Gras, printseller, brings into the hall portraits of Robespierre, St. Just, and Couthon, which are burnt amid loud acclamations. But the effects of the Reign of Terror cannot so soon be undone; the poor friends of the Constitution, with their peaceful and patriotic schemes, have gone down into the flood never to rise again. For some years Boulogne is merely the head-quarters of the Army of Invasion.

The almanac no longer contains the names of the civil functionaries. Even the names of the sages femmes are expunged from its pages, and instead it contains nothing but a list of the Emperor's staff. The editor of the almanac is disgusted, and declares that "cost what it may" he must proclaim Boulogne to be more "warlike than wise."

Years roll on, and we once more find the people of Boulogne celebrating the birth of a royal infant. A local poet thus writes of him :

"Enfin le ciel, en sa clémence
Releve l'espoir qui nous luit,
Cet enfant de la Providence
De la Paix est le plus doux fruit,
C'est l'héritier du diadème,
Il régnera sur tous les cœurs
Et dans sa puissance supréme

Il nous comblera de faveurs."

The child of Providence is now the Count de Chambord.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PILGRIMAGE TO OUR LADY OF BOULOGNE.

EVERY one knows the story of Our Lady of Boulogne, as it has been received for many centuries. Everyone knows that one night, somewhere about the beginning of the seventh century, the fishermen, on the shore now so crowded with pleasure-seekers, saw floating towards them over the moonlit sea a boat self-impelled, like that of the Lady of Shalott, and containing an image of the Virgin and child. While they were admiring the beauty of the image, the Virgin herself was appearing to the faithful, who dwelt on the hill where the Haute Ville now stands, and was warning them of the miraculous arrival of her image, and instructing them as to the manner in which they should receive and treat it. At what time this prodigious legend first came to be believed cannot now be ascertained, but for many centuries our Lady of Boulogne has been the patroness and protectress of the town, reigning for long periods with great splendour, but falling frequently into adversity, and suffering as much from

fire as did Diana of the Ephesians. We have said that the miracle is supposed to have taken place about the commencement of the seventh century, or about two hundred and fifty years after the final destruction of the great shrine of Diana by the Iconoclasts under Theodosius. And we should like to ask Professor Tyndall, who is acquainted with all the theories of matter-no matter what they be-whether myths may not be as indestructible as matter, and whether, though they occasionally seem to suffer destruction by the disintegration of molecules of superstition of which they are composed, they are not perpetually renewed in some other time, form, or place, by the fortuitous concurrence of those indestructible atoms? For the permanence of human folly we have Pope's authority. According to him-" Still Dunce the Second reigns like Dunce the First." As we have said, Our Lady of Boulogne has been subject to the vicissitudes of Fortune. The Image was captured by the English in 1544, but restored in 1550. It only escaped from English reformers, however, to fall into the hands of the Huguenots, who carried it off in 1567, and threw it into a well, whence it was recovered in a very dilapidated state in 1607. It was then so battered and disfigured as to be no longer fit for exhibition to the public, and it was accordingly put away in a closet. But this prolonged with

R

drawal of the image from the eye of Faith brought a fresh peril upon it in the shape of a rival image, which the priests of St. Wilmer set up in their church, as though it had been the real image. The struggle between the partisans of the two images lasted for twenty years—that is, just twice as long as the struggle-which was going on in Russia about the same time-between those who espoused and those who opposed the claims put forward by four persons in succession, who falsely claimed to be, now Demetrius the lost son of Ivan the Terrible, and now the son of that Demetrius. The Sorbonne, however, which had decided so many knotty questions, came to the rescue of the original image in 1630; and it was once more restored, under a solemn decree, to its place in the cathedral. Of the fate of the rival image there is no record, but its condition must have been as pitiable as that of an ex-Lord Mayor. And now there was to come on the original image a trial greater than any of those which it had as yet endured. In 1793, the cathedral of Boulogne was pillaged and burnt by the Terrorists, and the image well nigh perished with it, one hand only being rescued by a faithful worshipper, who hid it away, until he could safely bring it forth for the adornment of the present cathedral, which was beginning to rise out of the ashes of its predecessor. Upon this solitary hand the good people

of the Boulonnais lavish as much affectionate and reverential regard as their forefathers gave to the whole image. To a loving faith like this, which recks not of the dismemberment of the beloved object, nothing is impossible; and we may safely predict that so long as the fragments of the original image shall furnish enough matter for the construction of one single match the pure flame of devotion will not die out in the Boulonnais. Indeed, if we work out this problem to its logical solution, we may look forward to the time in which the faithful, having a long while admired their gradually vanishing symbol through a microscope, shall be forced, by the imperfection of optical instruments, to lose sight of it and dispense with it altogether. This stage of development, however, has not as yet been reached. There is still a visible object of adoration, and to it the faithful make an annual pilgrimage. The latter half of the month of August is devoted to this purpose, and during that period pilgrims arrive in Boulogne, not merely from all the parishes of the Boulonnais, but by "pilgrimage trains," as these are called, from more distant parts of France. "Why is it," we may well ask, "that English railway directors have none of these advantages?" How gladly would they organize "pilgrimage trains," which should combine the minimum of comfort with the maximum o