human nature occupies the foreground almost exclusively;
though priestly faces will still be found gazing upon us from time to
time.

In form, the book is a bundle of letters from a Parisian litterateur to
the friend of his boyhood, now the cure of one of those mountain
villages. He is refreshing himself, in the midst of dusty,
sophisticated Paris, with memories of their old, delightful
existence--vagabonde, libre, agreste, pastorale--in their upland
valley. He can appeal safely to the aged cure's friendly justice, even
in exposing delicacies of sentiment which most men conceal:--

[124] "As for you, frank, certain of your own mind, joyous of heart,
methinks scarce understanding those whose religion makes their souls
tremble instead of fortifying them--you, I am sure, take things by the
large and kindly side of human life."

The story our Parisian has to tell is simple enough, and we have no
intention of betraying it, but only to note some of the faces, the
scenes, that peep out in the course of it.

The gloom of the Cevennes is the impression M. Fabre most commonly
conveys. In this book it is rather the cheerful aspect of summer,
those upland valleys of the Cevennes presenting then a symphony in red,
so to call it--as in a land of cherries and goldfinches; and he has a
genial power certainly of making you really feel the sun on the backs
of the two boys out early for a long ramble, of old peasants resting
themselves a little, with spare enjoyment, ere the end:--

"As we turned a sharp elbow of the stream the aspect of the country
changed. It seemed to me entirely red. Cherries in enormous bunches
were hanging everywhere over our heads....

[125] "It was a hut, rather low, rather dark. A log of chestnut was
smouldering in a heap of ashes. Every object was in its place: the
table, the chairs, the plates ranged on the dresser. A fairy, in
truth, reigned there, and, by the touch of her wand, brought
cleanliness and order on every side.

"'Is it you, Norine?' asked a voice from a dark corner, three steps
from the fireplace.

"'Yes, mon grand, it is I! The heat was growing greater every moment,
and I have taken in the goats.'

"Norine unclosed the window. A broad light spread over the floor of
beaten earth, like a white cloth. The cottage was illuminated. I saw
an old man seated on a wooden stool in a recess, where an ample serge
curtain concealed a bed. He held himself slightly bent, the two hands