and Mont Blanc, although the atmosphere was not quite clear. Our host for the day, the captain, did the honours to perfection. With charming grace and gaiety he entertained us in his temporary residence adjoining one of the forts in construction, bringing out the best he had. The English lady was fêted with a bouquet, and then, chatting pleasantly of garrison life at Dijon, we drove home. Dullness and awkwardness are plants seldom found on French soil, but for amiability and agreeableness generally there is no one to be compared to a French officer belonging to the better ranks of society. The Dijonnais country folks, however, are noted for their good manners and geniality generally, as the following incident will testify. My host had taken me on foot one morning-starting at seven o'clock, in order to avoid the great heat that had burst upon us so suddenly to the picturesque little village of Fontaine, celebrated as the birthplace of St. Bernard. After seeing everything that was to be seen under the ciceroneship of the curé, we started homeward, and were taking a short cut across the vineyards, when a heavy rain-storm came on. Wet, draggled, and bemired, we made what haste we could to a vintager's cottage by the roadside, receiving the heartiest welcome from both master and mistress, hale old peasant folk of a superior class, enchanted to make my companion's acquaintance, on account of his renown as a lion hunter in Algeria; both also pleased to entertain the English lady under his protection. These good people were evidently rich, though as homely as possible, and could therefore talk resignedly, nay cheerfully, of the bad prospects of this year. 'The vines are ruined,' said the old man, and then immediately changing the subject, he begged us to follow him upstairs in order to see his clocks and stuffed birds. Here, in the salon of the vintager's cottage, were clocks that would have adorned a Parisian boudoir, and cases of stuffed birds, English and foreign, implying a taste little to be expected of their owners. That very day he had purchased an elegant time-piece, not to use, but to look at-as a work of art indeed, for so French time-pieces must be called. He no more wanted the clock than he wanted a crocodile; he had barely standing room for the new acquisition in the overcrowded little parlour; but it had taken his fancy, so there it was, a thousand francs, I should say, hardly covering the purchase. After seeing the stuffed foreign and native birds, among them several beautiful orioles, common in the woods here, we took our leave, not easily getting away without having tasted of their good wine and liqueurs. Our host and hostess could not conceive why we were unable to enjoy a glass of wine or cassis at eight o'clock in the morning, their own hours being extremely primitive. Two days after our visit to Fontaine, my friend's street bell was rung at five o'clock a.m., and lo! on the servant peeping her head out of her upper window, she saw our peasant in his shirt sleeves. He had just walked over, thus dressed, from Fontaine, and fearing lest at a later hour his call might be fruit

bed or at his toilette. On discovering, however, that an hour later would be a more convenient time for his reception, he went away, returning as the clock struck six. The good man's visit was an entire success. After inspecting my friend's stuffed panthers and lion skins, he gladly accepted a taste of the best he had in his cellarwine, rhum, liqueur, nothing came amiss even at that hour of the day! I must add, that he had gallantly brought some flowers as an offering to the English lady, and wished also to present her with a stuffed oriole by way of souvenir. But you must bring her again,' he said. 'I have a bottle of first-rate wine for you both, pray come and taste it with us.'

This little incident shows the genial side of the French peasant's character. Too often, his unexampled economy and laboriousness lead to a sordid way of looking at things. Here all was openheartedness, hospitality, and bonhomie. Poverty in the villages of the Côte is unknown. The rule is wealth. Poor circumstances form the exception. Beggary is nil.

There are delightful walks and drives round about Dijon, and one I must here particularise on account of another pleasant little incident that happened to us there. The pretty little village of Fixin may be reached by diligence or on foot by good pedestrians; we booked places in the public conveyance over night, but on arriving at the bureau next morning by seven o'clock found that we had even so reckoned without our host. All the public conveyances had been taken by some nuns for the purpose of giving their pupils, eighty young ladies in all, a long day in the country. Accordingly, there we were in company of a dozen other disconcerted travellers and no diligence forthcoming! The weather was superb. We had packed our breakfast in a basket and we felt in a holiday humour. It was a dilemma. However, French good-nature can stand a stronger test than this; and after some little delay and discussion, a carriage was put at our disposal, and that of a notary and his son, the former volunteering to drive. We soon forgot the check thus received as we drove through the vineyards in the fresh morning air, and an hour later reached our destination, a straggling village lying at the foot of a beautiful wooded ridge. Once out of the blazing sunshine, and within the precincts of the wood, all was coolness, greenness, and grateful shadow; rocks and rivulets, hanging woods and glades, no place could be found more suitable for an al fresco breakfast. But, alas! the nuns with their eighty scholars were in advance of us. Every available spot for a bivouac was already taken possession of, pyramids of huge loaves, cakes, pâtés, bottles of wine, fruit, being literally stacked about in circular spaces around the fountains, where visitors are accustomed to regale. The woods rang with the merry voices of the children. The place was as populous as Hampstead Heath on Whit Monday!

My companion, however, accustomed to exploration on a much

at the extremity of the wood, underneath a glorious ridge of limestone crag, tapestried with verdure, and close by a spring of water clear as crystal. The joyous voices of the children could not reach us here, and never shall I forget our woodland repast that perfect July day; sky of warmest blue, foliage of brightest green, woodpigeons cooing among the branches; otherwise unbroken stillness, all possible deliciousness, around us. It should be mentioned that the inhabitants of these parts owe this beautiful recreation ground to the devotion of a follower of Napoleon I., M. Noisot. The place indeed was in the first instance selected as a fitting site for the handsome monument to the Emperor which occupies a conspicuous prominence at the base of the wood. Later, the domain was presented to the commune, who, whether grateful or not for the monument, must nevertheless regard its donor as a public benefactor. The hanging woods and combe, or narrow wooded ravine, of Fixin, as well as the statue, must be visited by all loungers at Dijon.

But our visit was to be made exceptionally interesting, and I wish I could with pencil instead of pen delineate the scene that followed. For the nuns, having learned that the celebrated lion hunter and panther slayer of Dijon was at Fixin that day, and within a few hundred yards of them, were fired by the laudable desire of turning his visit to account, and of combining instruction as well as pleasure in the day's programme. So the request was made that the 'grand chasseur' would talk to the schoolgirls about his lion and panther hunts in the mountains of Algeria, and of course complied with. In a few minutes all stragglers were collected, and by the time the story-teller began, the scene was as pretty as can well be imagined. The eighty children, varying in age from five to fifteen, grouped about the rising ground under the trees, the black-robed nuns in charge, and in the centre, beside his English guest, the renowned lion-hunter of Dijon telling his perils and exploits to his youthful hearers. He took occasion, by the way, to introduce a few instructive remarks upon the intelligence of animals generally, and especially as illustrated from his own experience. The nuns expressed themselves greatly pleased, and doubtless many little ones will long remember those wonderful lion stories recounted to them on that summer holiday.

I have been upon more than one occasion severely handled for using what is supposed to be an exaggerated tone in speaking of the superior educational advantages offered by French towns over English ones. Let the impartial reader note the following facts about Dijon and judge for himself.

Ät Dijon, then, there is, besides a really magnificent free library and museum, also a garden of Economic Botany and free indoor and outdoor courses on the science, an Academy of Fine Arts and Sciences, at which young people of both sexes can prepare gratuitously either to enter the Conservatoire de Musique or the Académie des Beaux Arts, in Paris; they can also study

bed or at his toilette. On discovering, however, that an hour later would be a more convenient time for his reception, he went away, returning as the clock struck six. The good man's visit was an entire success. After inspecting my friend's stuffed panthers and lion skins, he gladly accepted a taste of the best he had in his cellarwine, rhum, liqueur, nothing came amiss even at that hour of the day! I must add, that he had gallantly brought some flowers as an offering to the English lady, and wished also to present her with a stuffed oriole by way of souvenir. But you must bring her again,' he said. I have a bottle of first-rate wine for you both, pray come and taste it with us.'

.

This little incident shows the genial side of the French peasant's character. Too often, his unexampled economy and laboriousness lead to a sordid way of looking at things. Here all was openheartedness, hospitality, and bonhomie. Poverty in the villages of the Côte is unknown. The rule is wealth. Poor circumstances form the exception. Beggary is nil.

There are delightful walks and drives round about Dijon, and one I must here particularise on account of another pleasant little incident that happened to us there. The pretty little village of Fixin may be reached by diligence or on foot by good pedestrians; we booked places in the public conveyance over night, but on arriving at the bureau next morning by seven o'clock found that we had even so reckoned without our host. All the public conveyances had been taken by some nuns for the purpose of giving their pupils, eighty young ladies in all, a long day in the country. Accordingly, there we were in company of a dozen other disconcerted travellers and no diligence forthcoming! The weather was superb. We had packed our breakfast in a basket and we felt in a holiday humour. It was a dilemma. However, French good-nature can stand a stronger test than this; and after some little delay and discussion, a carriage was put at our disposal, and that of a notary and his son, the former volunteering to drive. We soon forgot the check thus received as we drove through the vineyards in the fresh morning air, and an hour later reached our destination, a straggling village lying at the foot of a beautiful wooded ridge. Once out of the blazing sunshine, and within the precincts of the wood, all was coolness, greenness, and grateful shadow; rocks and rivulets, hanging woods and glades, no place could be found more suitable for an al fresco breakfast. But, alas! the nuns with their eighty scholars were in advance of us. Every available spot for a bivouac was already taken possession of, pyramids of huge loaves, cakes, pâtés, bottles of wine, fruit, being literally stacked about in circular spaces around the fountains, where visitors are accustomed to regale. The woods rang with the merry voices of the children. The place was as populous as Hampstead Heath on Whit Monday!

My companion, however, accustomed to exploration on a much

at the extremity of the wood, underneath a glorious ridge of limestone crag, tapestried with verdure, and close by a spring of water clear as crystal. The joyous voices of the children could not reach us here, and never shall I forget our woodland repast that perfect July day; sky of warmest blue, foliage of brightest green, woodpigeons cooing among the branches; otherwise unbroken stillness, all possible deliciousness, around us. It should be mentioned that the inhabitants of these parts owe this beautiful recreation ground to the devotion of a follower of Napoleon I., M. Noisot. The place indeed was in the first instance selected as a fitting site for the handsome monument to the Emperor which occupies a conspicuous prominence at the base of the wood. Later, the domain was presented to the commune, who, whether grateful or not for the monument, must nevertheless regard its donor as a public benefactor. The hanging woods and combe, or narrow wooded ravine, of Fixin, as well as the statue, must be visited by all loungers at Dijon.

But our visit was to be made exceptionally interesting, and I wish I could with pencil instead of pen delineate the scene that followed. For the nuns, having learned that the celebrated lion hunter and panther slayer of Dijon was at Fixin that day, and within a few hundred yards of them, were fired by the laudable desire of turning his visit to account, and of combining instruction as well as pleasure in the day's programme. So the request was made that the grand chasseur' would talk to the schoolgirls about his lion and panther hunts in the mountains of Algeria, and of course complied with. In a few minutes all stragglers were collected, and by the time the story-teller began, the scene was as pretty as can well be imagined. The eighty children, varying in age from five to fifteen, grouped about the rising ground under the trees, the black-robed nuns in charge, and in the centre, beside his English guest, the renowned lion-hunter of Dijon telling his perils and exploits to his youthful hearers. He took occasion, by the way, to introduce a few instructive remarks upon the intelligence of animals generally, and especially as illustrated from his own experience. The nuns expressed themselves greatly pleased, and doubtless many little ones will long remember those wonderful lion stories recounted to them on that summer holiday.

I have been upon more than one occasion severely handled for using what is supposed to be an exaggerated tone in speaking of the superior educational advantages offered by French towns over English ones. Let the impartial reader note the following facts about Dijon and judge for himself.

At Dijon, then, there is, besides a really magnificent free library and museum, also a garden of Economic Botany and free indoor and outdoor courses on the science, an Academy of Fine Arts and Sciences, at which young people of both sexes can prepare gratuitously either to enter the Conservatoire de Musique or the Académie des Beaux Arts, in Paris; they can also study