and is simply decorated with a post bearing
the inscription of "CHASSE RESERVÉE." Every
peasant proprietor of a paternal half-acre has
now the right to placard this prohibition, often
in most unsymmetrical capitals, before the
face of his noble neighbour. Feudalities are
swept away, and fierce was the torrent which
did so sweep them. The Forest of Licques,
which crowns those hills in the background
yonder, is no longer a temptation and a trap for
cruel punishments. The ungentle hand, even
the merchant-spicer, can easily and legally
enjoy the pleasure of destroying whatever
wild creatures he may find there. The
fortifications of Ardres are being demolished, at
the instance of a lady who longs for a glimpse
of the country outside; people catch their
eels, and shoot their wild-fowl, and drag their
not-so-very-slow barges, fearless of the dangers
which used to beset the French and English
border lands. Guînes has become a nest of
Young Ladies' and Gentlemen's Academies,
instead of being the hiding-place and the
spider's nest of the warriors and the traitors
of olden time. Agriculture, water-conveyance,
and the white-darting wreath from the
distant railway, have taken the place of
tournaments and war. The Field of the Cloth of
Gold has become the Field of the Cloth of
Flax. And three hundred and thirty-three
years hence, when the Cloth of Gold shall be
forgotten, or shall be voted a vulgar article
through the satiating glut of Australian
importations, the Field of Flax may still display
its bright carpeting of green, and the Cloth
of Flax may bleach ever triumphant on
the banks of he sluggish streams of the
Calaisis.

On the Field of the Cloth of Gold itself,
the only human habitation is a solitary road-
side half inn half farm-house, which seems
principally intended for the entertainment of
the cocks and hens, and pigeons, and  four-
legged animals that have taken up their
lodgings there, rather than to beguile the
wayfarer into loitering on his journey. But
just beyond the outskirts of this prancing-
ground of the French and English monarchs,
is a thrifty village, which we will call Les
Saules, with a population amounting to nine
hundred inhabitants, which population annually
grows and sends forth flax to the amount
of eight thousand pounds sterling, even in the
imperfect state in which it leaves their hands.

The leading topographical features of Les
Saules are pollard willows, rich meadows
intermingled with patches of arable land,
productive cottage-gardens, and plots of
ground that have been dug with the spade.
Little streams of soft and clear water wander
hither and thither through the village, and
wherever you go, you observe that almost
every tenement has one or more rude clay
buildings attached to it, in whose walls,
instead of windows, a row of squarish holes
are broken, at about the height of a man,
through which you can see daylight from the
other side. These wretched-looking hovels
are the workshops in which the flax is
prepared; and they not only are the sources of
considerable wealth, but they also shelter
a good deal of fun and merriment. The
scutchers, to earn wages enough to keep them
alive, are obliged, in winter, to begin working
before daylight, and to continue their task
some time after it has departed. The
introduction of lamps or candles amongst such
inflammable materials is carefully avoided;
nor are they necessary, as the operations can
be conducted as well by the aid of feeling as
by sight; and during these hours of
industrious obscurity, the imps of darkness are
kept at bay by patriotic, amatory, and comic
songs. The holes in the opposite walls are
made for the purpose of admitting a current
of air to carry off the dust— the great nuisance
of this part of the business. I asked my
acquaintance, Louis Carrout—(who fancied I
must be connected with the great flax-growers
of England, and was come over to
engage French workmen, and who begged
me to recommend him to a good place, as
here he could only earn five-and-twenty or at
the very most thirty sous a day, being paid
by the pound weight, to support himself and
wife and children)— I asked poor cheerful
Louis why they could not avoid the dust, by
working in the open air, under the shade of a
tree, in fine calm weather. But no, he said,
that would not do; the flax would get too
dry, and would not work so well.

At Les Saules, the steeping of the flax is
performed on the spot; and though some
people may call it an offensive operation,
it is in reality a very nice one. It is by
no means easy to determine beforehand the
length of time necessary for the steeping,
so much depends upon the state of the
atmosphere, the article required, and other
circumstances; and if the fermentation of
putrefaction does not go on equally throughout
the mass, all the bunches of flax have to be
taken out, and again packed together in their
watery bed. To conduct this process with
any certainty, samples are obliged to be
drawn, from time to time, out of the centre of
the mass, to ascertain whether the fibre can
be easily separated from the straw; but
unless a man has great experience, he is
obliged to dry the sample stalks, before he
can decide whether the steeping has gone far
enough.

As soon as that point is determined, which
generally happens at the end of ten or
twelve days (though some flax is not steeped
longer than four days, while some other
remains submerged as long as three weeks),
the stagnant water is immediately drawn off
from the pond, and fresh running water is
let in, to wash the flax-stalks and cleanse
them from any mud or colouring matter
which has been deposited upon them. Where
there are no conveniences for doing this, the
flax is taken out, spread upon grass land,