the principal squares, and erect images of the Virgin on their warehouses.  The master at our hotel calls to a neighbour across the street to come and join us at table, and the people at the shops stand outside, listlessly contemplating their own wares.  There are at least 10,000 inhabitants, but we see scarcely anyone; a carriage, or a cart, startles us with its unusual sound, and every footstep echoes on the rough pavement.  The arrival of the train from Paris; the commercial travellers that it brings, and the red liveries of the government grooms, leading out their horses, impart the only appearance of life to the town.

Nowhere in France does the military element seem more out of place, never did ‘fine soldiers’ seem so much in the way as at St. Lo.  There is a parade to-day, there was a parade yesterday, and to-morrow (Sunday) there will be a military mass for a regiment leaving on foreign duty.  It is all very right, no doubt, and necessary for the peace of Europe, the ‘balance of power,’ the consumption of pipe-clay, and the breaking of hearts sometimes; but, in contrast to the natural quiet of this place, the dust and noise are tremendous, and the national air (so gaily played as the troops march through the town) has, as it seems to us, an uncertain tone, and does not catch the sympathy of the bystanders.  They stand gazing upon the pageant like the Venetians listening to the Austrian band—­they are a peace-loving community at St. Lo.

But let us look well at the cathedral, at the grandeur of its spires, at its towers with open galleries, at the rich ‘flamboyant’ decoration of the doorways; at its monuments, chapels, and stained glass, and above all at the exterior pulpit, abutting on the street at the north-east end, which is one of the few remaining in France.

[Illustration:  Exterior Pulpit at St Lo.[23]]

If we ascend one of the towers, we shall be rewarded with a view over a varied and undulating landscape, stretching far away westward towards the sea, and southward towards Avranches and Vire; whilst here and there we may distinguish, dotted amongst the trees, those curious chateaux of the ancienne noblesse, which are disappearing rapidly in other parts of France; and the view of the town and cathedral together, as seen from the opposite hill, with the river winding through the meadows, and the women washing, on their knees on the bank, is also very picturesque.

We do not, however, make a long stay at St. Lo, for we are within sixteen miles of the city of COUTANCES, with its narrow and curiously modern-looking streets, its ecclesiastical associations, and its magnificent cathedral.  As we approach it, by the road, we see before us a group of noble Gothic spires, and are prepared to meet (as we do in nearly every street) ecclesiastics and priests, and to find the ‘Catholic Church’ holding its head high in this remote part of France.