an his sermon, which he delivered from a chair, in clear
tones and good elocution. When the ceremonies were over, the whole
congregation gathered at the door to see the young ladies taken away
by their friends. Then I resumed my exploring.

On a cheerful-looking _place_, which, with its trees and kiosque,
recalled the _Place Verte_ at Antwerp, I noticed a large building of
the pattern so common in France for colleges and convents--a vast
expanse of whiteness or blankness, and a yet vaster array of long
windows. It appeared to be a cavalry barrack for soldiers. The bugles
sounded through the archway, and orderlies were riding in and out.
This monotonous building, I found, had once been the English college
for priests, where the celebrated Douai or Douay Bible had been
translated. This rare book--a joy for the bibliophile--was published
about 1608, and, as is well known, was the first Catholic version in
English of the Scriptures. Here, then, was the cradle of millions of
copies distributed over the face of the earth. It was a curious
sensation to pass by this homely-looking edifice, with the adjoining
chapel, as it appeared to be--now apparently a riding-school. I also
came upon many a fine old Spanish house, and toiled down in the sun
to the Rue des Foulons, where there were some elaborate specimens.

Short as had been my term of residence, I somehow seemed to know Douai
very well. I had gathered what is called 'an idea of the place.' Its
ways, manners, and customs seemed familiar to me. So I took my way
from the old town with a sort of regret, having seen a great deal.

VII.

_ARRAS._

It is just eleven o'clock, and here we are coming to a charming town,
which few travellers have probably visited, and of which that genial
and experienced traveller, Charles Dickens, wrote in astonished
delight, and where in 1862 he spent his birthday. 'Here I find,' he
says, 'a grand _place_, so very remarkable and picturesque, that it is
astonishing how people miss it.' This is old Arras; and I confess it
alone seems worth a long day's, not to say night's, journey, to see.
It is fortified, and, as in such towns, we have to make our way to it
from the station by an umbrageous country road; for it is fenced, as a
gentleman's country seat might be, and strictly enclosed by the usual
mounds, ditches, and walls, but all so picturesquely disguised in rich
greenery as to be positively inviting. Even low down in the deep
ditches