rising one above the other, hanging gardens and terraced lawns, making
greenery and verdure in mid-air. On the occasion of my first visit in
August, 1881, the Loire was so low as to appear a mere thread of palest
blue amid white sands; at the time I now write of, broad and beautiful
it flowed beneath the noble bridge, a deep twilight sky reflected in its
limpid waters.

How well I remember the first sight of this scene years ago! Then it was
early morning of market day, and, pouring in from the country, I had met
crowds of peasants with their products, the men in blue blouses, the
women in neat white coiffes, some bearing huge baskets on their heads,
others drawing heavily laden barrows, driving donkey-carts, the piled-up
fruit and vegetables making a blaze of colour. For three sous I recorded
the purchase of more wild strawberries, peaches, and greengages than I
knew what to do with, each grower doing business on his own account, no
middleman to share his profits; choicest fruit and vegetables to be had
almost for the asking. On this lovely Sunday evening plenty of peasant
folk were about, the men fishing in the Loire, the women minding their
children under the trees. But I noted here, as elsewhere, a gradual
disappearance of the blue blouse and white coiffe. Broadcloth and
bonnets are fast superseding the homely, picturesque dress of former
days.

The aerial residences just mentioned are characteristic of riverside
Nevers. Craning our necks as we strolled to and fro, we remarked how
much life in such altitudes must resemble that of a balloon, folks being
thus lifted above the hubbub, malodours, and microbes of the human
bee-hive below. For my own part I prefer a turnpike level, despite the
engaging aspect of those rose-girt verandahs, bowers, and lawns on a
level with the cathedral tower.