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This, we learned, was a trial descent, it being necessary to make sure that the machinery acted properly before the real descent took place. It was to happen as soon as vespers was said. We stood our ground bravely for another quarter of an hour in the scorching sunshine. The heat has grown so intense that the sticks and furze-bushes piled up round the pole in readiness for the bonfire feel as if they came out of an oven. Suddenly the bells peal loudly, and a glittering procession comes singing out of the church, with lighted candles, crosses, and crimson and gold banners. First come the choristers, then the priests, and then a long train of men and women, chanting as they come.

As soon as the procession has circled the hill, it halts. A gun is fired from the church-tower, and down comes the pretty little angel, this time very rapidly, its bright wings flashing in the sunshine. It holds a match in one outstretched hand, and touches first the box on the post, and then the bonfire. A peasant, with many coloured ribbons in his hat, who has been making all ready, helps the angel's work. There is a loud, deafening explosion, then a discharge of squibs and crackers from the box, and then the furze and faggots of the bonfire ignite and blaze fiercely. The heat has made the piled-up faggots like touchwood; the sudden blaze is electrifying; long tongues of red flame leap up till they reach the first of the hoops on the pole. Bang, bang, bang! and off go the fireworks of which they are composed. The noise is tremendous and ear-splitting, and the flames go leaping higher and higher till all the suspended fireworks, including the flag at top, have exploded, blazing and banging, and dispersing themselves in shreds of flying fire above the heads of the excited crowd.

It was somewhat alarming to see the towering body of fierce red flame, brilliant even in the powerful sunshine, one moment carried up as if to reach the sky, next swooping sideways in pursuit of the flying shreds of burning paper that flew through the air; and in the midst of the stifling heat and smoke and din-for the crowd had found a universal voice at last-the little golden-winged angel mounted quickly to the steeple again, followed by strange uncouth howls of delight, which seemed to be the approved method of expressing satisfaction.

eyes

It was a good moment to study these stolid, self-contained Bretons; moved out of the calm reserve which to most of them must be a second nature, the faces were wonderfully wild and expressive. The long fierce black gleamed with delight, and no doubt, in some, with religious fervour-and as the bonfire blazed higher and higher, casting a lurid glare on all around, most unreal and theatrical in effect-the whole expression of some of the faces changed.

The scene seemed made for a painter-these tall blackbrowed men, with their powerful savage faces and long streaming hair, their white flannel coats and broad black hats -all faces upturned to the red ever-mounting flame; every now and then some man or boy dashed frantically almost into the swaying fire and snatched one of the flying shreds of burning paper to preserve it as a relic; at a little distance behind the men, keeping apart, were groups of women in their quaint costume, some wearing snowy caps, others with the sombre coiffes of St. Nicholas, with their bright linings. Beside the tall Calvary, its stone steps thronged with little awe-struck, bright-eyed children, was the procession of clergy and choristers; in front the

THE EXCITEMENT OF THE CROWD.

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blazing bonfire, all around the huge-spreading boughs of the chestnut-trees crowning the green hill and circling round its base; and below in the distance, seen through the spreading boughs, the old grey church tower and spire towered over the booths grouped around.

The heat of the sun was still so intense, though evening was coming on, that the men could scarcely bear to keep their hats raised above their heads as the procession wound once more slowly round the Calvary and returned to the church, singing as they went.

Perhaps the most striking effect of the whole scene was the contrast between the strong, wild excitement, betrayed more in look and gesture than by any prolonged outcry, and the trumpery cause that aroused it. It was difficult to believe that some of these excited creatures, plunging madly to secure charred fragments of red and blue paper, could be the grand, dignified-looking men we had been watching all the morning. Possibly the mixture of cider and religious enthusiasm helped somewhat to this result.

We heard that the fête would last two days; but as there seemed to be no preparation made for either dancing or wrestling, we preferred to leave St. Nicodème before dusk, for more drinking was plainly to wind up the proceedings of the day, and it was evident that the greater number of the crowd would spend the night on the ground, either in the carts which showed everywhere among the tree trunks, or on the grass under the chestnut boughs.

We found it much more difficult to leave the fête than to enter it. Around the booths and outside the church, carts and cattle seemed mixed together in inextricable confusion; and even when we had struggled through the leafy lane

and regained the main road we found it thronged by groups as anxious to get away as we were; though several of these, most quaintly picturesque in costume, seemed to have lingered too long in the cider booths. We saw men, women, and children fast asleep beside the road, with cows and sheep and pigs grazing and bleating and grunting around them-in some cases straying so far down the dusty road that we wondered whether the owners would succeed in overtaking them. We passed one man on horseback more than half asleep, who, in happy ignorance of the ridiculous figure he cut, was seated with his face to the animal's tail, nodding and swaying from side to side so violently that it was certain he and his beast would soon part company.

From St. Nicodème we drove on to Baud, and thence to Hennebont. The road is very lovely, sometimes densely wooded, and then opening on vistas of distant country which looked exquisite under first a brilliant and then a mellow sunset; but gradually the tender greens grew grey, and then it became so dark that by the time we rattled into Hennebont we could only make out that it looked a most old-fashioned interesting little town. The people of Hennebont seemed to be all in bed, and our smiling landlady gaped with surprise at our late arrival. We congratulated ourselves on having dined at Baud, for the house seemed generally asleep.

MORBIHAN.

CHAPTER XIV.

Hennebont-L'Orient.

HENNEBONT looked lovely in the freshness of early

morning. It is charmingly placed on two wooded hills on each side of the Blavet, which is wide enough here for craft of three hundred tons. There is a port, from which most of the corn grown in the centre of Brittany is exported. The quaint old town is divided into the Vieille Ville, on the farther side of the Blavet; the Vieille Close, with its grey remains of machicolated walls peeping out here in a bold round tower, and farther on in a stretch of crenulated curtain; and the Ville Neuve, reaching up the side of the hill, so that it is a steep walk to the church of Notre Dame du Paradis.

The church stands in the midst of a large grass-grown Place surrounded by old houses, and is of sixteenth century architecture, built by the alms of pilgrims collected by a blacksmith; the portal reminded us of Honfleur, and, curiously enough, this church also is said to be the work of an English architect. There is a large porch inside the western doorway, and it was full of a kneeling congregation who could not find room inside. Afterwards, when the crowd dispersed,