pretending that they were thankful to us for receiving their superabundance, instead of obliging them to throw it away. This hospitable, unaffected kindness continued unabated the whole time of our stay, and the kind beings always contrived to make out that they were the obliged persons, and we so polite and condescending for deigning to receive such trifles. M. and M^me de Terelcourt lived with M. le Marquis de Flotte and his wife; and her brother, the Count de Belgravin, occupied a house a quarter of a mile distant, which, although by no means a comfortable residence, he rented purposely to be near his sister. These amiable people spent a part of every day together, for they did not associate much with the inhabitants of C——; and I look back with much pleasure to our social evenings, when light-hearted merriment constantly prevailed; and I often thought how few of the many who talk so gravely of patience and resignation to the will of God, could or would understand that cheerfulness is, in fact, but a different way of shewing that resignation.

Our maid, Batilde, knew nothing about the cuisine beyond a good roux and a bad omelet; and except making a bed, appeared ignorant of all housework—even washing, dusting, or sweeping thoroughly. She, however, did everything we did not do for ourselves, and ironed the linen after a fashion. Tonette washed for us in the little river aforesaid, where she used an incredible quantity of soap, thumping our things with a piece of flat wood upon a great stone, most conveniently, as she observed, placed there for the purpose 'by the saints in heaven;' which method, if it hastened its wearing out, made our linen at least sweet and clean while it lasted. My husband shot and cultivated the garden in the respective seasons appropriate to these occupations, whilst I bought a cookery-book called 'Les Expériences de Mademoiselle Marguerite;' and pretending to be learning myself, taught Batilde to prepare our food a little better, without hurting her self-conceit, of which she possessed more than the average of her countrywomen. Our time, therefore, was fully occupied. Our health improved and our spirits rose with the excitement; we had agreeable society in the excellent people named above, meeting sans façon, taking breakfast or luncheon with each other, instead of dinners, in winter, and in summer often spending the evening at one another's houses.

At a distance not insurmountable there was an English chapel; but the character of the clergyman was not of a kind to recommend itself to persons who had some regard for the decencies of life; and so we contented ourselves with saying our prayers at home. The old curé of the place, with whom we became slightly acquainted, seemed to be a worthy sort of man, liberal in his ideas, and possessed of a considerable taste for music. He made rather an agreeable and obliging neighbour.

Talking of curés, I may mention that one came from a distance of several miles to pay his respects to us, and offer welcome to France. He said, he desired to make our acquaintance because we came from England, where he had found 'rest for twenty years, and received much kindness.' He was a rich man, had a pretty little church, a picturesque house in a sort of park, which he had stocked with pigs instead of sheep; and every day that was not one of fasting or abstinence, he had pork for dinner. He took a great fancy to us, and wanted us to give up our cottage, and come and live with him, as he had plenty of room and desired society; but we declined. Had we done so, I doubt not that he would have left us his money, for he had no relations, and bequeathed the whole, for want of an heir, to his grocer. He grew cooler after our refusal, but still sometimes came to see us on a pot-bellied cart-horse—a most stolid-looking beast, but one which often took most laughably strange fits of friskiness. Once I saw the good curé's watch jump out of his pocket, fly over his head, and disappear amid a heap of nettles, where little Victor found it, and hoped for a rich reward; but he only received an old book of devotion, and a lecture on the duty of reading it.

I must relate a little adventure which might have been written fifty years ago, when it would have obtained more credence than it will in the present day, from those travellers at least who have kept to the highways, and those residents who have lived only in the towns of France. One morning Batilde asked permission to visit a friend who had come to spend a day with her sister at C——. 'They breed poultry; and as madame likes a goose as soon as the fête of St Michel comes, it would be worth her while to desire Mère Talbot to feed one up against that time. They live a good way off,' pursued she, 'in a poor hamlet called Les Briares. It would be almost worth madame's while to go there some day, for it is such a primitive place, and they are such primitive people.' I liked the idea, and begged Mère Talbot might be told that I would come and look out my goose for myself the following week.

A fine Thursday morning dawned; and as early as we could get coffee made and taken, Batilde and I set out on our expedition, each, after the fashion of the canton, seated on a donkey, our feet in one pannier and a large stone to balance in the other. I took as an offering to the hope and heir of the Talbots a toy much like what we in England call Jack-in-a-box, but in France is termed a Diable, as it is intended to represent his Satanic majesty, and alarm the lifter of the lid by popping up a black visage. The rough roads shaded by high hedges, white and pink with hawthorn, and the wild apple-tree blossom, and redolent of early honeysuckle, reminded me of the secluded parts of England; while Scotland presented itself to my mind when we left these lanes and crossed still, rushy brooks, or dashing tiny torrents, climbed heather braes, pursuing the yellow-hammer and large mountain-bees as they flew on to the furze and broom-bushes, filling the air with their cheerful music; or when, again, we descended to birch-shaded hollows, refreshing ourselves from clear little spring-wells, that sparkled over white pebbles at the foot of a gray rock tufted over with blaeberry and foxglove leaves. The poor thing chatted away like a child, inspired by the pure air, bracing, yet mild, and lost herself amongst recollections of her country home, talking of buttercups, hedge-sparrows' eggs, and demoiselles or dragon-flies.

Several happy hours we spent en route; and at last, on turning down from a hilly road, we saw on a flat brown plain a collection of low cottages. The nearer we approached, the more Scotch everything appeared; in some cases I even saw my dear native 'middens afore the door:' the aspect of the houses and looks of the old women especially, with their stoups and country caps—so very like mutches—striped petticoats and short-gowns, brought northern climes before me vividly; and the children stared and shouted like true Scots callants. The very accent was so Scotch that I felt as though I was doing something altogether ridiculous in talking French.

Upon entering Mère Talbot's house, the resemblance became more real. The flags stuck here and there in the earthen floor, the form of the chairs and tables, the press-beds, large red-checked linen curtains, the 'rock and its wee pickle tow,' the reel, the bowls on the shelves—each and all recalled my native country; and I positively should have ended by believing myself there in a dream, if not in reality, had not a glance at the fireplace undeceived me: there was no fire—all was dim, dusky, and dark; no glowing embers and cheerful pipe-clayed hearth, but iron dogs and wood-ashes where blazing coals should be. Even here, however, I could not but think of 'Caledonia stern and wild,' for there stood a real Carron 'three-leggit pat,' to which my very heart warmed. I was asked to sit down; and soon the news spread that une Anglaise was to be seen