, the Bretons of this
district only too readily allow themselves to sink, when they are
not supported by a powerful will, into a condition half way between
intoxication and folly, and in many cases brought about by the
unsatisfied aspirations of the heart. These harmless lunatics, whose
insanity differed very much in degree, were looked upon as part and
parcel of the town, and people spoke about "our lunatics" just as at
Venice people say "_nostre carampane_." One was constantly meeting
them, and they passed the time of day with us and made some joke, at
which, sickly as it was, we could not help smiling. They were treated
with kindness, and they often did a service in their turn. I shall
never forget a poor fellow called Brian, who believed that he was a
priest, and who passed part of the day in church, going through
the ceremonies of mass. There was a nasal drone to be heard in the
cathedral every afternoon, and this was Brian reciting prayers which
were doubtless not less acceptable than those of other people. The
cathedral officials had the good sense not to interfere with him, and
not to draw frivolous distinctions between the simple and the humble
who came to kneel before their God.

The insane woman at the hospital was much less popular, on account
of her taciturn ways. She never spoke to any one, and no one knew
anything of her history. She never said a word to us boys, but her
haggard and wild look made a deep and painful impression upon us. I
have often thought since of this enigma, though without being able
to decipher it; but I obtained a clue to it eight years ago, when
my mother, who had attained the age of eighty-five without loss
of health, was overtaken by an illness which slowly undermined her
strength.

My mother was in every respect, whether as regarded her ideas or her
associations, one of the old school. She spoke Breton perfectly,
and had at her fingers' ends all the sailors' proverbs and a host of
things which no one now remembers. She was a true woman of the people,
and her natural wit imparted a wonderful amount of life to the long
stories which she told and which few but herself knew. Her sufferings
did not in any way affect her spirits, and she was quite cheerful the
afternoon of her death. Of an evening I used to sit with her for an
hour in her room, with no other light--for she was very fond of this
semi-obscurity--than that of the gas-lamp in the street. Her lively
imagination would the