Francois Premier, nous dit l’histoire, Etoit la fleur des Chevaliers, Pres d’Etampes aux champs de gloire Il recueillit myrtes et lauriers; Sa maitresse toujours fidele, Le payant d’un tendre retour, Lui chantant cette ritournelle; Vive le Roi, vive l’Amour.

Henri, des princes le modele, Ton souvenir est dans nos coeurs, Par la charmante Gabrielle Ton front fut couronne de fleurs; De la Ligue domptant la rage, Tu sus triompher tour-a-tour, Par la clemence et ton courage:  Vive le Roi, vive l’Amour.

Amant cheri de la Valliere, Des ennemis noble vainqueur, LOUIS savoit combattre et plaire, Guide par l’Amour et l’honneur; A son retour de la Victoire, Entoure d’une aimable cour, Il entendoit ce cri de gloire:  Vive le Roi, vive l’Amour.

  &c.

There was a freshness of tint, and a comeliness of appearance, among the bourgeoises and common people, which were not to be eclipsed even by the belles of Coutances.  Our garcon de poste and his able-bodied quadruped having each properly recruited themselves, we set forward—­by preference—­to walk up the very long and somewhat steep hill which rises on the other side of Conde towards Pont Ouilly—­in the route hither.  Perhaps this was the most considerable ascent we had mounted on foot, since we had left Rouen.  The view from the summit richly repaid the toil of using our legs.  It was extensive, fruitful, and variegated; but neither rock nor mountain scenery; nor castles, nor country seats; nor cattle, nor the passing traveller—­served to mark or to animate it.  It was still, pure nature, upon a vast and rich scale:  and as the day was fine, and my spirits good, I was resolved to view and to admire.

Pont Ouilly lies in a hollow; with a pretty winding river, which seems to run through its centre.  The surrounding hills are gently undulating; and as we descended to the Inn, we observed, over the opposite side of the town, upon the summit of one of the hills, a long procession of men and women—­headed by an ecclesiastic, elevating a cross—­who were about to celebrate, at some little distance, one of their annual festivals.  The effect—­as the procession came in contact with a bright blue sky, softened by distance—­was uncommonly picturesque ... but the day was getting on fast, and there was yet a considerable distance to perform,—­while, in addition, we had to encounter the most impassable part of the road.  Besides, I had not yet eaten a morsel since I had left Vire.  Upon holding a consultation, therefore, it was resolved to make for the inn, and to dine there.  A more sheltered, rural, spot cannot be conceived.  It resembled very many of the snug scenes in South Wales.  Indeed the whole country was of a character similar to many parts of Monmouthshire; although with a miserable draw-back in respect to the important feature of wood.  Through the whole of Normandy, you miss those grand