anything he has left on the other side of the Channel.

Again that the English traveller might not forget he had quitted the land of freedom and independence, he is made a prisoner by the police and custom-house officers, the moment he touches French soil, in whose custody he must remain till he has proved to their satisfaction, that he is not a smuggler, a red-republican in disguise, or, in short, a suspicious character.

But this is not the only indignity to which a proud son of free England is obliged to submit, for after he has succeeded in satisfying the inquisitorial interrogatories of the despot of the passport bureau, he is unceremoniously pushed forward through a narrow passage, lined with custom-house officers, whose duty it is to ascertain by passing their hands over his person, that he is not carrying illicit merchandize, or any prohibited publication, political or religious. Then his baggage must be examined, and such an examination! Throughout the whole of

France the search is extremely rigorous, but here, when the traveller does not employ a commissioner, who probably divides his profits with the custom-house officer, his trunks after being almost, and in some cases entirely unpacked, are passed over the table to an outward room, filled with fish-women, authorised by superior authority to monopolise the privilege of custom-house porters; and to make matters worse, before it is possible for him to regain his trunks and their contents, he is obliged to make the circuit of the table, and pass through a side door, affording sufficient time, should these fair mermaids feel inclined, to purloin any small article or trinket they may particularly admire.

Every place, however insignificant, has its lions; the most celebrated in Boulogne, is the column erected by the first Napoleon, to commemorate the conquest of England! and that this well-authenticated event should be sufficiently attested, a medal was struck on the occasion, one of which the traveller may find

deposited at the museum in the Lower Town. We have also the cathedral tower, erected by the Abbé Haffringue, to which, as it inclines from the perpendicular, these sarcastic Gauls have given the soubriquet of "The Leaning Tower of Boulogne !"

Every town and city in France reposes under the protection of some celestial being; and Boulogne, in having selected the Queen of Heaven as its patroness, ought to be doubly prosperous and happy, especially as here her Majesty is not an ideal personage. There is the very image herself to be seen, chiselled from life by the hand of the Evangelist St. Luke, brought from the Holy Land by a gallant crusader, and presented to his native town in the days of the good old King St. Louis.

Without entering into the details of the interesting legend connected with this celebrated image, its adventures by sea and land, and the number of extraordinary miracles it is said to have performed from time to time, we will merely relate one of its most surprising and

well-attested exploits. It appears

that our Harry the Eighth had it conveyed to England, as a trophy of his victory over the French at Boulogne, and deposited in a monastery at Canterbury. The lady seems to have submitted. with exemplary resignation to her abduction so long as the monarch remained steadfast to the true faith! But when his heretical perversion had drawn down upon him the anathema of his Holiness the Pope, she quitted the accursed land; and one fine summer's morning was found in a boat, irradiated by heavenly glory, entering the port of Boulogne !

Those among our readers who may doubt the truth of this narrative, have only to cross the Channel to Boulogne, where they can examine the document itself, attested by the signature of the bishop and the clergy, together with that of the governor and the notables of the town at that period. They may also see the image herself most gorgeously attired in the church of Notre Dame in the Upper Town; and if we may judge from the costly offerings of the

faithful, she is still held in high estimation. Among the splendid ornaments, the sacristan pointed out to us, with great pride, a petticoat embroidered by the fair hands of the ex-Queen of France, a crown of diamonds presented by Charles X., a necklace of the same description, the gift of Louis XVIII., besides other jewels equally magnificent, the pious donations of private individuals.

The crypt of the old cathedral we, however, thought far more deserving admiration than the treasury of Our Lady of Boulogne. This subterranean church was discovered a few years since by the Abbé Haffringue; and would be far more interesting as a memorial of the early Christians, had not modern art been employed in its decoration, with a view of making it more attractive as a public exhibition.

Taken altogether, either as a residence or a sea-bathing place, Boulogne is one of the pleasantest towns in France; it is also far more cleanly than French towns are in general, and the surrounding country is not without pic