he air; the
streets echoed with foot-passengers. The sun was shining gloriously and
we threw open the windows to the new day and the fresh breeze, and took
our first look at Morlaix by daylight. Already we felt braced and
exhilarated as we took in deep draughts of oxygen.

[Illustration: MARKET PLACE, MORLAIX.]

It was a lively scene. The Square close by was surrounded by gabled
houses, and houses not gabled: a mixture of Ancient and Modern. That it
should be all old was too much to expect, excepting from such sleepy old
towns as Vitre or Nuremberg, where you have unbroken outlines, a
mediaeval picture unspoilt by modern barbarities; may dream and fancy
yourself far back in the ages, and find it difficult indeed to realise
that you are really not in the fifteenth but in the nineteenth century.

The streets were already beginning to be gay and animated; there was a
look of expectancy and mild excitement on many faces, announcing that
something unusual was going on. It was fair time and fete time; and even
these stolid, sober people were stirred into something like laughter and
enjoyment. Fair Normandy has a good deal of the vivacity of the French;
but Graver Brittany, like England, loves to take its pleasures somewhat
sadly.

It was a lovely morning. Before us, and beyond the square, stretched the
heights of Morlaix, green and fertile, fruit and flower-laden. To our
left towered the great viaduct, over which the train rolls, depositing
its passengers far, far above the tops of the houses, far above the
tallest steeple. It was a very striking picture, and H.C. shouted for
joy and felt the muse rekindling within him. Upon all shone the glorious
sun, above all was the glorious sky, blue, liquid and almost tangible,
as only foreign skies can be. The fatigues of yesterday, the terrible
adventures of the past night, all were forgotten. Nay, that midnight
expedition was remembered with intense pleasure. All that was
uncomfortable about it had evaporated; nothing remained but a vision
wonderfully unusual, weird, picturesque: grand old-world outlines
standing out in the surrounding darkness; a small procession of three; a
flickering candle throwing out ghostly lights and shadows; a willing but
unhappy waiter dying of exhaustion and pain; a curious figure of Misery
in which there certainly was nothing picturesque, but much to arouse
one's pity and sympathy--the better, diviner part of one's nature.

"Hurrah for a new day!" cr