an ample terrace, planted with trees, and laid out as a public walk.  The view from this terrace is one of the most beautiful in France.  But what most strikes the eye of the traveler at Blois is an old, tho still unfinished, castle.  Its huge parapets of hewn stone stand upon either side of the street; but they have walled up the wide gateway, from which the colossal drawbridge was to have sprung high in air, connecting together the main towers of the building, and the two hills upon whose slope its foundations stand.  The aspect of this vast pile is gloomy and desolate.  It seems as if the strong hand of the builder had been arrested in the midst of his task by the stronger hand of death; and the unfinished fabric stands a lasting monument both of the power and weakness of man—­of his vast desires, his sanguine hopes, his ambitious purposes—­and of the unlooked-for conclusion, where all these desires, and hopes, and purposes are so often arrested.  There is also at Blois another ancient chateau, to which some historic interest is attached as being the scene of the massacre of the Duke of Guise.

On the following day, I left Blois for Amboise; and, after walking several leagues along the dusty highway, crossed the river in a boat to the little village of Moines, which lies amid luxuriant vineyards upon the southern bank of the Loire.  From Moines to Amboise the road is truly delightful.  The rich lowland scenery, by the margin of the river, is verdant even in October; and occasionally the landscape is diversified with the picturesque cottages of the vintagers, cut in the rock along the road-side, and overhung by the thick foliage of the vines above them.

At Amboise I took a cross-road, which led me to the romantic borders of the Cher and the chateau of Chenonceau.  This beautiful chateau, as well as that of Chambord, was built by the gay and munificent Francis the First.  One is a specimen of strong and massive architecture—­a dwelling for a warrior; but the other is of a lighter and more graceful construction, and was designed for those soft languishments of passion with which the fascinating Diane de Poitiers had filled the bosom of that voluptuous monarch.

The chateau of Chenonceau is built upon arches across the river Cher, whose waters are made to supply the deep moat at each extremity.  There is a spacious courtyard in front, from which a drawbridge conducts to the outer hall of the castle.  There the armor of Francis the First still hangs upon the wall—­his shield, and helm, and lance—­as if the chivalrous but dissolute prince had just exchanged them for the silken robes of the drawing-room....  Doubtless the naked walls and the vast solitary chambers of an old and desolate chateau inspire a feeling of greater solemnity and awe; but when the antique furniture of the olden time remains—­the faded tapestry on the walls, and the arm-chair by the fire-side—­the effect upon the mind is more magical and delightful.  The old inhabitants of the place, long gathered to their fathers, tho living still in history, seem to have left their halls for the chase or the tournament; and as the heavy door swings upon its reluctant hinge, one almost expects to see the gallant princes and courtly dames enter those halls again, and sweep in stately procession along the silent corridors....