Night fell heavily without a star; we were walking up to our ancles in sand, (the most fatiguing thing one can imagine,) and on arriving at the ford of La Motte, we found it impassable from the quantity of rain which had fallen. We had now to wander along in the darkness seeking for another ford. We kept as near the river as we could, but the country was all under water, and at length the guide swore he had lost the way; he said, however, that he knew of a hut where he could get a lantern. That a man who had lost his way, should know where to get a lantern, appeared so strange, that I now began to have serious doubts of his intentions, and insisted on his going on, following the course Of the river. After proceeding for a long and weary way, the sound of a water-mill caught my ear, and the guide running on crossed the little bridge and threw open the door of the mill. A broad glare of red light instantly burst forth upon the darkness, and the precise scene of "The Miller and his Men" presented itself in the interior. The hearth was occupied by a lighted pile of wood, fit to roast an ox, and round a table covered with dishes and immense large bottles, ten or twelve men were seated, whose rugged beards of many days' growth, dirty countenances and strange apparel, did not bespeak them of the orderly class of human beings. They had all been drinking hard, and round about were scattered carbines, pistols, and implements of all sorts that the least accorded with the peaceful trade of a miller.