er and over again during
your sojourn in Morlaix, and each time you gaze longer and think it more
beautiful than before.

These old-world towns and streets are very refreshing to the spirit. We
grow weary of our modern towns, with their endless monotony and their
utter absence of all taste and beauty. Just as when sojourning in a
country devoid of monuments and ruins, the mind at length absolutely
hungers for some grand, ecclesiastical building, some glorious vestige
of early ages; so when we have once grown familiar with mediaeval towns
and outlines, it becomes an absolute necessity occasionally to run away
from our prosy nineteenth century habitations, and refresh our spirit,
and absorb into our inmost nature all these refining old-world charms.
It is an influence more easily felt than described; also, it does not
appeal to all natures. We can only understand Shakespeare by the
Shakespeare that is within us--an oft quoted saying but a very true one;
and Pan might pipe for ever to one who has no music in his soul; and the
rainbow might arch itself in vain to one who is colour-blind.

Morlaix also, as we have said, owes much to its situation.

Lying between three ravines, it is most romantically placed. Its people
are sheltered from many of the cruel winds of winter, and even the
sturdy Bretons cannot be quite indifferent to the stern blast that comes
from the East laden with ice and snow.

Not that the people of Morlaix look particularly robust, though we found
them very civil and often very interesting. We must pay for our
privileges, and if a town is built in a hollow, and is sheltered from
the east wind, the chances are that its climate will be enervating.
This, of course, has its drawbacks, and sets the seal of consumption on
many a victim that might have escaped in higher latitudes.

One charming type we found in Morlaix, consisting of a family that ought
to have lived in the middle ages, and been painted by Raphael, or have
served as models for Fra Angelico's angels. Three generations.

We were climbing the Jacob's ladder leading to the station one day, when
we chanced upon an old man who sold antiquities. We were first taken
with his countenance. It had honesty and integrity written upon it. Had
he been a German, living in Ober-Ammergau, he would certainly have been
chosen for the chief character in the play--a play, by the way, that has
always seemed questionable, since the greatest and most momentous Dram