sted of a horse and cattle show, in which the
Norman horses made a very good display; the inevitable military review,
which, Lisieux being as happily free from soldiery as Vire, was here,
too, performed by the firemen; the band of a regiment of the line, which
had been announced as a magnificent addition to the festivities, by a
special proclamation of the _sous-prefet_; balloons not of the common
shape, but in the shape of dogs, pigs, and grotesque human figures, a
gentleman and lady waltzing, etc., which must have rather puzzled any
scientific observer whose telescope was at that moment directed to the
sky; and, to crown all, fireworks (the noise of which, a French
gentleman remarked to me, the people loved, as reminding them of
musketry) and an illumination. The illumination--all the little trees
before the houses, as well as the houses themselves and the green arches
thrown across the streets, being covered with lamps--was an extremely
pretty sight. The outline of the old houses, and the windings and
declivities of the old streets, wonderfully favored the effect. But the
French are peerless in these things. The childish delight of the people
was pleasant to see. Why cannot they be satisfied with their _fetes_,
and with the undisputed empire of cookery and dress, instead of making
themselves a scourge to the world, and keeping all Europe in disquietude
and under arms?

The Emperor is trying to inoculate his subjects with a taste for English
sports, but with rather doubtful success. He tries to make them play at
cricket, but they do not much like the swift bowling. There was a
caricature in the Charivari of a Frenchman standing up to his wicket
with an implement which the artist intended for a bat, but which was
more like a pavior's rammer, in his hand. A friend was asking him
whether he had a wife, children, any tie to life. "None." "Then you may
begin." In a window at Lisieux there was a print of a fox-hunt, with the
master of the hounds dismounting to despatch the fox with a gun! At Vire
there was a print of a horse-race, with the horses in a cantering
attitude, and a large dog running and barking by their side. I have seen
something equally funny of the same kind in America, but I need not say
what or where. I never witnessed a French horse-race, but I am told that
they enjoy it _moult tristement_, as they say we English enjoy all our
amusements.

Close to Lisieux is the fashionable watering-place of Trouville, a