regret, but yet with the glee of the traveller who shakes off the

dust of one stage before hurrying forth upon another. Then
Modestine and I mounted the course of the Allier, which here led us

back into Gevaudan towards its sources in the forest of Mercoire.
It was but an inconsiderable burn before we left its guidance.

Thence, over a hill, our way lay through a naked plateau, until we
reached Chasserades at sundown.

The company in the inn kitchen that night were all men employed in
survey for one of the projected railways. They were intelligent

and conversible, and we decided the future of France over hot wine,
until the state of the clock frightened us to rest. There were

four beds in the little upstairs room; and we slept six. But I had
a bed to myself, and persuaded them to leave the window open.

'HE, BOURGEOIS; IL EST CINQ HEURES!' was the cry that wakened me in
the morning (Saturday, September 28th). The room was full of a

transparent darkness, which dimly showed me the other three beds
and the five different nightcaps on the pillows. But out of the

window the dawn was growing ruddy in a long belt over the hill-
tops, and day was about to flood the plateau. The hour was

inspiriting; and there seemed a promise of calm weather, which was
perfectly fulfilled. I was soon under way with Modestine. The

road lay for a while over the plateau, and then descended through a
precipitous village into the valley of the Chassezac. This stream

ran among green meadows, well hidden from the world by its steep
banks; the broom was in flower, and here and there was a hamlet

sending up its smoke.
At last the path crossed the Chassezac upon a bridge, and,

forsaking this deep hollow, set itself to cross the mountain of La
Goulet. It wound up through Lestampes by upland fields and woods

of beech and birch, and with every corner brought me into an
acquaintance with some new interest. Even in the gully of the

Chassezac my ear had been struck by a noise like that of a great
bass bell ringing at the distance of many miles; but this, as I

continued to mount and draw nearer to it, seemed to change in
character, and I found at length that it came from some one leading

flocks afield to the note of a rural horn. The narrow street of
Lestampes stood full of sheep, from wall to wall - black sheep and

white, bleating with one accord like the birds in spring, and each
one accompanying himself upon the sheep-bell round his neck. It

made a pathetic concert, all in treble. A little higher, and I
passed a pair of men in a tree with pruning-hooks, and one of them

was singing the music of a BOURREE. Still further, and when I was
already threading the birches, the crowing of cocks came cheerfully

up to my ears, and along with that the voice of a flute discoursing
a deliberate and plaintive air from one of the upland villages. I

pictured to myself some grizzled, apple-cheeked, country
schoolmaster fluting in his bit of a garden in the clear autumn

sunshine. All these beautiful and interesting sounds filled my
heart with an unwonted expectation; and it appeared to me that,

once past this range which I was mounting, I should descend into
the garden of the world. Nor was I deceived, for I was now done

with rains and winds and a bleak country. The first part of my
journey ended here; and this was like an induction of sweet sounds

into the other and more beautiful.
There are other degrees of FEYNESS, as of punishment, besides the

capital; and I was now led by my good spirits into an adventure
which I relate in the interest of future donkey-drivers. The road

zigzagged so widely on the hillside, that I chose a short cut by
map and compass, and struck through the dwarf woods to catch the

road again upon a higher level. It was my one serious conflict
with Modestine. She would none of my short cut; she turned in my

face; she backed, she reared; she, whom I had hitherto imagined to
be dumb, actually brayed with a loud hoarseflourish, like a cock

crowing for the dawn. I plied the goad with one hand; with the
other, so steep was the ascent, I had to hold on the pack-saddle.

Half-a-dozen times she was nearly over backwards on the top of me;
half-a-dozen times, from sheer weariness of spirit, I was nearly

giving it up, and leading her down again to follow the road. But I
took the thing as a wager, and fought it through. I was surprised,

as I went on my way again, by what appeared to be chill rain-drops
falling on my hand, and more than once looked up in wonder at the

cloudless sky. But it was only sweat which came dropping from my
brow.

Over the summit of the Goulet there was no marked road - only
upright stones posted from space to space to guide the drovers.

The turf underfoot was springy and well scented. I had no company
but a lark or two, and met but one bullock-cart between Lestampes

and Bleymard. In front of me I saw a shallowvalley, and beyond
that the range of the Lozere, sparsely wooded and well enough

modelled in the flanks, but straight and dull in outline. There
was scarce a sign of culture; only about Bleymard, the white high-

road from Villefort to Mende traversed a range of meadows, set with
spiry poplars, and sounding from side to side with the bells of

flocks and herds.
A NIGHT AMONG THE PINES

FROM Bleymard after dinner, although it was already late, I set out
to scale a portion of the Lozere. An ill-marked stony drove-road

guided me forward; and I met nearly half-a-dozen bullock-carts
descending from the woods, each laden with a whole pine-tree for

the winter's firing. At the top of the woods, which do not climb
very high upon this cold ridge, I struck leftward by a path among

the pines, until I hit on a dell of green turf, where a streamlet
made a little spout over some stones to serve me for a water-tap.

'In a more sacred or sequestered bower . . . nor nymph nor faunus
haunted.' The trees were not old, but they grew thickly round the

glade: there was no outlook, except north-eastward upon distant
hill-tops, or straight upward to the sky; and the encampment felt

secure and private like a room. By the time I had made my
arrangements and fed Modestine, the day was already beginning to

decline. I buckled myself to the knees into my sack and made a
hearty meal; and as soon as the sun went down, I pulled my cap over

my eyes and fell asleep.
Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open

world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and
the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems

a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and
curtains, is only a light and living slumber to the man who sleeps

afield. All night long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and
freely; even as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there

is one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a
wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleepinghemisphere, and all

the outdoor world are on their feet. It is then that the cock
first crows, not this time to announce the dawn, but like a

cheerful watchman speeding the course of night. Cattle awake on
the meadows; sheep break their fast on dewy hillsides, and change

to a new lair among the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain
down with the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of

the night.
At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, are all

these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to life? Do the
stars rain down an influence, or do we share some thrill of mother

earth below our resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country-
folk, who are the deepest read in these arcana, have not a guess as

to the means or purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two
in the morning they declare the thing takes place; and neither know

nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. We
are disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne,

'that we may the better and more sensibly relish it.' We have a
moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special pleasure for

some minds in the reflection that we share the impulse with all