gossip of a _sergeant de ville_ and a lounger close to my window. At
Tours, La Chatre and Bourges my fellow-traveller and myself could get no
sleep on account of street revellers, whilst at how many other places
have not holiday trips been spoiled by unquiet nights? All honour then
to the aediles of dear little Bourron!




CHAPTER IV.


BOURRON--_continued_.

Forty thousand acres of woodland at one's doors would seem a fact
sufficiently suggestive; to particularize the attractions of Bourron
after this statement were surely supererogation. Yet, for my own
pleasure as much as for the use of my readers, I must jot down one or
two especially persistent memories, impressions of solemnity, beauty and
repose never to be effaced.

Of course it is only the cyclist who can realise such an immensity as
the Fontainebleau forest. From end to end these vast sweeps are now
intersected by splendid roads and by-roads. Old-fashioned folks, for
whom the horseless vehicle came too late, can but envy wheelmen and
wheelwomen as they skim through vista after vista, outstripping one's
horse and carriage as a greyhound outstrips a decrepit poodle. On the
other hand only inveterate loiterers, the Lazy Lawrences of travel, can
appreciate the subtler beauties of this woodland world. There are
certain sights and sounds not to be caught by hurried observers,