ed the little port of that name, the view
of which is very pretty. Audierne is approached by a bridge across the
river or estuary. At its entrance is a lighthouse, and on the right a
sandy bay, with bathing-machines in the season.

[Illustration: 56. Pointe du Raz.]

The town consists of three streets of cut granite houses, with the name of
the builder and the date of their construction inscribed over the door.
Fishing is the occupation of the inhabitants, and the table-d'hote at our
comfortable, clean, little inn was plentifully supplied with magnificent
john dorys, large red mullet, langoustes, and fish of every description.

From Audierne we took a carriage to visit the Pointe du Raz, a promontory
so famous for its rocks and wrecks. We went through a treeless country;
near a pretty bay, on the left, is the chapel of Notre Dame-de-Bon-Voyage,
destined chiefly for sailors, after which the country becomes more wild,
barren, and cheerless. We passed over a bridge which no Breton would dare
to cross at night, for fear of being flung by the spirits into the river.
According to their belief, a hare appears on the bridge, and terrifies the
horses, who throw their rider, and the traveller is dragged by the phantom
into the muddy river, where he is kept till morning's dawn, when he is
allowed to pursue his way, exhausted with cold, and half dead with fright.
They are very superstitious here, as in all Cornouaille. A writer says,
"every nation of the earth has its superstitions and absurdities, but
Brittany has those of all other nations united." An old woman in a village
hard by, said our driver, has never been seen inside the walls of a
church; the people say she has sold herself to the evil one, and no one
dares go near or speak to her.

On the left is the pretty steeple of the church of Plogoff, situated on an
eminence, and dedicated to Saint Colledoc, a Welsh bishop of the sixth
century, contemporary of King Arthur, and associated with many of the
doings of Queen Guinevre and the knights of the Round Table. Lescoff is
the last village we passed through before--after driving over a barren
plain--we arrived at the lighthouse, built thirty years back at the Pointe.

We walked thence to the Pointe, a gigantic and magnificent mass of rocks,
eighty feet above the level of the sea. We met with a good-natured woman,
who led the young people over the rocks to look down the "Enfer de
Plogoff." They had a slippery scramble to reac