upon what I fancied was antiquarian
research I was hot for the alluring theory that oral tradition is a
surer preserver of historic fact than is written record; and as I was
not concerned with antiquities of a sort upon which my pretty borrowed
theory could be tested I got along with it very well. But I am glad now
to cite this capital instance in controversion of my youthful
second-hand belief--because it entirely accords with my more mature
conviction that oral tradition, save as a tenacious preserver of
place-names, is not to be trusted at all. And as unsupported written
record rarely is to be trusted either, it would seem that a certain
amount of reason was at the root of King David's hasty generalization as
to the untruthfulness of mankind.

The day was nearly ended as we passed that town with a stolen moral
history: and so swept onward, in and out among the islands, toward
Avignon. Already the sun had fallen below the crest of the Cevennes;
leaving behind him in the sky a liquid glory, and still sending far
above us long level beams which gilded radiantly--far off to the
eastward--the heights of Mont-Ventour. But we, deep in the deep valley,
threaded our swift way among the islands in a soft twilight which gently
ebbed to night.

And then, as the dusk deepened to the westward, there came slowly into
the eastern heavens a pale lustre that grew brighter and yet brighter
until, all in a moment, up over the Alpilles flashed the full moon--and
there before us, almost above us, the Rocher-des-Doms and the Pope's
Palace and the ramparts of Avignon stood out blackly against the
moon-bright sky. So sudden was this ending to our journey that there was
a wonder among us that the end had come!

* * * * *

All the Felibres of Avignon were at the water-side to cheer us welcome
as the _Gladiateur_, with reversed engines, hung against the current
above the bridge of Saint-Benezet and slowly drew in to the bank. Our
answering cheers went forth to them through the darkness, and a stave
or two of "La Coupe" was sung, and there was a mighty clapping of hands.
And then the gang-plank was set ashore, and instantly beside
it--standing in the glare of a great lantern--we saw our Capoulie, the
head of all the Felibrige, Felix Gras, waiting for us, his subjects and
his brethren, with outstretched hands. From him came also, a little
later, our official welcome: when we all were assembled for a _ponch
d'ho