ndy heights, we stand charmed with the
pure beauty of the blue sky and sea. Away some few miles to the
southeast are several small islands of a deeper blue than the waters
that surround them. On one of these islands is the celebrated Chateau
d'If, immortalized by Alexandre Dumas the elder, in his extraordinary
romance of "Monte Christo."

After gazing for some time at the lovely view, we turn our attention to
the very interesting church of Notre Dame de la Garde. On the highest
pinnacle is a colossal gilt figure of the Virgin Mary, looking over the
seas, and, as it were, guarding her poor sailor devotees engaged
thereon.

This ancient beacon-like church has, I believe, been a votive shrine for
sailors for some centuries; and was rebuilt from designs by Esperandieu.
It is prettily decorated inside by delicately stained windows, and has a
small but fine organ. It is full of pathetic relics of poor lost
mariners, and when the wind is howling on stormy nights, one can realize
and understand the sentiments which prompted the building of this votive
temple, and the numerous mementoes, literally covering its walls, placed
there by loving hands in remembrance of dear ones lost--wrecked
perchance in sight of home. Yes, the walls are covered with these
tablets and touching mementoes, and with pictures illustrating the many
terrible shipwrecks which have occurred.

Below is a crypt where the last offerings and prayers are made by
sailors departing on a voyage; and, alas! it is filled with the saddest
relics of those who have never returned. Those, however, who reach
their homes in safety, make it a religious duty to offer up their
grateful thanks.

The purposes of this sea-rock church struck me as a fine and beautiful
expression of affection. I fear we lack much of this kind of sentiment
in England--daily blessings are taken too much as a matter of course,
while reverses are loudly mourned over as afflictions.

Whilst lingering in sympathetic thought, I saw an aged, white-haired
woman, who, poor soul! having toiled all the way up these great heights,
was now on her knees in sorrowful prayer. I saw also several younger
women and maidens in deep mourning, some of them sobbing bitterly over
their prayers. Alas! who could rightly enter into the depths of their
individual sorrow?--perchance a tender husband, a loving son, or devoted
sweetheart, lost in the angry waves below!

On descending, my attention was attracted by a sham m