had sent a boy into the field to catch a
_third_. Wherefore was this? The tarif exacted it. A third horse
"reciproquement pour l'annee"--parce qu'il faut traverser une grande
montagne avant d'arriver a Vire"--was the explanatory reply. It seemed
perfectly ridiculous, as the vehicle was of such slender dimensions and
weight. However, I was forced to yield. To scold the postboy was equally
absurd and unavailing: "parce que la tarif l'exigea." But the "montagne"
was doubtless a reason for this additional horse: and I began to imagine
that something magnificently picturesque might be in store. The three
horses were put a-breast, and off we started with a phaeton-like velocity!
Certainly nothing could have a more ridiculous appearance than my pigmy
voiture thus conveyed by three animals--strong enough to have drawn the
diligence. I was not long in reaching this "huge mountain," which provoked
my unqualified laughter--from its insignificant size--and upon the top of
which stands the town of VIRE. It had been a _fair_-day; and groups of men
and women, returning from the town, in their blue and crimson dresses,
cheered somewhat the general gloom of the day, and lighted up the features
of the landscape. The nearer I approached, the more numerous and incessant
were these groups.

Vire is a sort of _Rouen_ in miniature--if bustle and population be only
considered. In architectural comparison, it is miserably feeble and
inferior. The houses are generally built of granite, and look extremely
sombre in consequence. The old castle is yet interesting and commanding.
But of this presently. I drove to the "_Cheval Blanc_," and bespoke, as
usual, a late dinner and beds. The first visit was to the _castle,_ but it
is right that you should know, before hand, that the town of Vire, which
contains a population of about ten thousand souls, stands upon a commanding
eminence, in the midst of a very beautiful and picturesque country called
the BOCAGE. This country was, in former times, as fruitful in civil wars,
horrors, and devastations, as the more celebrated Bocage of the more
western part of France during the late Revolution. In short, the Bocage of
Normandy was the scene of bloodshed during the Calvinistic or Hugonot
persecution. It was in the vicinity of this town, in the parts through
which I have travelled--from Caen hitherwards--that the hills and the dales
rang with the feats of arms displayed in the alternate discomfiture and
success of