a side window, we caught sight of the Loire; so near, indeed, lay the
bright, blue river, that we could almost have thrown pebbles into its
clear depths; quitting the hotel, half a dozen steps, no more were
needed, an enchanting scene burst upon the view.

Most beautiful is the site of La Charite, built terrace-wise, not on the
skirts but on the very hem of the Loire, here no revolutionary torrent,
sweeping away whole villages, leaving only church steeples visible above
the engulfing waters, as I had once seen it at Nantes, but a broad,
smooth, crystal expanse of sky-blue. Over against the handsome stone
bridge to-day having its double in the limpid water, we see a little
islanded hamlet crowned with picturesque church tower; and, placing
ourselves midway between the town and its suburban twin, obtain vast and
lovely perspectives. Westward, gradually purpling as evening wears on,
rises the magnificent height of Sancerre, below, amid low banks bordered
with poplar, flowing the Loire. Eastward, looking towards Nevers, our
eyes rest on the same broad sheet of blue; before us, straight as an
arrow, stretches the French road of a pattern we know so well, an
apparently interminable avenue of plane or poplar trees. The river is
low at this season, and the velvety brown sands recall the sea-shore
when the tide is out. Exquisite, at such an hour are the reflections,
every object having its mirrored self in the transparent waves, the
lights and shadows of twilight making lovely effects.

As is the case with Venice, La Charite should be reached by river, and a
pity it seems that little steamers do not ply between all the principal
towns on the Loire. How enchanting, like the immortal Vert-Vert, of
Gresset's poem, to travel from Nevers to the river's mouth!

If I had headed this paper merely with the words "La Charite," I should