"_Mistletoe Bough_." As I follow my leader through the vaults all this occurs to me, as does also the appropriately melancholy refrain of another old song or "catch," "Down among the dead men let him lie!" We are under the central dome of this Stalactite Champagne Cathedral dedicated to the worship of Bacchus. [_Happy Thought_.--The Champagne country is the true "Poppy Land." I present this with my compliments to Mr. CLEMENT SCOTT, whose pleasant articles in the _Daily Telegraph_ on "Poppy Land" are, and will be, for some time to come, so deservedly poppylar on the North coast of Norfolk. When driving round and about Cromer, our flyman pointed out "Poppy Land" to me. _Happy Thought_.--In future let this be known as "Caledonia Up to Date, or the New Scott-land."] A strange light descends from somewhere above, producing a blueish atmospheric effect. Weird, very. We are now in the Wine Demon's Cave. More pantomimic effects: big demons and little demons at work everywhere: champagne demons with strange faces,--I should say "fizzes,"--moving about noiselessly: the only sound is that of the occasional irrepressible effervescence of youth, or a pop from a recalcitrant cork in a distant cell, and, in a mysterious all-pervading way, an accompaniment of hammering. The lights and awful shadows of the scene recall to my mind CRUIKSHANK's grim illustrations to AINSWORTH's _Tower of London_. If these wild figures under this Central Stalactited Dome, these fearsome Troglodytes, were suddenly to join hands and dance round us, keeping a "Witches' Sabbath," I should not feel surprised. I might be considerably alarmed; but surprised, no. It would be in keeping with the scene. Only where's the music? Surely a Special Champagne Dance ought to be supplied by the orchestra of "The Monday Pops." Here DAUBINET, being tired, sits. He has seen it all before. "He knows his way," explains M. VESQUIER, "and we shall meet him again above." This sounds funereal, but, as an expression of Christian sentiment, hopeful. DAUBINET, mopping his forehead, mutters something, in Russian I believe, which sounds like "_Preama! Pascarry! da padadidi_," which he is perhaps rendering into English when he says, "Go straight on! Be quick! All r-r-r-right!"