I will begin with Le Puy, the ancient capital of Velay. The city is crowded up the side of a volcanic rock, one end of which is crowned by the picturesque mass of its Eastern-looking cathedral. It consists of a network of narrow streets not passable by carriages, and reminds one forcibly of some such city as Genoa. Above the rock on which the cathedral is perched rises another, called the _Corneille_, on which are some old fortifications, and which has just been crowned by a monstrous image of the Blessed Virgin, made of the metal of guns taken at Sebastopol, to whose charge I may fairly lay much of the imperfection of my account of the buildings beneath her feet; for I had the ill-luck to arrive at Le Puy only three days before the inauguration of this statue, and I found the whole city so entirely occupied with the preparations for the fête, that it was with the greatest difficulty that I examined the cathedral at all, and into some portions of it I was quite unable to penetrate; whilst the only condition on which I could obtain rooms at an inn was that I should not stop for more than two days, and should make room for some bishop, prince, or cardinal (of whom there were a legion on the road), before the great fête-day. I had to work very hard, therefore, to do as much as I did, and I make no doubt that a more leisurely and uninterrupted examination would have enabled me to discover and do much more. Separated from the great volcanic rock I have already mentioned by one or two furlongs only, is the smaller, but even more striking rock, called the _Aiguille de S. Michel_, and crowned with a little chapel dedicated to that Archangel. It rises, in the most abrupt and precipitous manner, to a height of about 265 feet. The distant background includes a series of truncated conical hills, evidently ancient volcanoes, and from almost every point of view a landscape of the most picturesque and extensive description is seen. Rarely have I enjoyed a more charming ride than that which, for the last twenty miles into Le Puy on the road from S. Étienne, made me generally acquainted with the remarkable physical formation of this mountain district; beautiful throughout, it was at its best just when, some twelve or fifteen miles before I reached the city, I first saw the “angelic” church, as it is styled, standing up boldly on its rock, the centre of an almost matchless landscape.