Along France's river of romance: . tion, youwould think, like that of Homers Cyclops. But it isnot so : the postman reaches Goudet with the letter-bag ; the aspiring youth of Goudet are within a dayswalk of the railway at Le Puy ; and in the inn you mayfind an engraved portrait of the hosts nephew, RegisSenac, professor of Fencing and Champion of the twoAmericas, a distinction gained by him, along with thesum of five hundred dollars, at Tammany Hall, NewYork, on the 10th April, 1876. I climbed about half a mile up the steep road to StMartin-de-Fugeres, and paused to look back at thescene descr
Along France's river of romance: . tion, youwould think, like that of Homers Cyclops. But it isnot so : the postman reaches Goudet with the letter-bag ; the aspiring youth of Goudet are within a dayswalk of the railway at Le Puy ; and in the inn you mayfind an engraved portrait of the hosts nephew, RegisSenac, professor of Fencing and Champion of the twoAmericas, a distinction gained by him, along with thesum of five hundred dollars, at Tammany Hall, NewYork, on the 10th April, 1876. I climbed about half a mile up the steep road to StMartin-de-Fugeres, and paused to look back at thescene described above—to take a last look at mybeloved Goudet, nestling under the hills, with the river LE PUY EN VELAY 41 running in front of it, between broad expanses of white,uncovered stones, silent witnesses of the yearly were the two ruined castles of Goudet and ofBeaufort, facing one another on steep rocks betweenwhich the river flows, and further on, the white suspen-sion bridge. At the back and all round were the pre-. An ox-cart in the Cevennes cipitous pine-clad slopes. It was a lovely by Goudet the river makes two long, cold, deeppools, the water filtering from the one to the otherthrough a broad expanse of stones. Afterwards itruns through a deep gorge, and gets so narrow thatone could almost leap across it; then flows between abroad uncovered stretch of sand, and so out of sight. 42 THE LOIRE The road turned now away into the village of , and from this time onwards, untilI reached Coubon, I saw no more of my river. St. Martin is not a village of surpassing is perched on a high plateau above the narrowand romantic gorge which is the Loire valley, andit possesses an accessible public pump. Many personsmight visit this village without discovering this fact ;to me, however, parched by the broiling sun and with-out a penny in my pocket, it had a special ten oclock in the morning, on the 27th of May,1911, the na
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