322 The Unknown River. 



shore all in a single piece, just as you would put a plank 

 over a rivulet. 



Toulon is a very quaint little town, with a rather pic- 

 turesque market-place on a hill-top, and the streets slop- 

 ing down on all sides to the river and the surrounding 

 country. On the top of the hill is the old citadel, of 

 which one tower serves for the tower of the old church. 

 The population of Toulon has diminished of late years, 

 but the church, which used to be considered quite large 

 enough for the place (a quaint old Norman-looking 

 edifice), has not satisfied the ambition of the present 

 incumbent, who saw big churches rising in all the neigh- 

 boring villages, and thought he might as well have a big 

 church too. So he raised a subscription and built one ; 

 but a certain pillar of it was unfortunately erected im- 

 mediately over an old well, and the covering of the well 

 gave way, and the pillar went down into it, as a steel 

 ramrod used to go down the barrel of a rifle before these 

 breech-loading times. 



In lonely travel the great secret of avoiding ennui is 

 to take an interest in the people as well as the scenery. 

 Any one who is on the look-out for characters is always 

 sure to meet with them. For instance, I found a doctor 

 at Toulon who smoked without ceasing when he was 

 awake, except when he laid down his pipe to take his 

 knife and fork. He was an old man, in perfect health, 

 and still in full professional practice. This last fact may 

 seem incompatible with incessant smoking, and would, 

 no doubt, be so in London ; but in a tiny town where 

 everybody knew the doctor, he was indulged in his habit 



