[Illustration: A BIT OF AUVERGNE.]

I had not been long on the road this day, when I saw coming towards me an
equipage more picturesquely interesting than any I had ever met in the
Champs-Elysees. It was a ramshackle little cart laden with sacks and a
couple of children, and drawn by a pair of shaggy sheep-dogs. Cords served
for harness. A man was running by the side, and it was as much as he could
do to keep up with the animals. This use of dogs is considered cruel in
England, but it often keeps them out of mischief, and I have never seen one
in harness that looked unhappy. Traces must help a dog to grow in his own
esteem, and to work out his ideal of the high destiny reserved for him;
or why does he, when tied under a cart to which a larger quadruped is
harnessed, invariably try to persuade himself and others that he is pulling
the load up the hill, and that the horse or donkey is an impostor?

[Illustration: THE DORDOGNE AT LA BOURBOULE.]

The width of the Mont-Dore valley decreased rapidly, and I entered the
gorge of the Dordogne, where basaltic rocks were thrown up in savage
grandeur, vividly contrasting with which were bands and patches of meadow,
brilliantly green. Yellow spikes of agrimony and the fine pink flowers of
the musk-mallow mingled with the wiry broom and the waving bracken about
the rocks.

It was September, but the summer heat had returned, and when the road
passed through a beech wood the shade was welcome. Here over the mossy
ground rambled the enchanter's nightshade, still carrying its frail white
flowers, which really have a weird appearance in the twilight of the woods.
The plant has not been called _circe_ without a reason. Under the beeches
there were raspberry canes with some fruit still left upon them. After