TOUR DE CLISSON.

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while over the walls below all kinds of climbing plants were striving to cover the grey stones with clinging wreaths, the darkness of ivy green and the rich red of American creeper leaves asserting their hues above the more subdued tints.

The museum occupies two floors of the tower-octagonshaped chambers with deeply splayed windows. It is said that the sea once washed the wall of this tower. The moat is below it, but there are houses built between. The first floor contains various interesting objects of the Middle Ages, some curious embroidery, and some beautiful Aubusson tapestry, a curious collection of coins and seals, and fragments of interesting statues; but on the floor above, reached by the old staircase, are much more interesting treasures all the remains found in the wonderful barrows or cromlechs of Mont St. Michel at Carnac, of La Butte de Tumiac, and others at Plouharnel, Locmariaker, &c. The collection of celts, or axe-heads, formed of fibrolite, jadeite, and some other materials, all exquisitely polished and sharpened, is said to be unique. There are also necklace beads with pendants and bracelets, of callaïs or green turquoise (these from Mont St. Michel, Carnac), fragments of bones, and other curious objects found in these dolmens, especially a collection of urns.

A little way beyond the tower, at the bottom of the Rue Basse Cour, we passed through a small gate in the wall, commonly called Porte Poterne; but it is a mere door, and not older than the seventeenth century. From this a bridge led over the moat or river, and facing us, right and left, was an avenue of trees which seemed to surround this part of the town; this is the promenade

called Douves de la Garenne, and beyond, in a line from the bridge, is the Garenne itself.

We crossed the bridge, and then looked back; and I do not think for entire picturesqueness and delightful colour the view we saw was surpassed in any town in Brittany. There was the Tour du Connétable frowning darkly at us from the old town wall, houses nestling beneath it among trees and gardens; in the foreground, beside the water, a range of washing-sheds, and dotted along the bank, as far as we could see, boxes full of clothes, and groups of standing and kneeling women, now soaping diligently at a well-worn blue petticoat, now rinsing a snowy shirt in the brown stream. Close by one of the washers was a dear little baby in one of the boxes, crowing and laughing at the noise around it.

The sun was setting, and the level light fell brightly on the women's white caps, while it softened to a dreamy olive the surrounding scene. An artist could have filled a sketchbook on the bridge-the washerwomen's brown faces and snowy caps and low-toned blue and grey gowns, grouped so harmoniously with their surroundings. As in Normandy, gay colour is rarely visible in Morbihan, although one occasionally sees a red skirt.

This view was so enchanting that we stayed a long time on the bridge, watching the lights change on the washers and the shadows deepen on the castle and the trees. It had grown dusk as we came slowly along the avenue on the left, tracing out the interesting old wall-not so old, however, here as on the north and west of the town-till we reached Porte Pater, or Porte Prison, as it is now generally called, because at one time it served as a place of confinement for male criminals, as the Constable's Tower did for females.

FORTE PRISON.

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It is a remarkable old gate, a Gothic doorway flanked by two massive towers, between which is a lion bearing on a shield the arms of Brittany. The machicolations of the wall adjoining this gate are of the fourteenth century. The six outlets from the walls of Vannes correspond finally, if not directly, with the six Roman roads spoken of by ancient writers. The Porte Prison is almost in a line with the ancient road to Bohalgo, and the Porte Poterne opens almost directly on the ancient road to Nantes. Passing by Porte Prison, and keeping along the Rue du Mené, we come to the oldest part of the walls. The oldest bits of foundation existing in Vannes-and these are said to be undoubtedly Gallo-Roman in construction—reach from the Porte Prison to the Tour du Mené on the north, and from behind the Hôtel du Commerce to the Marché au Seigle on the west. It is very interesting, though it takes some time, to trace these old, very picturesque walls all round the town; but the light grew so dim that we were not able to finish our circuit that evening.

Next morning we went down to the Porte St. Vincent through the town by the Rue des Halles, a quaint old street; then into the Rue Noé, where once stood a remarkable house called Maison du Parlement, or Château Gaillard; and then, by the Rue des Orfèvres, to the Place Poissonnerie. A busy market was going on all over this ill-paved Place, with a branch of trade in it we had not hitherto seen. Brown and white salt piled in straw baskets was set among vast heaps of cabbage, carrots, onions, beans, and lettuce; but there was scarcely any attempt to arrange the vegetables in stalls or booths, as in Normandy; they lay rather huddled together on the uneven stones of the Place.

There was much pleasant variety of costume : the women in black or brown gowns, with chocolate or purple neckerchiefs, figured in white, and reaching to their waists. Brown, patient, stolid old women, with baskets of fresh sardines glistening with exquisite colour, asked us to buy as we passed, but without any of the tempting ways and amusing words of the Norman market-women. Lumps of butter, the size and shape of a tall hat, were everywhere exposed on the tops of large baskets, without any attempt to shade them or set them off with cool green leaves; and the fowls, instead of being packed in baskets, hung in feathered bunches tied by the legs. There was “a roughand-ready" practical look about everything.

We turned to the left, and found ourselves close to the Porte St. Vincent; more interesting from association than in appearance, for it is in the Italian style of the seventeenth century. The old gate was doubtless of the same date as this, the most modern portion of the old walls. On one of the stones of the wall adjoining this was found the inscription, "Cest opvre a esté parfaict l'an 1593." The statue of St. Vincent was destroyed during the Revolution, but a new one has been placed in its niche; and the relics of the Spanish saint are each year borne in procession through the archway and round the walls of Vannes.

This gate of St. Vincent leads directly on to the port. At high water this is a pleasant spot. On the right side of the water is the long promenade of the Rabine, with its double avenue of trees; and on the left there seem to be houses with gardens full of trees; beyond, there is also a walk beside the river planted with trees. It is worth while to walk beside the river to get the view of the old walled

THE LEGEND OF ST. TRYPHENA,

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town surmounted by the cathedral, though this is seen much better from the river itself; but the best view is from the avenue leading to the Garenne.

Till we were settled at Vannes we did not know the interesting history of the Hôtel de France, or I think we should have taken up our quarters there. It stands on the site of the ancient Château de la Motte, said by tradition to be the actual residence of Waroch I., Count of Vannes, the father of St. Tryphena and the protector of St. Gildas; but this tradition is scouted by historians, who affirm that Waroch held his court in the isles to the south of the Morbihan, these isles having been colonised by Britons flying from their country in the fifth century. This legend of St. Tryphena and her husband Comorre, the Breton Bluebeard, is the chief legend of Vannes. This is not the legend on which is founded the open-air play of Ste. Triffine.

The famous St. Gildas le Sage had become the trusted friend and chief adviser of Count Waroch and the apostle of Morbihan. Tidings of his sanctity and his influence having reached the ears of Comorre, Count of Cornouaille, a wicked and vicious lord, who seems to be the received prototype of Bluebeard, he sent and begged the saint to visit him, and St. Gildas judged it expedient to accept this invitation, in the hope of converting this bloodthirsty wolf into a meek lamb. He therefore left his monastery beside the Blavet, and, accompanied by some of his monks, repaired to the castle of Comorre.

But Comorre did not want to be converted, He had seen the beautiful Tryphena at the court of her father Waroch, and had fallen violently in love with her and made an offer of marriage; but, as he was known to be a wife