BRISSAC. 51 



perienced as a joyful mountaineer, I could scarcely credit 

 my personal identity. A few days ago I was groping my 

 way, by the pale light of a trembling taper, through the 

 damp catacombs of Paris, surrounded by millions of grim 

 grinning skulls, placed crossways and in circles, as if 

 in derision of human life ; and now I was breathing the 

 natural and balmy breath of heaven, and standing on the 

 verge of a valley so beautiful, that peace and happiness 

 must surely dwell in it for ever." 



BRISSAC AND THE FIEST SIGHT OF THE RHINE. 



" 13th. — Towards the afternoon of this day I hired a 

 char-a-banc, which is an open carriage in common use 

 here, and proceeded on my journey towards Brissac, a 

 French town on the banks of the Rhine. Mungo Park 

 himself coidd scarcely have experienced a stronger desire 

 to behold the yellow Niger, than I did to see the boundary 

 of ' the mighty Germany.' Arriving at Brissac, I entered 

 three gates, crossed over three fosses, passed under three 

 portcullises, and had my passport examined by an old 

 gentleman who could neither read French, German, nor 

 Dutch, the only three languages of which it was composed. 

 He seemed to consider it chiefly in the light of Hebrew, 

 as he began at the end, and then turned it upside down. 

 A few francs were sufficient to convince him how forlorn 

 his hopes were of becoming a linguist at so advanced a 



