BEAUGENCY. into the midst of the orchards and plantations on the right bank of the river, with the view of proceeding to Blois. The village of Saint-Ay, three leagues from Orleans, was the first stage. It is situated amidst the vineyards which produce the famous Orleans wine, scarcely inferior to Burgundy itself; and commands a fine view of the river and its opposite banks. There the village of Notre Dame de Cléry, with its lofty church, is the principal object: the latter renowned as the grave of Louis XI. A league and a half farther, we passed through Mehan, a small town, where Jean Clopinel, one of the authors of the famous 'Romance of the Rose,' was born in 1280; and after a ride of the same distance, reached BEAUGENCY. There is something odd in the appearance of this place, which captivated our imagination at once. In vain we were told by our fellow-travellers that there was nothing to be seen; and in vain we recollected that De Villiers, the travelling postman, passes it in a single sentence. We determined to judge for ourselves; and leaving the diligence people changing horses and eating soup, we directed our steps to the town. The bridge over the Loire is itself a curiosity, consisting of no fewer than thirty-nine arches; but the enormous square tower in the middle of the town was the principal object of attraction. This, we were told, is all that remains of an ancient fort, and, apparently, it must have been connected with other buildings of great strength. A fine range of lofty, old houses runs along the quay, and behind them stands a venerable church. The streets are narrow, dark, crooked, and without the slightest pretension to 'Itinéraire de la France, &c. Par Vaysse de Villiers, Inspecteur des Postes, &c regularity in the architecture. Sometimes they are connected by vaulted passages, dark, cold, and dreary; sometimes a canal in miniature runs along them in the middle, crossed by rude wooden bridges, or simply by a plank thrown from side to side. The water, after serving faithfully one street, is conducted to another by the shortest way, disappearing with a rumbling sound beneath the houses, and rushing through the interior. The whole place, in short, afforded a substantial representation of the idea we had formed, from the study of old writers, of a town of the middle ages: nor were the manners, habits, and appearance of the people less of the old-world caste. The main road running past the town rather than through it, and the post-house being at a little distance beyond, few travellers are tempted to pause for the purpose of exploring a place which only dreamers like ourselves would think worthy of notice. The inhabitants therefore, are seldom favoured with the sight of a stranger; and when they are, they look upon the circumstance with an interest proportioned to its rarity. As we insinuated ourselves through the narrow streets, many a head was thrust out of the windows to stare at us as we passed; and one ancient lady, seated by the tiny canal, ducking a child, had nearly drowned the object of her care, forgetting, in her astonishment, to raise him from the depths, where he lay kicking and choking in her grasp. In general, the population may be seen at their doors, or sitting in the street at work; and thus each neighbourhood resembles a single family. The left, or opposite bank of the Loire, seems here to be the more beautiful; but perhaps ""Tis distance lends enchantment to the view." The forests of Russy and Boulogne, however, form un |