long fort-crowned line grows more imposing than
ever.  It runs across the roadstead, as we have
seen already, a mighty sea-wall—leaving space
inside it for from forty to fifty great ships, if
need be—to any of which the dockyard, be it
remarked, could give access at any state of the
tide.  The roadstead (Rade) is entered, then,
by passages at east and west, right and left, that
is, to us who are approaching the Digue in our
boat.  These passages, of course, are covered by
batteries, the gauntlet of which everything that
enters must run. At the eastern end, for
example, there is the fort with which the Digue
terminates, and vis-à-vis to it that which occupies
the Ile Pelée.  An enemy's ship penetrating
between these would be closed upon by the fire
of both, like a piece of paper by a pair of
scissors.  In fact, the Rade altogether is
defended by nearly six hundred guns; and if we
admit Sir Howard Douglas's calculation of the
proportionate force of guns in ships and shore-
batteries, it is hard to see where a squadron
strong enough to master the place can ever come
from.  Sir William Armstrong's friends say that
his terrible guns could shell the whole arsenal
from a distance too great to make the Digue or
other forts of any consequence; but, though the
country justly hopes much from Sir William's
discoveries, such speculations smack too strongly
of exaggeration.

In visiting the Digue, the best plan is to land
at Fort Central—the name of which suificiently
explains its position—and to extend one's
observations towards either end as may be agreeable.
So, we mount the landing-stairs, and are received
by the "gardien," a functionary perfectly
enraptured with the work to which he belongs.  It
is "gigantesque," and without a parallel in the
world, says he of the Digue; it is visited by
people from all parts of Europe; "enfin, elle
est magnifique."  This enthusiasm—always
delightful to meet with—for their public
works is universal amongst the mass of the
French. But they cannot bear criticism,
patiently.  They cannot hear of any great
thing elsewhere without instantly attempting
to match it; to "cap" the étranger's description
by another of something Gallican.  And, as a
certain amount of sharpness is more general
amongst the mass there than here, this tendency
furnishes a traveller with a good deal of amusement,
particularly in conjunction with that
familiarity which Balzac so often alludes to as
"la familiarité Française"—a lively assumption
of equality in the midst of despotism, not unlike
that of the slaves in the Latin comedy.

Standing, then, on the famous Digue, and
listening to as much of the gardien's loquacity
as seems profitable, we admit at once that we
are contemplating the results of a very great
and skilful labour.  'Tis a Babylonian sea-wall,
worthy of Neptune's chariot-wheels, and wide
enough to accommodate the moist old god should
he ever wish to enjoy such a drive.  It is based
upon a bed of stones; a shoal formed of which
you see, in looking down upon the water. It is
built of immense solid blocks, and fronted by
a granite parapet of beautiful masonry six
feet high, five to six feet thick, and coated
with asphalte. Fort Central—which we may
take as a specimen of the four forts—is
a round tower comprising a raised battery,
and mounting forty pieces. Inside, as at
La Roule, there is a barrack and establishments.
The Digue has its own social life and
population, even in peace time; there is a
canteen where the labourers get refreshments; and
the present writer passed two agreeable young
ladies, daughters of an official, on their way
"home."  How could one help thinking of the
picnics long ago to Plymouth Breakwater—
which, by-the-by, is only about a third of the
length—in one's youngster days, when the old
Indescribable, 80 (she is a coal-hulk, now,
alas!), was fitting out for the Syrian war, and
the two sweetest things in life were Devonshire
cream and the two Miss Collingwood Podgers?

    The forts on the Digue are:
    East Fort (sixty cannon).
    Fort Central (forty cannon).
    Fort Intermédiare (fourteen cannon).
    West Fort (sixty cannon).

The number of guns are those of 1858. But
the number on the Digue is greater now than
the aggregate of these would amount to; for
batteries are being formed along the general line
in addition to the regular establishments of the
forts, and, in strolling along we come upon
preparations for the mounting of guns frequently—
ring-bolts in the parapet, tram-road for the
carriages to traverse on, and such symptoms.
Some of the new grooved cannon—those rifled
with four instead of two grooves—are, I believe,
already on the Digue. But the neat little caps
in which the heads of guns are often enveloped,
prevent the curious tourist from

               seeking the bubble -- information,
     Even at the cannon's mouth.

And it doesn't do at a place like Cherbourg to
go asking downright questions of a business-
like description, note-book in hand. You would
soon find yourself cut short with "Connais pas,
monsieur," and sulky looks. As it was, I think,
one or two of my neighbours at our table d'hôte
thought I had been at Cherbourg long enough;
and one queer old gentleman, with a decoration
that looked like a little bit of tomata, asked me
why I stayed at this stupid place, and did not go
to Nice?

The Digue could, no doubt, mount five
hundred guns; and, as has been intimated
before, not only it, but several forts in addition,
protect the Rade. Such are Fort Impérial
(on I'Ile Pelée above mentioned), Fort des
Flamands, and others, making a dozen in all. Yet
the dockyard is fortified on its own account,
inside the whole of them. There is a good deal
of picturesqueness about these Cherbourg forts,
perched as some of them are on clumps of black
rock, and glittering grey in the sun and sea.

A dram to the gardien, and we are again afloat,
and "running free," as the phrase is, for the
shore. It is a spacious yet snug Rade this—