much as we should otherwise have done. Our march was,
therefore, exceedingly agreeable, and we came in, about noon,
very little fatigued, to the village of Ondres, where the tents
were pitched, and we remained till the morrow.

CHAPTER III.

LES LANDES

THE dawn was just beginning to appear, when the bugles sounded,
and the tents were struck. For the first few leagues, our route
to-day resembled that of yesterday, in almost every particular.
There was the same appearance of peaceful quiet, the same
delightful intermingling of woods, corn-fields, vineyards, and
pasture; but we had not proceeded far, when a marked difference
was perceptible; every step we trod, the soil became more and
more sandy, the cultivation less frequent, and the wood more
abundant, till at last we found ourselves marching through the
heart of an immense forest of pines. We had diverged, it
appeared, from the main road, which carries the traveller through
a rich and open country, and were pursuing another through the
middle of those deserts and savannahs which lie towards the
coast; a district known by the name of les Landes. There was
something, if not beautiful, at least new and striking in the
scenery now around us. Wherever the eye turned, it was met by
one wide waste of gloomy pine-trees; diversified, here and there,
by the unexpected appearance of a modest hamlet, which looked as
if it were the abode of some newly arrived settlers in a country
hitherto devoid of human habitations.

Were I to continue the detail of a long march through these
barren regions, I should soon fatigue, without amusing my reader:
I shall, therefore, content myself with observing, that day after
day the same dreary prospect presented itself, varied by the
occasional occurrence of huge uncultivated plains, which
apparently chequer the forest, at certain intervals, with spots
of stunted and unprofitable pasturage; upon these there were
usually flocks of sheep grazing, in the mode of watching which,
the peasants fully evinced the truth of the old proverb, that
necessity is the mother of invention. I do not know whether the
practice to which I allude be generally known, but as it struck
me as very remarkable, I shall offer no apology for relating it.

The whole of this district, as well where it is wooded, as where
it is bare, is perfectly flat, containing scarcely a knoll or
eminence any sort, as far as the eye can reach. In addition to
this, the vast p