up stairs. On descending to the table d'hôte a quarter of an hour afterwards, we encountered at least six travellers, who had not quitted the boat so soon as ourselves, all mounting, with their luggage, to their respective bedrooms; however, this is a pardonable trick. Two friends travelling in company have scarcely a right to separate rooms during the crowded season. In this way the landlord would necessarily often lose half the hire of his doublebedded rooms, as few men would choose to share their chamber with a total stranger.

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At six o'clock yesterday morning I set out with Mr Irvine in a gig for the fountain of Vaucleuse. It was a cold rainy morning, and our Rosinanté the most miserable brute that ever went in harness; however, the livery-man who brought him to the door, assured us he was a rare one to go." A youth of sixteen was our driver; before proceeding a hundred yards, it was evident that the poor brute had not a leg to stand on. On remonstrating with the lad, he assured us that his present unwillingness to trot arose from his natural love of home, and his desire to linger in the neighbourhood of familiar scenes; but that once fairly away from Avignon, he would trot like a four-year-old. I was fool enough to believe this nonsense, and rather objected to Mr I.'s proposal of returning for another horse, thinking it would be attended with loss of

time; accordingly we jogged on at an ambling sort of walk, which all the whips in the world would not have increased to a good round trot. The rain was falling fast, and the road dreadfully wet and boggy. We were now an hour out, and only one of the six leagues accomplished. This was intolerable: both agreed on an immediate return; accordingly we wheeled about, to the great discomfiture of the boy, who feared to encounter the wrath of his master: the wretched animal testified no sort of joy or nimbleness of foot, at the prospect of returning to a home he had felt such reluctance to quit. The whip was as necessary in the one case as the other. At eight o'clock, we reached Avignon, driving straight to the Rémise, where we found the master, who expressed no surprise at our return, but hastened to provide a fresh horse. Neither did he make any apology for his conduct, which I pronounced "honteux." Altogether it was a most provoking affair, and perhaps the "unkindest cut of all" was in the sly leers of the waggish stable boy, who could hardly suppress his laughter at our woebegone countenances, and bedraggled equipage. In all probability he had fully anticipated the result of our excursion. We breakfasted in a Café hard by, while the horse started again at nine.

was being got ready, and

Three hours and a-half

brought us to Vaucleuse. The road for the greater part of the way is lined with vineyards and rows of olives. The situation of the fountain is romantic and grand; its approach being up a gorge of naked red coloured rock, bounded at its upper extremity by a fine bold precipice about 1000 feet high. At the foot of this precipice lies the far-famed fountain. At this season of the year, there is nothing remarkable in its appearance-presenting merely a large basin of beautifully transparent water, but without manifest outlet. Repeated soundings have been made, but no bottom ever found. A few feet above the highest level of the fountain, is a fine figtree, growing in great luxuriance, with its roots clinging to the naked rock, and yielding striking proof of how much more, air, moisture, and heat, contribute to vegetable growth, than mere soil. most, indeed the only remarkable circumstance connected with this fountain is, that its rise and fall depend on the melting of the snows of the Alps. Thus, in April and May, when the snows of Switzerland are rapidly dissolving under the influence of the early summer sun, it is twenty feet higher than at present; then it discharges a very large torrent, as is evidenced by the present rugged but empty channel. From this peculiarity, it is supposed to have some mysterious subterranean connection with the High Alps; as from the circumstance of there

The

being no snow mountains in this part of France, it must evidently depend for its increase on some remote source of supply. A French gentleman whom we met at the fountain, gave me this information: About fifty yards below, a rapid torrent rushes from under the mountain; this stream is doubtless supplied by the fountain, from which it must escape by a circuitous under-ground channel. Nothing can be imagined so beautiful in the shape of water as this stream. It is of a crystal purity and transparency such as I never saw equalled. Were it a hundred feet deep, its bottom would be visible. Here and there its bed is of a bright green colour; and its waters infinitely more translucent than those of the Rhone at Geneva. I am told that it is full of trout, but it would indeed require the hand of a master to take them with the fly. We dined at the inn of Vaucleuse on trout and cutlets; setting out for Avignon at half-past two. There is a rude cenotaph in honour of Petrarch in the village, also an inn bearing the name of Petrarch and Laura. The poet had lived a long time in this grand but sterile neighbourhood.

The vintage is now commencing in this part of France. Judging from the luscious and tempting clusters of grapes on the vines as we passed, I should say it is a rich one. There is a fine of ten francs

on all grape-stealers; nevertheless, I could not re

sist the theft.

While walking up a hill to relieve

our horse, I watched my opportunity, and leaping across the ditch, helped myself to a bunch; they were small and shrivelled, yet (because they were stolen perhaps) I found them delicious. Had the owner of the vineyard been present, I would have bought them; but as he was not, I was obliged to steal. The driver tells me that the proprietors are very liberal with their grapes, and that the thirsty traveller by the wayside never asks in vain; but then he is expected to ask. We stopped at a house in the village to see a tramping vat. Here, as in Madeira, the grapes are bruised by human feet. This, at first sight, seems nasty enough, but of course all kinds of dirt and odour are deposited and corrected by fermentation. At six we reached Avignon. Mr I. started at seven o'clock for Marseilles. In spite of its inauspicious commencement, I have seldom passed a more agreeable day. Mr I. is a most amusing, as well as intelligent companion, and gave me many a hearty laugh by his tales and stories of the Indians, among whom he resided for several months. He is the author of two volumes, entitled Indian Sketches, which I shall take the first opportunity of reading. Judging from the man, the work must be an interesting

one.

This is a tolerably good inn. I have no fault to