this distinction.

[Illustration: Vernon]

Mery is an elevated little place of something less than fifteen
hundred souls. It has a church of the thirteenth, sixteenth, and
eighteenth centuries, and a chateau which was constructed at the end
of the fourteenth century by the Seigneur de Mery, Pierre d'Orgemont,
grand chancellor of France. The domain was created a _marquisat_ in
1665. The famous banker, Samuel Bernard, it seems, became the
occupant, of the chateau in the reign of Louis XIV., and there
received king and court.

On a certain occasion, as the season had advanced toward the chill of
winter, the opulent seigneur made great fires of acacia wood. The
king, who was present, said courteously to his host: "Know you well,
Samuel, it is not possible for me to do this in my palace;" from
which we may infer that it was a luxury which even kings appreciated.

There were no river obstructions to the free passage of our little
craft between Pontoise and L'Isle-Adam, above Auvers. We were going
by easy stages now, even the long tows of grain and coal-laden barges
were gaining on us, for we were straggling disgracefully and stopping
at almost every kilometre stone.

We tied up at Auvers, "Daubigny's Country," as we called it, and
stayed for the night at the Hostellerie du Nord, a not very splendid
establishment, but one with a character all its own. Auvers, and its
neighbour Mery, together form one of the most delightful settlements
in which to pass a summer, near to Paris, that could be possibly
imagined, but with this proviso, that on Sunday one could take a day
in town, for then _tout le monde_, the proprietor of the Hostellerie
du Nord tells you, comes out to breathe the artistic atmosphere of
Daubigny. How much they really care for Daubigny or his artistic
atmosphere is a question.

At such times the tiny garden and the dining-room of the Hostellerie
attempt to expand themselves to accommodate a hundred and fifty
guests, whereas their capacity is perhaps forty. Something very akin
to pandemonium takes place; it is amusing, no doubt, but it is not
comfortable. Nothing ever goes particularly awry here, however; M.
T--, the _patron_, is too good a manager for that, and a popular one,
too, to judge from his _Salon d'Exposition_, which is hung about with
a couple of hundred pictures presented by his admiring painter guests
from time to time. The viands are bountiful and splendidly garnished
and the _consommations au