walk over a lovely country, is still, in spite of its proximity to the coast, a thoroughly and exclusively French town-so much so that on our attempting to get an English sovereign changed at the auberge at which we halted, several of the neighbours were called in to examine the strange coin, and report on the safety of the proposed transaction. The town is very quaint; the Place, rich in houses with gables, and pignons, and queer old faces peering forth from the dormer windows; the church, round which a protecting cluster of houses has grown up; the auberges, with their portes-cochères and their large courtyards, and the dwelling-houses, with the doors wide open to the street, and showing the fires burning cheerfully on the open hearths, made up a novel and bright picture. Nor was the auberge at which we rested less novel to us. We sat down in the spacious kitchen, where the fire burned brightly between dogs on an open hearth, in a wide fireplace lined with blue and white tiles. A large kettle, containing some savoury compound, hung over the fire from a rack, which was fitted with a winch by which the pot could be raised or depressed. Opposite to the fireplace was a plate-rack in black oak, the lower part of which was curiously carved, and claimed to be (so said the aubergiste) 200 years old. On the walls there were, strange to say, pictures of Le Petit Caporal, and, stranger still, of the Prince

Imperial, who is depicted in the act of receiving a petition from a Zouave, and saying, "I will present it to my father." It is only in the great towns that the effigies of the Bonapartists are destroyed and their names defaced. In the simple homes and simpler minds of the peasants they live and flourish still.

We soon resumed our walk to Desvres. The road is less interesting than that which we had traversed, or it may be that a growing fatigue made us less capable of appreciating its points of interest. I was able, however, to give the Indifferent one piece of information respecting Desvres, which filled him with profound astonishment, and may possibly astonish others.

M. D'Ordre, the local poet whom I have mentioned, and who wrote a history of Desvres in 1811, says, as if he were writing of a thing long past, "That the people on holidays played at a certain game called La Cholle. It consisted in kicking a great ball from one end of the town to the other. The party which kicked it to the opposite end first was held to be the conqueror. Apparently this game was first played in the district towards the end of the thirteenth century. Ducange, in the first and second volumes of his Glossary, tells us that choller is to push a ball with the feet, and adds that the game in his time (1610 to 1688) was greatly

played in Picardy." There, however, it is played no more, nor does it seem to have been played within the memory of the writer from whom I have quoted. Can it be that the English, to compensate the French for the miseries which they inflicted upon them, introduced the game of football, and that it began to. die out when the English occupation ceased?

CHAPTER III.

ABBEVILLE.

ON Christmas-Eve, in the year 1414, the citizens of Abbeville assembled in great numbers to see a remarkable criminal suffer the last penalty of the law. The culprit was taken through the town to the gallows in a cart, and was escorted by the mayor and the échevins (aldermen), who, after solemn deliberation, had condemned him, and by the constables of the town, who had had him in charge ever since his arrest. The criminal did not appear to be sensible of his condition, or to be much afraid of his impending fate. He looked placidly out from the cart as it passed through the crowded streets, and occasionally gave utterance to some semi-articulate noises, which those near him were unable to interpret. They observed, however, that these utterances were most impressive, when, as was not unfrequently the case, he chanced to catch sight of some member of his own tribe in the crowd. the solemn procession reached the gallows two of the échevins seized the criminal, and, with a

When

dexterity which only long practice could have given them, strung him up to the cross-beam by his hind legs. Then the crowd retired slowly and, we may hope, sadly, as we are certified that on the night following this execution no one in Abbeville could close an eye.

My readers will have observed that in narrating the fate of this unhappy criminal I have not followed the advice which the giant Moulineau (in Count Hamilton's fairy tale) gave to the royal ram when that worthy animal asked him at what point he should commence the story of his adventures. "Bélier, mon ami!" said the giant Moulineau, 66 vous me ferez plaisir si vous voulez commencer par le commencement." Now, the adventures of a pig (and my criminal was no other than a pig) ought not to be treated less systematically than those of a ram; and I feel that it is incumbent on me to state without delay the circumstances which caused the pig in question to suffer, during his life, a suspension which his kindred rarely undergo until they are dead. This, then, is his history, as it is recorded in the "Red Book" of Abbeville :-" It happened on Saturday, the 15th December, 1414, that Belot, the little daughter of Jehan Guillain, as she lay snugly in her cradle, was strangled, and had part of her face eaten by a little pig (un petit pourchel) which belonged to the said Guillain, for which