We could make nothing else of it;
No, nor you two, were you to sit
Listening all day with all your wit.

After having called out a number of times in vain, the approach of night compelled us to return to our lodging, where we made a thousand reflections on this adventure. Our minds were not entirely satisfied with the explanation. We could not understand how it was, that only a part of the rivers were punished, when all of them were concerned in the treason. We returned many times to the spot, during our stay at Encosse, in the hope of prevailing on this honest river to give us a quarter of an hour's conversation; but we never saw him more; and our course of water-drinking being at an end, it was time to depart.

Monsieur the Seneschal d'Armagnac sent a carriage for us, which took us, in perfect comfort, to his house at Castille. It was easy to see, by the joy with which he received us, that our faces were not unwelcome.

O the taste of this Fontrailles !
Here it was that ortolans,
Pies, and other pretty pans,
Red-legg'd partridges and quails,
And fifty other birds with juices,
Made us shudder at the abuses

Which we used to take for dinners,

With Carbon, and those other brutal sinners.

You, poor stayers at home, who never saw anything but the valley of misery, and you that fancy you rule the roast at Paris, you know nothing of good cheer. If you do, as you pretend, and are fond of it,

Be good people; quit your seats;

Come, and behold almost the only place,
Where taking soup is no disgrace;

Where human nature eats.

You will be well received, and find the master of the house always the same. Without troubling himself any further with the affairs of the world, he amuses himself with finishing his house, which promises to be admirable. All the honest people of the province know the way to it. By the rest it is not to be discovered. Well we gormandised four days in company with Monsieur the President Marmiesse, who was good enough to come the moment

he heard of our arrival; and then we all set out together for Toulouse to see the Abbé de Beauregard, who looked for us, and who gave us a repast only to be found at Toulouse. Next day, M. de Marmiesse must needs let us see how far a dinner could go in point of splendour and magnificence; or rather, with his leave, in point of profusion and prodigality. The feast of the Liar was nothing to it. We must have recourse to our verses, for a description.

O thou, whichever Muse thou art,

Who bid'st the gourmand play his part,

Assist us, now or never!

Help us, for our renown, and thine,
To set forth every dish divine,
And keep it warm for ever.

But hold ;-what frenzy fires the mind?
Who ever knew a Muse that dined,
Or had a taste in claret?
No, no; the everlasting jades
On bread and water keep good maids;
Or 'faith, they couldn't bear it.
What god then shall our subject woo?
Bacchus, will you, or Comus, you,
Assist us to go through it?
No: neither of you can find time

To scratch your happy heads for rhyme;
And therefore we can't do it.

It is too great an affair. We must content ourselves with saying, that never was anything more splendid. We should have thought Toulouse exhausted of its game for ever, notwithstanding its reputation, if next day, a friend of ours, whom you know, had not given us another dinner, which convinced us that the place was a prodigy. You will name him at once, when we tell you,

that he is

One of those fine wits, whom the Muse
First honour'd France with at Toulouse.
The only native Gascon he,

Who bears no mark of Gascony,

But such an air and spirit carries,

You'd think he never stirr'd from Paris.

In short, the agreeable M. d'Osneville, who looks and talks like a man that has never been out of the precincts of the court.

You know he's married. 'Tis a year
Since first the knot was tied, we hear,
And 'twould defy a chopper;

We mean 'tis good as e'er was sung;
And both are witty, rich, and young,
And both their bloods are proper.

M. d'Osneville took us in his coach to Grouille, where Monsieur the Count d'Aubijoux received us very politely. We found him in a little palace of a summer-house, which he had built in the middle of his garden, among shades and fountains. It consists of only three rooms, but all painted and fitted up to perfection. He is to come here when he wishes to be private with two or three friends, or to enjoy his books when alone; to say nothing of his mistress.

Courts may have been unjust; but what cares he?
Here roll his days in round philosophy.

To tell you that he keeps a good table, is no news; but perhaps you will be surprised to hear, that with all the good cheer going on, he eats nothing but a crust a day. He has accordingly the look of a dying man. The park is very extensive, full of beautiful every successive one finer than the other. Yet we spent our whole days in a little isle, planted and kept like a garden, in the middle of which, as if by miracle, a fountain leaps up, and goes wetting the tops of a bower of cypresses.

spots for walking in,

Under this bow'r, which Love expressly made

Surely to touch some fair inhuman she,

One of us two, one day within the shade,

His pulses quivering, his hand unstaid,

While the leaves whisper'd, and the fountain play'd,
Wrote this desiring verse upon a tree :-

Alas! how blessed were his lot

Who with his Sylvia in this happy spot,

Could pass his days, nor feel that time was moving,
Always belov'd, and always fondly loving.

You will perceive by this, that during our journey we were not always thinking of good cheer. We had moments, you will acknowledge, sufficiently tender. In the sequel, though Grouille abounded in attractions, M. d'Aubijoux could not prevail upon us to stay more than three days; at the end of which we took his carriage to go and meet that of M. de Penautier at Castres. We met accordingly, and proceeded with him to Penautier, which is a league from Carcassonne. The dear rogue, who never quitted us for a moment, drank to your health a thousand times. You must

know there was the play to amuse us. The performers were not bad; and all the ladies of Carcassonne were present. When we took leave, M. de Penautier, who is unquestionably one of the honestest men breathing, insisted upon our taking his coach as far as Narbonne, though it already had had a long journey. The weather was so fine, that we were in hopes next day, with the fresh horses that followed us from Encosse, to push on and sleep at Montpellier. But as ill luck would have it,

Narbonne has this confounded wonder:
There's always rain, and always thunder.
All night the rain came down pell-mell,
And such a heap of water fell,
That for two days, like one invaded,
The country kept the town blockaded.

Narbonne lies in a hollow,

You must not be surprised at this. surrounded by mountains; the rain comes in torrents; and therefore whenever it continues for six hours together, such a quantity of water is collected, that it is impossible to leave the place without hazard of drowning. We determined upon running the risque; but the adventure of a lacquey carried off by the flood, who would certainly have perished if it had not been for his horse, made us get inside the town again as fast as we could, to wait till the roads were clear. Some gentlemen, who observed us walking about in the great square, and who appeared to be among the principal persons of the country, having been apprised of our misfortune, thought themselves bound in politeness not to leave us at the mercy of ennui. They proposed to shew us the curiosities of their city, and took us accordingly to the cathedral, which they recommended for a chef-d'œuvre on account of the loftiness of the aisles. We cannot say, for our parts,

Whether the architect who made it,

Made it round, oval, square, or what;
Or whether he that last survey'd it,
Concluded it was tall, or not.
For you must know, that as we stood
Admiring in this holy place,
We made a solemn vow to God,
Never to look upon its face.

Another rarity they shew;

An altar-piece, all black with smoking;

Where Lazarus, as he ought to do,
Comes from his grave, extremely shocking.
In fact, the painter has succeeded

So well in making him look frightful,
That if the Devil look'd worse than he did,
E'en Lazarus must have look'd delightful.

Our new friends were not content with shewing us these marvels. To complete their favours, they had the goodness to introduce us to three or four of their most refined damsels, who were tumbling to bits with dirt and affectation. Such is the list of our entertainments at Narbonne. You may judge if we passed our two days agreeably. O Narbonne, thou who hast diverted us so well,

Worthy object of our anger,

Mud's emporium, trav'llers' curse,
All made up of drains and gutters,
Shambling spouts, and dirty splutters,
How canst thou expect a verse?
Go: thou art but winter quarters
For a score of hapless dogs,
Where, by dint of painful searching,
Three old girls at last come curtsying,
Fair and wholesome as thy fogs.

Go: thou art not worth a stricture;
Fast we leave thee in the lurch;

Very little is thy picture,

And less than nothing is thy church.

The apostrophe is somewhat violent, and the imprecation a little strong but we passed two days in this marvellous sojourn with so much ill will, that we were glad to quit it with a vengeance. At length, the waters being only up to our horses' girths, we were allowed to set forward. We proceeded three or four leagues over plains all in a drench, and had to cross a rascally bridge of planks over a torrent, which the rains had made as big as a river. At this distance we arrived at Beziers, a good clean town, well situate, and altogether as pretty a place as the other was villainous. Next day, having traversed the heath of Saint-Hubéri, and tasted the fine muscats of Loupian, we saw Montpellier before us, surrounded by those plantations of trees and vineyards that you are acquainted with. We had to effect a passage through hundreds of flying balls, for they make a tennis-ground of the highway.

[TO BE CONCLUDED.]