inally
sinks into unresisting apathy. Such is the case with a large portion of
the European peasantry. The multitude of objects that surround them
becomes a reason of indifference; and they pass, from day to day, for a
whole life, in full view of a town, without sufficient curiosity in its
history to inquire its name, or, if told by accident, sufficient
interest to remember it. We see this principle exemplified daily in
cities. One seldom thinks of asking the name of a passer-by, though he
may be seen constantly; whereas, in the country, such objects being
comparatively rare, the stranger is not often permitted to appear
without some question touching his character.[3]

[Footnote 3: When in London, two years later, I saw a gentleman of rather
striking appearance pass my door for two months, five or six times of a
morning. Remembering the apathy of the Norman peasant, I at length asked
who it was--"Sir Francis Burdett," was the answer.]

I once inquired of a servant girl, at a French inn, who might be the
owner of a chateau near by, the gate of which was within a hundred feet
of the house we were in. She was unable to say, urging, as an apology,
that she had only been six weeks in her present place! This, too, was in
a small country hamlet. I think every one must have remarked, _coeteris
paribus_, how much more activity and curiosity of mind is displayed by a
countryman who first visits a town, than by the dweller in a city who
first visits the country. The first wishes to learn everything, since be
has been accustomed to understand everything he has hitherto seen; while
the last, accustomed to a crowd of objects, usually regards most of the
novel things he now sees for the first time with indifference.

The road, for the rest of the afternoon, led us over hills and plains,
from one reach of the river to another, for we crossed the latter
repeatedly before reaching Paris. The appearance of the country was
extraordinary in our eyes. Isolated houses were rare, but villages
dotted the whole expanse. No obtrusive colours; but the eye had
frequently to search against the hill-side, or in the valley, and, first
detecting a mass, it gradually took in the picturesque angles, roofs,
towers, and walls of the little _bourg_. Not a fence, or visible
boundary of any sort, to mark the limits of possessions. Not a hoof in
the fields grazing, and occasionally, a sweep of mountain-land resembled
a pattern-card, with its stripes of gree