exhausted, blew with great violence, and the air was exceedingly raw and piercing. It was a day, indeed, to kill anything but the fire of enthusiasm. These troops, however, I suppose, had that within " which, where it comes, makes summer," for they marched on board very cheerfully with no strains of music playing, no shouts and huzzas of the spectators, no popular demonstration, and none of the pomp and circumstance of war. A single drum for each regiment beat a roll to mark time, and a few of the men sang as they marched. Each man had a large flat loaf strapped outside his knapsack, and carried in his hand a long pole like a brush handle for future use in the tent, and his person was hung round with tin cans like a travelling tinker for his cooking and camp purposes. One poor wife followed her husband, and parted from him at the ship. Will they ever meet again, I wonder?

Marseilles was founded by the Phocæans, 539 B.C., which is a very ancient date for a city of western Europe. In the way to my hotel I passed a picturesque building, which, if it be not as old as the foundation of the city, yet probably occupies the site of its ancient citadel. It crowns the apex of a lofty hill, half of which has been cut away to make way for modern improvements, and the gateway of the building now stands whimsically perched on the summit of the hill with no approach to it on that side.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 10.

As the bells of Marseilles were chiming, (they do not ring musically like ours,) I walked to the English church where I attended divine service this morning. I asked a Frenchman, whom I met, the way to "Silva bella," the name of the street where the church is situated, upon which he inquired what number I wanted, and upon my saying number one hundred, he said "Oh, it is the English church," and immediately shewed me the way. Mr. Mayers, the chaplain, performed the service most devoutly, and preached a good sermon from Isaiah v., 4, a parable of the Old Testament, which is repeated in the New, and prayers were offered for some persons present who were about to encounter the perils of the sea. In the afternoon, Mr. Butler, a young clergyman who, as I heard from the doorkeeper, had just lost a brother at the battle of Inkerman, pursued the subject begun in the morning, and preached admirably from John xv., 4. The church was well filled, and everybody joined in the responses, the English consul leading them, and acting as clerk.

It was dusk when I returned from the evening service, but I found numbers of shops still open brilliantly lighted

with gas and inviting customers.

Mammon gives his

votaries but little rest in all countries

There was a noble marble fountain of a large size in the street, of which the figure of the brazen laver in Solomon's temple might have been the model; and in the cursaal, an open place near my hotel, I saw a colossal bronze figure of Monsieur Bon Luce, set up in 1726 to commemorate that good man's charity and devotedness during a time of pestilence. When a thousand other memorials were swept away by the fury of the first French revolution, this monument to charity was spared.

The mistraille blew almost a hurricane all day, so that at times I could hardly keep my feet as I walked along the streets. This wind has its source in an avenne of mountains, the Ligurian Alps with Mount Cenis on the one hand, and the mountains of Catalonia on the other. These two ranges form a sort of bag from which the wind blows with great force. Its power is again confined and concentrated in Marseilles, as it blows between the rows of lofty, clean looking, and handsome houses that border the streets and public places. The latter, which are numerous, are planted at the sides with trees. All the streets and places are well paved and watered.

The sweeper of a

London street-crossing is said to finish his day's work by

brushing back upon it the dirt which he has been all day long sweeping from its surface, but in Marseilles this artifice must be unknown, for I saw no crossings to sweep. The lowest storey of the houses in Marseilles has always grilles and jalousies like the houses in Spain.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 11.

No contrast can be greater than between an Eastern city and this queen of southern France at night. In the former every body is in bed at an early hour, and after night fall scarcely a human sound is heard; but at Marseilles people seem to awake up afresh at midnight, and the streets are then almost as talkative and noisy as at mid-day.

At seven o'clock this morning I was on my way to the railway station, which stands upon a height above the city, and commands a beautiful view of its hills and bay. For many miles the country is cultivated down to the water's edge, and in many places planted with olives, which are here dwarfish and diminutive compared with their kindred trees in the East. The hills are of picturesque forms, and the views over land and sea very beautiful.

The view of the fine old town of Arles was tantalizing to one who had only a few moments to remain there. It had a bridge of boats in Roman times, and near it there is a fine suspension bridge now. At Avignon the Rhone is joined by the Durance (Livy's and Hannibal's Durance), here meandering through peaceful plains, and not through the wilds which form his mountain home-

"The very path for them that list to choose

Where best to plant a monumental cross,

And live in story like Empedocles,

A track for heroes."

At Montdragon there is a bold and fantastic looking castle, standing very romantically, as its name implies, upon a hill.

At Chateauneuf, a bold rock crowned with another castle, we came upon the Rhone, which is here a rapid and magnificent stream, flowing majestically along and filling its banks to the brink

"Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full."

Here the mountains on our left were covered with a grey