CELLARIUS。
  OUR　TOUR
  This　essay　was　published　in　the　EAGLE；　Vol。　1；　No。　5。　in　the　Easter
  Term；　1859。　　It　describes　a　holiday　trip　made　by　Butler　in　June；
  1857；　in　company　with　a　friend　whose　name；　which　was　Joseph　Green；
  Butler　Italianised　as　Giuseppe　Verdi。　　I　am　permitted　by　Professor
  Bonney　to　quote　a　few　words　from　a　private　letter　of　his　referring
  to　Butler's　tour：　　〃It　was　remarkable　in　the　amount　of　ground
  covered　and　the　small　sum　spent；　but　still　more　in　the　direction
  taken　in　the　first　part　of　the　tour。　　Dauphine　was　then　almost　a
  TERRA　INCOGNITA　to　English　or　any　other　travellers。〃
  ＇From　the　Eagle；　Vol。　1；　No。　5。　　Easter　Term；　1859；　p。　241。＇
  As　the　vacation　is　near；　and　many　may　find　themselves　with　three
  weeks'　time　on　their　hand；　five…and…twenty　pounds　in　their　pockets；
  and　the　map　of　Europe　before　them；　perhaps　the　following　sketch　of
  what　can　be　effected　with　such　money　and　in　such　time；　may　not　come
  amiss　to　those；　who；　like　ourselves　a　couple　of　years　ago；　are　in
  doubt　how　to　enjoy　themselves　most　effectually　after　a　term's　hard
  reading。
  To　some；　probably；　the　tour　we　decided　upon　may　seem　too　hurried；
  and　the　fatigue　too　great　for　too　little　profit；　still　even　to　these
  it　may　happen　that　a　portion　of　the　following　pages　may　be　useful。
  Indeed；　the　tour　was　scarcely　conceived　at　first　in　its　full　extent；
  originally　we　had　intended　devoting　ourselves　entirely　to　the　French
  architecture　of　Normandy　and　Brittany。　　Then　we　grew　ambitious；　and
  stretched　our　imaginations　to　Paris。　　Then　the　longing　for　a　snowy
  mountain　waxed；　and　the　love　of　French　Gothic　waned；　and　we
  determined　to　explore　the　French　Alps。　　Then　we　thought　that　we　must
  just　step　over　them　and　take　a　peep　into　Italy；　and　so；　disdaining
  to　return　by　the　road　we　had　already　travelled；　we　would　cut　off　the
  north…west　corner　of　Italy；　and　cross　the　Alps　again　into
  Switzerland；　where；　of　course；　we　must　see　the　cream　of　what　was　to
  be　seen；　and　then　thinking　it　possible　that　our　three　weeks　and　our
  five…and…twenty　pounds　might　be　looking　foolish；　we　would　return；
  via　Strasburg　to　Paris；　and　so　to　Cambridge。　　This　plan　we
  eventually　carried　into　execution；　spending　not　a　penny　more　money；
  nor　an　hour's　more　time；　and；　despite　the　declarations　which　met　us
  on　all　sides　that　we　could　never　achieve　anything　like　all　we　had
  intended；　I　hope　to　be　able　to　show　how　we　did　achieve　it；　and　how
  anyone　else　may　do　the　like　if　he　has　a　mind。　　A　person　with　a　good
  deal　of　energy　might　do　much　more　than　this；　we　ourselves　had　at　one
  time　entertained　thoughts　of　going　to　Rome　for　two　days；　and　thence
  to　Naples；　walking　over　the　Monte　St。　Angelo　from　Castellamare　to
  Amalfi　（which　for　my　own　part　I　cherish　with　fond　affection；　as
  being　far　the　most　lovely　thing　that　I　have　ever　seen）；　and　then
  returning　as　with　a　Nunc　Dimittis；　and　I　still　think　it　would　have
  been　very　possible；　but；　on　the　whole；　such　a　journey　would　not　have
  been　so　well；　for　the　long　tedious　road　between　Marseilles　and　Paris
  would　have　twice　been　traversed　by　us；　to　say　nothing　of　the　sea
  journey　between　Marseilles　and　Civita　Vecchia。　　However；　no　more　of
  what　might　have　been；　let　us　proceed　to　what　was。
  If　on　Tuesday；　June　9　＇i。e。　1857＇；　you　leave　London　Bridge　at　six
  o'clock　in　the　morning；　you　will　get　（via　Newhaven）　to　Dieppe　at
  fifteen　minutes　past　three。　　If　on　landing　you　go　to　the　Hotel
  Victoria；　you　will　find　good　accommodation　and　a　table　d'hote　at
  five　o'clock；　you　can　then　go　and　admire　the　town；　which　will　not　be
  worth　admiring；　but　which　will　fill　you　with　pleasure　on　account　of
  the　novelty　and　freshness　of　everything　you　meet；　whether　it　is　the
  old　bonnet…less；　short…petticoated　women　walking　arm　and　arm　with
  their　grandsons；　whether　the　church　with　its　quaint　sculpture　of　the
  Entombment　of　our　Lord；　and　the　sad　votive　candles　ever　guttering　in
  front　of　it；　or　whether　the　plain　evidence　that　meets　one　at　every
  touch　and　turn；　that　one　is　among　people　who　live　out　of　doors　very
  much　more　than　ourselves；　or　what　notall　will　be　charming；　and　if
  you　are　yourself　in　high　spirits　and　health；　full　of　anticipation
  and　well　inclined　to　be　pleased　with　all　you　see；　Dieppe　will　appear
  a　very　charming　place；　and　one　which　a　year　or　two　hence　you　will
  fancy　that　you　would　like　to　revisit。　　But　now　we　must　leave　it　at
  forty…five　minutes　past　seven；　and　at　twelve　o'clock　on　Tuesday
  night　we　shall　find　ourselves　in　Paris。　　We　drive　off　to　the　Hotel
  de　Normandie　in　the　Rue　St。　Honore；　290　（I　think）；　stroll　out　and
  get　a　cup　of　coffee；　and　return　to　bed　at　one　o'clock。
  The　next　day　we　spent　in　Paris；　and　of　it　no　account　need　be　given；
  save　perhaps　the　reader　may　be　advised　to　ascend　the　Arc　de
  Triomphe；　and　not　to　waste　his　time　in　looking　at　Napoleon's　hats
  and　coats　and　shoes　in　the　Louvre；　to　eschew　all　the　picture　rooms
  save　the　one　with　the　Murillos；　and　the　great　gallery；　and　to　dine
  at　the　Diners　de　Paris。　　If　he　asks　leave　to　wash　his　hands　before
  dining　there；　he　will　observe　a　little　astonishment　among　the
  waiters　at　the　barbarian　cleanliness　of　the　English；　and　be　shown
  into　a　little　room；　where　a　diminutive　bowl　will　be　proffered　to
  him；　of　which　more　anon；　let　him　first　（as　we　did）　wash　or　rather
  sprinkle　his　face　as　best　he　can；　and　then　we　will　tell　him　after
  dinner　what　we　generally　do　with　the　bowls　in　question。　　I　forget
  how　many　things　they　gave　us；　but　I　am　sure　many　more　than　would　be
  pleasant　to　read；　nor　do　I　remember　any　circumstance　connected　with
  the　dinner；　save　that　on　occasion　of　one　of　the　courses；　the　waiter
  perceiving　a　little　perplexity　on　my　part　as　to　how　I　should　manage
  an　artichoke　served　a　la　francaise；　feelingly　removed　my　knife　and
  fork　from　my　hand　and　cut　it　up　himself　into　six　mouthfuls；
  returning　me　the　whole　with　a　sigh　of　gratitude　for　the　escape　of
  the　artichoke　from　a　barbarous　and　unnatural　end；　and　then　after
  dinner　they　brought　us　little　tumblers　of　warm　lavender　scent　and
  water　to　wash　our　mouths　out；　and　the　little　bowls　to　spit　into；　but
  enough　of　eating；　we　must　have　some　more　coffee　at　a　cafe　on　the
  Boulevards；　watch　the　carriages　and　the　people　and　the　dresses　and
  the　sunshine　and　all　the　pomps　and　vanities　which　the　Boulevards
  have　not　yet　renounced；　return　to　the　inn；　fetch　our　knapsacks；　and
  be　off　to　the　Chemin　de　Fer　de　Lyon　by　forty…five　minutes　past
  seven；　our　train　leaves　at　five　minutes　past　eight；　and　we　are
  booked　to　Grenoble。　　All　night　long　the　train　speeds　towards　the
  south。　　We　leave　Sens　with　its　grey　cathedral　solemnly　towering　in
  the　moonlight　a　mile　on　the　left。　　（How　few　remember；　that　to　the
  architect　William　of　Sens　we　owe　Canterbury　Cathedral。）
  Fontainebleau　is　on　the　right；　station　after　station　wakes　up　our
  dozing　senses；　while　ever　in　our　ears　are　ringing　as　through　the　dim
  light　we　gaze　on　the　surrounding　country；　〃the　pastures　of
  Switzerland　and　the　poplar　valleys　of　France。〃
  It　is　still　darkas　dark；　that　is；　as　the　midsummer　night　will
  allow　it　to　be；　when　we　are　aware　that　we　have　entered　on　a　tunnel；
  a　long　tunnel；　very　longI　fancy　there　must　be　high　hills　above　it；
  for　I　remember　that　some　few　years　ago　when　I　was　travelling　up　from
  Marseilles　to　Paris　in　midwinter；　all　the　way　from　Avignon　（between
  which　place　and　Chalon　the　railway　was　not　completed）；　there　had
  been　a　dense　frozen　fog；　on　neither　hand　could　anything　beyond　the
  road　be　descried；　while　every　bush　and　tree　was　coated　with　a　thick
  and　steadily　increasing　fringe　of　silver　hoar…frost；　for　the　night
  and　day；　and　half…day　that　it　took　us　to　reach　this　tunnel；　all　was
  the　samebitter　cold　dense　fog　and　ever　silently　increasing　hoar…
  frost：　　but　on　emerging　from　it；　the　whole　scene　was　completely
  changed；　the　air　was　clear；　the　sun　shining　brightly；　no　hoar…frost
  and　only　a　few　patches　of　fast　melting　snow；　everything　in　fact
  betokening　a　thaw　of　some　days'　duration。　　Another　thing　I　know
  about　this　tunnel　which　makes　me　regard　it　with　veneration　as　a
  boundary　line　in　countries；　namely；　that　on　every　high　ground　after
  this　tunnel　on　clear　days　Mont　Blanc　may　be　seen。　　True；　it　is　only
  very　rarely　seen；　but　I　have　known　those　who　have　seen　it；　and
  accordingly　touch　my　companion　on　the　side；　and　say；　〃We　are　within
  sight　of　the　Alps〃；　a　few　miles　farther　on　and　we　are　at　Dijon。　　It
  is　still　very　early　morning；　I　think　about　three　o'clock；　but　we
  feel　as　if　we　were　already　at　the　Alps；　and　keep　looking　anxiously
  out　for　them；　though　we　well　know　that　it　is　a　moral　impossibility
  that　we　should　see　them　for　some　hours　at　the　least。　　Indian　corn
  comes　in　after　Dijon；　the　oleanders　begin　to　come　out　of　their　tubs；
  the　peach　trees；　apricots；　and　nectarines　unnail　themselves　from　the
  walls；　and　stand　alone　in　the　open　fields。　　The　vineyards　are　still
  scrubby；　but　the　practised　eye　readily　detects　with　each　hour　some
  slight　token　that　we　are　nearer　the　sun　than　we　were；　or；　at　any
  rate；　farther　from　the　North　Pole。　　We　don't　stay　long　at　Dijon　nor
  at　Chalon；　at　Lyons　we　have　an　hour　to　wait；　breakfast　off　a　basin
  of　cafe　au　lait　and　a　huge　hunch　of　bread；　get　a　miserable　wash；
  compared　with　which　the　spittoons　of　the