adding to the dreadful din by jingling coppers in tin cups. In the
immediate precincts of the church, where the hurly-burly of piety,
traffic, and mendicity reaches its climax, are the vendors of candles
for the chapel and of food for the pilgrims, whose diet is chiefly
melon and bread. Creysse, by the Dordogne, produces melons in
abundance, which are brought to Roc-Amadour by the cartload, and sold
for two or three sous apiece. And to see these pilgrims devour the
fragrant fruit in the month of September makes one think that if Notre
Dame de Roc-Amadour were not very pitiful the consequences would be
disastrous to many.

There was a humorous beggar on the steps who amused me much, for I
watched him more closely than he supposed. He had something the matter
with his legs--paralyzed, perhaps--but the upper part of his body was
sound enough. With one hand he shook the tin cup, but the other, which
held a short pipe, he kept steadfastly behind his back. Now and again
he turned his face to the wall, as if to drop a tear unseen, but
really to take a discreet pull at the pipe. I think he must have
swallowed the smoke. Then he would face the crowd again, and repeat
his doleful cry:

'De la charité! de la charité! Chrétiens, n'oubliez pas le pauvre
estropié! Le bon Dieu vous bénira.'

After all, why should not a beggar smoke? If tobacco is a blessing,
why should a man be debarred from it because his legs are paralyzed,
and he is obliged to live on charity?

As one of the first thoughts of every genuine pilgrim to this ancient
sanctuary is to get shrived, the chaplains, who, with their Superior,