hts, when the fox creeps stealthily
over the dry leaves, when the tiles fall from the pigeon-house and the
reeds bend in the marshes, when the beech-trees stoop in the wind, and
the wolf ambles over the moonlit snow, while one is alone by the dying
embers listening to the wind howl in the empty hallways, how charming it
must be to let one's heart dwell on its most cherished despairs and long
forgotten loves!

We spied a hovel with a Gothic portal; further on was an old wall with
an ogive door; a leafless bush swayed there in the breeze. In the
courtyard the ground is covered with heather, violets, and pebbles; you
walk in, look around and go out again. This place is called "The temple
of the false gods," and used to be, it is thought, a commandery of
Templars.

Our guide started again and we followed him. Presently a steeple rose
among the trees; we crossed a stubble-field, climbed to the top of a
ditch and caught a glimpse of a few of dwellings: the village of
Pomelin. A rough road constitutes the main street and the village
consists of several houses separated by yards. What tranquillity! or
rather what forlornness! The thresholds are deserted; the yards are
empty.

Where are the inhabitants? One would think that they had all left the
village to lie in wait behind the furze-bushes to catch a glimpse of the
_Blues_ who are about to pass through the ravine.

The church is poor and perfectly bare. No beautiful painted saints, no
pictures on the walls or on the roof, no hanging lamp oscillating at the
end of a long, straight cord. In a corner of the choir, a wick was
burning in a glass filled with oil. Round wooden pillars hold up the
roof, the blue paint of which has been freshened recently. The bright
light of the fields, filtering through the green foliage which covers
the roof of the church, shines through the white window-panes. The door,
a little wooden door that closes with a latch, was open; a flight of
birds came in, chirping and beating their wings against the walls; they
fluttered for awhile beneath the vault and around the altar, two or
three alighted upon the holy-water basin, to moisten their beaks, and
then all flew away as suddenly as they had come.

It is not an unusual thing to see birds in the Breton churches; many
live there and fasten their nests to the stones of the nave; they are
never disturbed. When it rains, they all gather in the church, but as
soon as the sun pierces the clouds and the ra