298 The Unknown River. 



Uchon is the quaintest little hill-village that I ever 

 met with in my travels. Perched on the very highest 

 and steepest part of the hill, not safely on the summit, 

 but on the slope just below it, the village commands a 

 view of immense extent. There is not a place of equal 

 height for sixty miles before it, and the eye ranges to 

 the illimitable plain of the Loire. It is just the site for 

 a feudal castle, and accordingly we find the last remnant 

 of one, a tall fragment of wall, leaning, like the Tower 

 of Pisa, over the narrow road, with a fine Gothic fireplace 

 high up its side where the floor once was, and where 

 the lady sat in her lofty chamber, and looked out on the 

 world below. The most curious thing at Uchon is the 

 church, which simply follows the slope of the ground, 

 the floor in the interior being as steep as the hill-side 

 on which the edifice is built. As the altar is at the 

 higher end, the effect produced is really fine, and might 

 be worth imitating artificially. 



The walk was enlivened by a continual conversation 

 with the school-master, who was even more intelligent 

 than his usually intelligent class. Amongst other inter- 

 esting things, he mentioned several words which, so far 

 as he had been able to ascertain, were peculiar to the 

 place. Two of these were especially interesting, the 

 verb douler y to suffer (Lat. dolere), and the substantive 

 vialet, a foot-path (diminutive of via). 



The writer, in his descent of the mountain, was in 



was how Mr. Hamerton could find a Frenchman to share his freaks.' 

 'That Frenchman,' replied the dignitary above mentioned, who happeaed 

 to be present, ' was myself.' 



