AFTER Lyons, adieu to all rapid movement! ’Tis a journey of caution; and it fares better with sentiments not to be in a hurry with them.

Before we were out of the city limits we lost our way, and went wandering through lanes, hunting for a road by the river. One led us to a blank wall, another to a stone pile; and when we consulted passers-by they sent us back towards the town, and into a broad street running through endless ugly suburbs, and far out of sight of the RhÔne.—So much for a fellow-cycler’s directions.

In the open country the national road was bad and full of stones. It is only fair to add that the agent in Lyons had said we should find little good riding between Lyons and Vienne. The wind, tired with its efforts of yesterday, had died away, and it was warm and close on level and hill.—And we were as changed as the country and weather! Gone with the wind and good roads and fair

landscape was the joy of motion! Our force was spent, our spirit exhausted with the shortest climb.—In the first village we stopped for groseille and to rest. We sat at a little table in front of the cafÉ, silent and melancholy; and when the landlady came out and asked if my seat was on the luggage carrier, and if, perhaps, we could reach Vienne by evening (the distance from Lyons being twenty-seven kilometres), we were too weary to be amused. In parting she told us we had still four hills to cross; she ought rather to have said a dozen.—The whole afternoon we toiled up long ascents.

In near hills and valleys the French army was out manoeuvring. We could hear the cannon and guns, and see clouds of smoke before we came in sight of the battle.—We had glimpses, too, of reserves entrenched behind hillocks and wooded spaces, and once we almost routed a detachment of cavalry stationed by the roadside. Scouts and officers on horseback tore by; soldiers hurried through the streets of a narrow hilly village.—What with the noise and the troops, the road was lively enough. And presently, from a high hilltop, we overlooked the field of action. A fort was being stormed; as we stopped, a new detachment of the enemy charged it. They marched in good order over a ploughed field, and then across green pastures. Both sides kept up a heavy firing.——

“The French army amuses itself down there,” said a grinning peasant, who watched with us.

—Indeed all the peasants seemed but little edified by the fighting. Many ignored it. Others laughed, as if it had been a farce played for their amusement.——

“It is good there are no balls,” remarked an old cynic when we drew up to have a second look; “if there were, then would it be Sauve qui peut!”

At last guns and smoke were out of sight and hearing. But the road still ran between dry fields and over many hills, and the peasants were disagreeable. It seemed in keeping with the day’s experiences that the long hill leading down into Vienne should be so steep that I had to get off the machine and walk. We were both in a fine temper, J——, moreover, complaining of feeling ill, by the time we were fairly in the city.—Here, a priest and his friend, for fear we might not understand their directions, politely came with us from the river, through twisting streets, to the hotel. I do not believe we thanked them with half enough warmth. ’Twas the first, and I wish it had been the last, civility shown us that day.