satisfactory use which they contrive to make
of it."

"I cannot imagine," I replied, musingly, at
the same time filling myself a glass of vin de
grave from my pint bottle, and tossing it
off with a sincere appreciation of its merits.

"You burn, nevertheless," said the provoking
bagman, (the French expression in
such cases, vous brulez, being exactly the same
as our own).

"It cannot be possible that the natives of
those parts drink one another's healths in
glasses full of sand? However, I will go
and see."

By this time, the mid-day meal had comfortably
settled itself; I started on my pilgrimage,
not alone, and the gate of Arras
was soon behind me. Next I had to pass
through a formidable outwork, which appears
on the maps as the Fort de Grace; as if there
were anything particularly gracious in either
the aspect or performances of bombs and
cannon. Emerging out of the Fort de Grace,
I found myself proceeding along one of those
paved roads, on which, in France, if you once
happen to set foot, you never know when you
will get off again. This one, decidedly, has
no known termination; for, after mounting
mysterious hills in which the quarries of
sand are hollowed out, it darts off straight
into the distant space of an endless perspective.

The paved road, bordered by elms planted
at regular distances, and lopped into naked
poles up to the broom-head which crowns
their summits, leads me, before long, to a droll
little village, which successively offers to my
inspection a church with a short stubby well-crocketed
spire, a flour mill, a rushing stream,
a flax mill, and a long straight street, in
which the inns are as numerous as their signs
are strange. There is no fault to be found with
"The Descent of the Good Farmer," for it
does not imply any depression of the agricultural
interest, but simply indicates the hospitable
shelter at which the farmer, good or
bad, will be welcomed, on getting down or
descending from cart or horseback; but think
of stopping to eat or drink at " The Double-quick
Step," or " A la Fanfare des Pompiers,"
"The Fireman's Flourish! " " A la bonne
Femme," to call at " The Good Woman," is
undoubtedly a considerable temptation to the
wayfarer, did not the sign most ungallantly
illustrate the name by a horrible portrait of
a lady without any head. " Au point du jour,"
or " The Break of Day," suggests the duty of
early rising, and equally so of early dram-drinking.

The signs are disregarded and left unvisited,
and before me lies a rising ground
in which the sand pits are distinctly visible.
Downhill, from them, comes a cart laden
with their yellow-green produce; and which,
turning to the left of the pavé, enters a
couple of dingy portals. These sombre gates
occupy the centre of a long uniform row of
cottages, whose principal external feature is
soot and grime.

The cart is an omen that the enigma will
be solved, and I follow it through the clear
obscure of the entrance-way. Once in, I gaze
around me, and find that I have wandered
into a large open square, the centre of which
is occupied by a huge oblong thoroughly-blacked
building, from one of the two cupolas
on the summit of whose roof, colossal wreaths
of smoke are majestically rolling away. The
cart disappears in a subterranean passage
beneath the mystic edifice, and I hesitate to
track it further, without a little assurance
that all is right within. For—though not a
soul is to be seen passing in and out, and
scarcely a sound is to be heard proceeding
from it—there are yet some half-closed shutters
in front, through which I can see brilliant
points of light flashing backwardsand forwards,
strange shadows flitting hither and thither;
and, through whose openings, there escapes a
slight, sharp, crackling din, just sufficient
to testify that busy life is hard at work
behind all this tranquil outside shell.

A trifle of information would be extremely
convenient at this crisis. Yonder lies a huge
pile of glass bottles, of singular shape and
considerable capacity; but whether they are
intended to contain imprisoned genii, or are
already well-stored with " black spirits and
white, red spirits and grey," it is impossible
for a foreigner like myself to guess. All I
know is, that they are, hereabouts, called
dames-jeannes, or " Ladies Jane." A couple
of mutes are abstractedly surveying them.
Can those silent figures speak? Suppose
we try.

"I beg of you, Messieurs, tell me how I can
contrive to obtain admittance to that great
building?"

"Monsieur can obtain admittance by walking
along that slope and opening the door at
the end of it. There is no prohibition; and
even if there were, a foreigner would not be
ill received."

I made a low bow, and proceeded on my
way with both surprise and pleasure. Droll!
—isn't it?—that the straightforward manner
of attaining any end is not always the first
which enters one's head! It is most commonly
taken for granted that there must be all sorts
of bush-beatings and round-abouts, if you
want the simplest thing in the world. It
struck me therefore as a grand discovery,
that in cases like this we have only to follow
our noses and open a door; instead of intriguing
for the favour and permission of some
one, or some three or four, who might, perhaps,
take care to show what great obligation we
were laying ourselves under.

I did open the door; and beheld a spectacle.
A band of devotees were holding an
excited orgy, in which a considerable amount
of method was mingled with a very suspicious
state of madness. Were they celebrating an
act of fire-worship? Or were they reviving