are four lines in quaint verse, the letters
carefully restored and very clear. Besides
this series there are two larger compartments
representing a sort of Dance of Death, known
to antiquarians as "The Three Dead and the
Three Living:" beneath these are other verses,
more curious than musical, but entirely to
the purpose; a second series of frescoes,
relating to another saint of great renown,
adorns a different portion of the chapel; and
a curious old picture on wood, lately
discovered, is over the altar. The roof of this
chamber, which is approached by a flight of
steps leading from a side aisle, is exceedingly
fine and of original form, the arches interlacing
each other in a graceful manner,
a sort of drapery being formed by their
curves.

It was not until the shades of evening
prevented us from seeing any more of these dim
records of past ages, that we could make up
our minds to leave this charming and
interesting church, and by the time we had
walked to the highest part of the town, and
looked wonderingly at the enormous modern
hospital which replaces an ancient one
established by benevolent monks, who had
always to contend with the jealousy of the
abbots, who had no jurisdiction over their
charity— we found it was time to summon
our charioteer and commence our return
journey to Abbeville.

It happened, after our visit to Saint Riquier,
that circumstances threw us into the society
of the identical Lion-tamer with whom our
party had travelled. It was with him and
his round, rosy, lively little wife that we
set forth on a second expedition to visit the
chapel of the Saint Esprit at Rue. My new
acquaintance was, this time, bent on a fishing
excursion, and the whole of the way he was
eloquent in description of the extraordinary
success he had met with in this branch of his
amusements. He had caught a pike of incredible
length, which had broken lines of incredible
strength; he had filled baskets to
overflowing witli trout of fabulous size and
beauty; carp and tench were his prey without
resistance, and his good fortune in eels
was not to be credited. His destination, after
showing me the chapel, was to the neighbouring
chateau of Arry, where a friend expected
him after his day's sport was over; but his
zeal to exhibit the beautiful gem concealed
in the little village adjoining the railway
station, made his line a secondary
consideration on this occasion; so much is a
desire to amuse and please part of the
existence of a Frenchman who is not a politician,
and who is proud of his province, as most of
them are.

It is impossible to imagine anything so
beautiful as the carved pillars, the walls,
roofs, and doorways that still remain, all
carefully restored, of what was once the
enormous and magnificent church of Saint
Wulphy of Rue. It was not so much battered
during a series of ages, but that much more
of it might still be standing; but the wisdom
or economy of the citizens of this remarkable
spot caused them to resolve that, as to restore
all was impossible to their finances, it was
better to clear as much as they could away,
and keep the Chapelle du Saint Esprit as a
specimen of their former glory and pride.
When one advances along the straggling high
street of Rue, and observes that on each side
a wide strip of coarse grass is flourishing in
undisturbed rankness; that the mansions are
all of the least ambitious order of architecture
—the roofs of thatch, the walls of yellow
washed plaster, with a general appearance of
decay and poverty—one can only feel
surprised that the wonderful chapel itself, which
required a large sum of money to render it
even discernible, was not swept away too. But
Monsieur le Doyen, as our rosy-faced,
fidgetty female guide assured us, was a great
lover of the Church, and had exerted himself
to the utmost to preserve it. "Ah," said
she, looking very respectful, as she named
her patron, almost her saint; "Monsieur le
Doyen is so zealous. Why, I had no place
here when he came, and he got me this—to
take care of the church and sweep it and
show visitors the curiosities and the relics.
Oh! he is a wonderful man, Monsieur le
Doyen, and the best friend I have— his
prayers caused my nephew to draw a lucky
number: he does not like people to go into
the chapel for curiosity, you know; but, of
course, you mean to say a prayer there. It's
a wonderful chapel! and look, stand up on
this step and peep into this case—don't be
afraid, you'll see it, if you reach over this is
a real piece of the real crucifix of Rue—you
see the hand, it is all black; but look, you
can make out all the fingers—isn't it droll!
Monsieur le Doyen expects every one to
put something into the box above, for the
poor."

"But," we objected, as obeying her we
peeped into a little square glass case, where
lay, amongst faded silk and tinsel, a block of
wood, "but the real crucifix was burnt in
the year Three of the Republic, many years
ago."

"Ay, but Monsieur le Doyen says this
was preserved by a miracle; read— there's a
paper telling about it, and attested by the
Bishop with his seal! M. le Doyen got him
to write it when he was here."

We asked her to tell us if any miracle had
preserved the statue of Isabeau of Portugal,
the chief patroness of the chapel, which for
three centuries the people were in the habit
of calling La Beaubeau de Rue; but she was
silent on all matters save what concerned
Monsieur le Doyen, and the piece of wood,
which is just beginning to attract pilgrims to
the shrine, and bids fair to succeed admirably,
though it may be some time before it attracts
as many as at the time when the magnificent
Duke Philip of Burgundy, and his pious