ranges behind these. Many little rivers run from all
sides in cliffy valleys; and one of them, a few miles from Monastier,
bears the great name of Loire. The mean level of the country is a little
more than three thousand feet above the sea, which makes the atmosphere
proportionally brisk and wholesome. There is little timber except pines,
and the greater part of the country lies in moorland pasture. The
country is wild and tumbled rather than commanding; an upland rather
than a mountain district; and the most striking as well as the most
agreeable scenery lies low beside the rivers. There, indeed, you will
find many corners that take the fancy; such as made the English noble
choose his grave by a Swiss streamlet, where Nature is at her freshest,
and looks as young as on the seventh morning. Such a place is the course
of the Gazeille, where it waters the common of Monastier and thence
downward till it joins the Loire; a place to hear birds singing; a place
for lovers to frequent. The name of the river was perhaps suggested by
the sound of its passage over the stones; for it is a great warbler, and
at night, after I was in bed in Monastier, I could hear it go singing
down the valley till I fell asleep.

On the whole, this is a Scottish landscape, although not so noble as the
best in Scotland; and by an odd coincidence the population is, in its
way, as Scottish as the country. They have abrupt, uncouth, Fifeshire
manners, and accost you, as if you were trespassing, with an "_Ou'st-ce
que vous allez?_" only translatable into the Lowland "Whau'r ye gaun?"
They keep the Scottish Sabbath. There is no labour done on that day but
to drive in and out the various pigs and sheep and cattle that make so
pleasant a tinkling in the meadows. The lace-makers have disappeared
from the street. Not to attend mass would involve social degradation;
and you may find people reading Sunday books, in particular a sort of
Catholic _Monthly Visitor_ on the doings of Our Lady of Lourdes. I
remember one Sunday, when I was walking in the country, that I fell on a
hamlet and found all the inhabitants, from the patriarch to the baby,
gathered in the shadow of a gable at prayer. One strapping lass stood
with her back to the wall and did the solo part, the rest chiming in
devoutly. Not far off, a lad lay flat on his face asleep among some
straw, to represent the worldly element.

Again, this people is eager to proselytize; and the postmaster's
daughter