property, a certain master locksmith of Saint
Rquier bought it for forty thousand francs,
having engaged to preserve the church entire:
a clause which he did not feel himself bound
to respect; consequently the cloisters were
destroyed, and the whole was allowed to full
into a state of utter degradation, the master
locksmith no doubt having found his
account in his purchase, and becoming entirely
indifferent to the rest. The whole of the
buildings that remain were only preserved
by the happy idea of establishing a college,
and by degrees the church has been restored
and repaired until it now shines out in all the
glory it is likely to acquire.

The façade of the church is extremely beautiful,
encrusted with figures in niches, which,
though a good deal defaced, may be
recognised as those of Louis the Twelfth and
Francis the First, besides which, an immense
number of Saints hold their places upon the
walls, standing under canopies and on richly
ornamented pedestals. Whole histories of
traditional interest, whole genealogies from
Scripture, grotesque forms and graceful
shapes, flowers, scrolls, and patterns adorn
the face of the church and run up to the very
highest balustrade of the towers and delicate
pinnacles. The interior is very striking from
its grand simplicity and the symmetry of the
whole.

After the taking of Boulogne, four thousand
English entered Saint Riquier and burnt the
unfortunate town nearly to the ground; and,
having continued their devastations from
thence to Abbeville, they returned to the
coast. It was to drive them from their stronghold
that Francis the First had marched
with a large army into Picardy.

Charles of Orleans, the second and favourite
son of Francis the First, accompanied his
father when he took up his quarters in the
Abbey of Forêt Moutier, close to the forest of
Crecy, which, in the intervals of fighting, he
made his favourite hunting resort. Young Duke
Charles was the most distinguished knight
in all the jousts and tournays which enlivened
the time, which was not allowed to pass without
amusement: one evening, he was returning
from hunting with a large party, when he
suddenly beheld a comet in the sky and
pointed it out to his friend Gaspard de Saulx-
Tavannes. "Perhaps it is your star," said
Tavannes, "which comes to announce your
death."

"Oh, as for that," replied the lively prince,
"I laugh at such presages, and at my star
too."

At this time the plague was making fearful
ravages in Ponthieu, but Charles, not the
least alarmed at the horrors related of it,
hearing of a house where eight persons had
recently died of the malady, entered it in a
fit of idle folly and cut up the beds with his
sword, making the feathers fly all over him.
Much heated as well as entertained with this
wild sally, lie returned to the camp, drank a
glass of cold water, and a few moments
afterwards, felt himself suddenly ill; he was
seized with terror and called out, "It is the
plague; I shall die of it!"

The fatal symptoms appeared, and all aid
was soon found to be vain; the unfortunate
young man was quite aware of his situation,
entreated that the sacrament might be
administered to him, and that he might see his
father once more. Notwithstanding the
danger, and in spite of every entreaty to the
contrary, the king persisted in visiting his
dying son, who, when he saw him, called out
"I am dying, my dear lord, but since I
behold you, I die content." These words
were scarcely uttered when he expired. This
happened on the ninth of September, in the
year 1545. Francis, as his son breathed his
last, uttered a cry of despair and fell senseless.
When he recovered he ordered the court
instantly to leave Fôret Montier, and thus
ended all the gaiety he had been enjoying.

While the young prince was lying on his
death-bed, his friend Tavannes, who had been
sent on service to Boulogne, returned in
triumph with four hundred prisoners and
several flags taken from the English. Hoping
to console him, Tavannes had the ensigns
brought to the bed of Charles, and named to
him the prisoners he had taken. "Ah, my
friend," said the prince, embracing him, "it
is all over with me and all our plans: I die
with deep regret at being unable to
recompense your bravery."

From the coast, all through the country,
nothing at this time was going on but
slaughter and pillage; plague, famine, and
desolation spread far abroad; but, nevertheless,
the hunting parties would not have
ceased but for the death of the king's son.

Of all the tombs and treasures which made
Saint Riquier a marvel in the country scarcely
a vestige remains. The carved wooden stalls
of the choir are fine, and there are some iron.
gates of singular beauty. Of course the
priests have managed to discover a few relics,
in spite of the bonfires which were made of
the saints in revolutionary times, and the
whole bodies of Saint Riquier and a companion
saint are shown to the pious. We escaped
the infliction of hearing of their miraculous
powers, as our idiot continued to say to any
question we might make, "I don't know," an
answer which would not ill become the
finders of these dispersed and calcined bones,
if their whereabout were insisted on.

But the most curious relic in the church is
to be seen in the chapel called the Treasury,
vhere, on the walls, in fresco, may be traced
a very curious series of paintings representing
the long history of the translation of the body
of Saint Riquier from Montreuil to the church
of his adoption, with all the miracles
performed and the circumstances attending
the event. This curious painting is of the
beginning of the sixteenth century, and is
not difficult to make out: under each picture