VINEYARDS OF THE LOIRE.

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II, King of England and Earl of Anjou, that all these dykes were joined together, so as to form an unbroken barricade against the waters. Towards the end of the thirteenth century the idea was first conceived of carrying highways along the summit of the levée; and in the beginning of the fourteenth, under Philip of Valois, the works were enlarged, covered with coarse sand, and even paved in some places, so as to form a public road.

The Levée is about twenty-two feet high, sloping down precipitately on either side. A low parapet, next the river, is a very insufficient protection for carriages at night, but on the other side a line of poplars does more both for beauty and utility. This splendid road will continue to be taken by all travellers of taste, whose destination is Tours, Bourdeaux, Angers, or Nantes.

In spite of the approaching night, one hour of our ride onward was delightful. The ranks of tall poplars sentinelling the banks, added a charm to the picture which seemed quite original. On one side were the interminable vineyards of the Loire, already covered with the film of early twilight, stretching far into the distance; and on the other the river itself, as smooth as polished silver, glittered hazily in the last rays of sunset. The water was spread out in the form of a lake, and for some time steeped in those gorgeous but delicate hues with which Turner delights to glorify his landscapes. By degrees this began to fade. The glow grew colder, the light dimmer. A grey, hazy mantle, unfolding itself imperceptibly, flowed from east to west. The vineyards vanished; the river rolled in vapour; tint after tint faded in the sky; the poplars themselves grew black and indefinite; and in a little while the whole world was buried in gloom.

THE GARDEN OF FRANCE.

WE passed in the dark the two villages of Chousy and Veuves, between which, on the opposite side of the river, is the Château de Chaumont, where the "she-wolf of France," Catherine de Medicis, amused herself with astrology. Soon after passing Veuves, a wooden terminus informs the traveller that another step will lead him from the department of the Loire-et-Cher into that of the Indreet-Loire, surnamed the Garden of France.

After a ride of nine leagues, we at length heard with satisfaction the stern Qui vive? of a sentry, and found that we were about to enter Amboise; and, rumbling through the dark streets of the town, were soon afterwards fairly landed in the port-cochère of a dilapidated inn: we were immediately ushered into the salle, which was a large, cold room, garnished with deal tables and forms. One of the tables, however, was covered with a cloth of the purest white, with plates of beautiful porcelain, and silver forks and spoons; and in a few minutes we were completely reassured by the appearance of a most amiable-looking chicken, a bottle of excellent wine, and abundance of cherries and strawberries. The room was of that class which we have often met with in ancient castles-large, lofty, and dreary, with narrow, curtainless windows. The paper, painted with scenes of history or romance, was not pasted upon the wall, as in England, but on a sort of cloth resembling minute network, suspended from the ceiling, and