peasant girl, in a geranium-coloured apron and little flat black hat, had picked it up, and came running towards me with it, showing her white teeth, and uttering exclamations in putois, which our host understood and seemed amused at, though they were unintelligible to us.

We floundered along in the sun in this way for nearly a mile, till the valley was gained, and then resuming our seats, commenced the ascent of the mountain on which the castle stands. Winding along a less difficult pass we came to a curious antique cross, very like those usual in Brittany, and looked upon as Celtic remains; and from thence we reached the pretty Normanlooking church, which is perched on a projection of the rock, overlooking the vale beneath. This was as high as a carriage could ascend, accordingly, while our host consigned his horse to the charge of a family of peasants who took care of the ruins, we wandered about the pretty church-yard, and admired its circular and zigzagged arches and the mosaic ornaments of its façade.

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