ut into the soiling world and becomes
sullied forever. The road passed over broad, barren ranges of hills, and
the landscape was destitute of all interest, till we approached Orange.
This city is built at the foot of a rocky height, a great square
projection of which seemed to stand in its midst. As we approached
nearer, however, arches and lines of cornice could be discerned, and we
recognized it as the celebrated amphitheatre, one of the grandest Roman
relics in the south of France.

I stood at the foot of this great fabric, and gazed up at it in
astonishment. The exterior wall, three hundred and thirty-four feet in
length, and rising to the height of one hundred and twenty-one feet, is
still in excellent, preservation, and through its rows of solid arches
one looks on the broken ranges of seats within. On the crag above, and
looking as if about to topple down on it, is a massive fragment of the
fortress of the Princes of Orange, razed by Louis XIV. Passing through
the city, we came to the beautiful Roman triumphal arch, which to my eye
is a finer structure than that of Constantino at Rome. It is built of a
rich yellow marble and highly ornamented with sculptured trophies. From
the barbaric shields and the letters MARIO, still remaining, it has been
supposed to commemorate the victory of Marius over the barbarians, near
Aix. A frieze, running along the top, on each side, shows, although
broken and much defaced by the weather, the life and action which once
marked the struggling figures. These Roman ruins, scattered through
Provence and Languedoc, though inferior in historical interest, equal
in architectural beauty the greater part of those in the Eternal City
itself.

The rest of the day the road was monotonous, though varied somewhat by
the tall crags of Mornas and Mont-dragon, towering over the villages of
the same name. Night came on as the rock of Pierrelatte, at whose foot
we were to sleep, appeared in the distance, rising like a Gibraltar from
the plain, and we only reached it in time to escape the rain that came
down the valley of the Rhone.

Next day we passed several companies of soldiers on their way to Africa.
One of them was accompanied by a young girl, apparently the wife of the
recruit by whose side she was marching. She wore the tight blue jacket
of the troop, and a red skirt, reaching to the knees, over her soldier
pantaloons; while her pretty face showed to advantage beneath a small
military cap.