be well for travellers to begin the inspection at the bottom, with the Aristoteles equitatus (a subject which has already been treated on one of the choir statues in the Cathedral of Rouen) and reach by degrees a pair embracing in the manner which both Lucretius and l’Amour Conjugal have recommended.  The greater part of the intermediary subjects have been removed, to the despair of seekers of comical things, like ourselves; they have been removed in cold blood, with deliberate intent, for the sake of decency, and because, as one of the servants of his Majesty informed us convincingly, “a great many were improper for the lady visitors to see.”

CHATEAU DE CHENONCEAUX.

A something of infinite suavity and aristocratic serenity pervades the Chateau de Chenonceaux.  It is situated outside of the village, which keeps at a respectful distance.  It can be seen through a large avenue of trees, and is enclosed by woods and an extensive park with beautiful lawns.  Built on the water, it proudly uprears its turrets and its square chimneys.  The Cher flows below, and murmurs at the foot of its arches, the pointed corners of which form eddies in the tide.  It is all very peaceful and charming, graceful yet robust.  Its calm is not wearying and its melancholy has no tinge of bitterness.

One enters through the end of a long, arched hallway, which used to be a fencing-room.  It is decorated with some armours, which, in spite of the obvious necessity of their presence, do not shock one’s taste or appear out of place.  The whole scheme of interior decoration is tastefully carried out; the furniture and hangings of the period have been preserved and cared for intelligently.  The great, venerable mantel-pieces of the sixteenth century do not shelter the hideous and economical German stoves, which might easily be hidden in some of them.

In the kitchen, situated in a wing of the castle, which we visited later, a maid was peeling vegetables and a scullion was washing dishes, while the cook was standing in front of the stove, superintending a reasonable number of shining saucepans.  It was all very delightful, and bespoke the idle and intelligent home life of a gentleman.  I like the owners of Chenonceaux.

In fact, have you not often seen charming old paintings that make you gaze at them indefinitely, because they portray the period in which their owners lived, the ballets in which the farthingales of all those beautiful pink ladies whirled around, and the sword-thrusts which those noblemen gave each other with their rapiers?  Here are some temptations of history.  One would like to know whether those people loved as we do, and what difference existed between their passions and our own.  One would like them to open their lips and tell their history, tell us everything they used to do, no matter how futile, and what their cares and pleasures used to be.  It is an irritating