A WINTER FAIR AT BOULOGNE. 205 



chance a volume of Kussian poetry published more 

 than half a century since, picking out such lines as 

 these : 



Or: 



Sporting like a happy child, 

 Midst the forest's tenants wild. 



Sweetest, brightest rays of bliss, 

 Never were as sweet as this. 



Leading to the conclusion that the Russian of that 

 period was not altogether a barbarian, the scratching 

 of whose skin revealed the Tartar. 



But what of the fair ? will be asked if I continue 

 to deal with generalities. What of the fair ? forsooth! 

 Why, a volume might readily be written of its 

 numerous attractions. The site where it is held is 

 the Haute ville, in front of the Palais de Justice, 

 under the shadows of the Cathedral, and in the open 

 space outside the gate, from which spot the best and 

 most extensive view of the town, harbour, and coast 

 is obtained, which, seen on a brilliant day, such as I 

 was favoured with, formed a very pretty and pleasing 

 picture the brown sails of the innumerable fishing- 

 boats being conspicuous far out to sea, whilst the 

 white horses tumbled over one another, breaking 

 with volumes of spray on the sandy and at times 

 treacherous shore. By-the-way, the recent lamentable 

 accident which caused the loss of the lives of three 

 visitors, was, it appears to me, beyond doubt the 

 result of a foolish disregard of repeated warnings ; so 

 they paid the penalty of their rash conduct, the sea 

 being tremendously high, and the swirl of the tide 

 sweeping them away remorselessly. With ordinary 

 prudence the bathing at Boulogne is safe enough; 



