Normandy, still fewer so silently, and not one that ever excited so little notice. It may even be doubted whether the fact has transpired beyond the limits of the province.

These elaborate productions, in short, are rapidly vanishing into oblivion. A new, a cheaper, and more convenient fashion has already almost totally supplanted them. Abandoning these steeples of intricate frost work, the Norman peasantry, men, women, and children alike, have taken to cotton caps with tassels, precisely the same that is worn as a common night-cap in England. In the gardens, fields, and orchards, and at the doors of the cottages, you see nothing but cotton night-caps, which has the effect of making the population look as if they were preparing all day long to go to bed.

The change may be for the better. It is probably a vast improvement in the way of utility, but it spoils a charming picture; much in the same manner as the introduction of temperance into Ireland, by enabling the peasantry to save their money for good broad cloth and brogues, destroyed their aboriginal attractions. "We are a great deal more comfortable," exclaims Pat, "but we are not half so picturesque."

XII.-AVRANCHES.

LIKE most of the Norman towns, Avranches is planted hill-wise. The main street makes a sharp ascent to the heights on which stand the boulevards, where the English "most do congregate.” There is one decided advantage in this method of building towns in a country where the art of draining is either little understood or sparingly practised. When a tempest of rain sets in upon Avranches, the water comes thundering and leaping down this steep street, and washes it with the fury of a torrent in a quarter of an hour. When the rain is over, and the sun breaks out, and the surface of the pavement dries up, then there is no cleaner or brighter spot to be seen than this grand highway of Avranches. We will say nothing about its appearance at other times, or about the miry lanes and narrow labyrinths that run off into the denser parts of the town, muddy mazes which we suspect few visitors to Avranches ever ventured to explore.

This place is of considerable antiquity, and enjoys to a greater extent than most of its neighbours the historical glory of having been sacked, burned, razed to the ground, and rebuilt innumerable times. It was originally under the dominion of the Druids, who were displaced by the Romans; and it is probably out of a traditional reverence for their early masters that the people to this day cultivate so assiduously the study of archeology. Indeed there is hardly anything else in the way of study cultivated here. The past alone seems to engross the attention of the inhabitants, who are pre-eminently distinguished for their utter neglect of the present and the future.

With extraordinary advantages of position-a town built on the side of a hill, having a river running at its foot, and commanding a noble situation on the heights, surrounded by one of the wealthiest agricultural districts in France-the apathy and slothful indifference of the people in availing themselves of such tempting opportunities of improvement are perfectly incredible. The narrow roads and lanes about Avranches, through which the farmers contrive to convey their produce, and which are indispensable to the intercourse of town and country, are in such a condition as to be difficult of transit

in summer and impassable in winter. The notion of putting these lanes and roads in order has apparently never occurred to the people who are most concerned in the daily use of them. The soil, originally soft and yielding, has been left undisturbed in these miserable tracks. No attempt is made even to level them, and although the sea-shore is close at hand, not a handful of gravel or sand has ever been strewn upon the surface. The consequence is, that in winter the cart-wheels sink two or three feet in the mud, and leave such deep ruts and ridges behind, that in summer, when they become hardened by the heat, they look as if the clay had been roughly thrown up in long lines for the purpose of laying down a series of pipes. If you attempt to ride through one of these rural lanes, it is almost a certainty that you will break your horse's legs; and if you try the experiment of walking, the chances are that you will break your own. As to driving through them, all that can be said is, that the carriage-makers of this quarter must be presumed to know how to adapt their vehicles to the exigencies of the locality; but the jolting is within a shade of dislocation.

Seated pleasantly on the margins of these execrable little crossroads and bye-lanes, amidst fruitful orchards and luxuriant gardens, are numerous private residences, forming altogether a sort of French Arcadia in the fine weather, but approachable only on horse-back, or by means of some stout conveyance in the winter, when the whole district resembles the bottom of a pond before the process of drainage has been quite finished. It might be supposed that the families living in these pretty villas, or demi-chateaux, would at least consult their own ease in an effort to improve their approaches, even if they carried the reform no farther; for they are literally housebound in the wet weather, and cannot get into the town without being carried by some means over the intervening bogs. Donkeys and ponies are thus put into constant requisition to convey the Arcadians through their suburban mud-tracks, and you may see ladies and gentlemen mounted in this manner, with their legs frequently clasping the necks of their little rough nags, in a desperate strain of the muscles to keep clear of the splashing swamp which rises nearly to girth of the saddle. But the fact is, that the Arcady of Avranches is (or more correctly was) peopled by birds of passage, who, having no permanent concern in the roads, and coming here not to spend money, but to save it, are not much disposed to lay down foot-paths and highways for the convenience of their successors. Some attempts have been made to get up a subscription for the purpose, but they failed, from want of co-operation on the part of the farmers, (whose interest in local improvements is diminished every day by the operation of the law for regulating the distribution of landed property,)* and from that want of unanimity amongst the English residents, which

The change which the law of property underwent at the Revolution has had the most injurious effect not only on the cultivation of the soil, but upon the social condition of France. Estates could have been bequeathed, by will, or tied up by entail, before that time. At the Revolution, the power of making a will was restricted within stipulated limits. If there was one child, the testator could will away only a half of his property; if two, only a third; if three, only a fourth; and so on, the remainder falling in equal shares to the children, male and female, If a proprietor died intestate, his whole property was to be divided equally amongst his children. The intention of this law was to cut up the old aristocracy; but it has still more effectually cut up the material interests of the people. The subdivi

may be set down as an unfailing characteristic of all the little communities formed by our countrymen on the continent.

It is a strange thing that we cannot agree amongst ourselves in settlements which we select for our own convenience, and where it is so essential to our comfort to promote cordiality and good-fellowship. But an Englishman carries with him, wherever he goes, two obstinate antipathies: first, a disrelish, or contempt, for everything that is not English; second, a freezing suspicion and distrust of everything that is. He moves in a repellant atmosphere, shuts himself up in a crust of prejudices, and has a way of disdaining the people, whose resources he has come to eat up, and at the same time of shunning his own countrymen, which is irreconcilable with common sense. He dislikes the French because they are French, and avoids the English because they are English. Such is literally the logic of his national aversions. In places like Avranches, which are selected on the common ground of cheapness, this latter antipathy shews itself in its most unworthy aspect. An Englishman will have it believed that everybody has come there for economy, except himself; and his conduct implies a sort of superiority over them which must be unintelligible to people like the French, who never suffer such considerations to interfere with their sympathies, or interrupt the flow of social intercourse. The prevailing occupation of a community that thus sits in judgment on itself is scandal of the meanest kind. Each individual seems to think the depreciation of other people's character indispensable to the elevation of his own. He shines by the force of contrast. He makes out his case, not upon its own merits, but by damaging the case of the gentleman over the way. Next-door neighbours supply the whole business of life. They cannot dress, dine, walk without being exposed to an incessant inquisition. Habitual defamation gradually splits up the little colony into factions that have their distinct circles holding no sion of land which has ensued upon these arrangements has gradually deprived the proprietary class of the means of cultivating their property in the best and most profitable manner, and is rapidly reducing the increasing agricultural population to pauperism. The accumulation of wealth, and its attendant benefits in the improvement of the arts of life, can no longer be looked for in a country whose internal resources are thus wasted, and wasting from day to day. The towns participate in the spreading decay of the surrounding districts, and the tradesman, like the farmer, is dragged down to the bare point of subsistence, and may consider himself a fortunate man if he can sustain himself there. Some notion may be formed of the practical results of this law of subdivision from the fact, affirmed by the government returns, that in twenty years, from 1815 to 1835, the number of separate properties increased from 10,083,751 to 10,893,528, and that of these nearly one-half were assessed at the lowest land tax, namely, less than five francs a-year! Considering the ratio at which population advances, and the resubdivision of land consequent upon it, we may conclude that the day is not far distant when the surface of France will be covered by the most indigent population in Europe. As it is, the number of proprietors may be estimated at considerably more than onehalf of the total number of the inhabitants-a proportion such as no country in the world ever exhibited before; and a still more striking evidence of the retrogressive effect of the law upon the social, intellectual, and industrial condition of the people may be drawn from the additional fact, that upwards of two-thirds of the whole population are dependent upon agricultural pursuits for their daily subsistence. It is not very surprising, therefore, in a country languishing under such depressing influences, to find the rudest and cheapest contrivances resorted to, horses harnessed with ropes, lanes and bye-roads left to take care of themselves, corn threshed by the hoofs of cattle, and ploughs in daily use similar in construction to those which are described by Virgil!

intercourse with the rest, and waging against each other that bitterest of all species of warfare, which, not content with open manifestations of derision and hostility, penetrates to the secrets of households, and strikes its shafts into the core of domestic life.

The English at Avranches appear to have got on, upon the whole, rather better than most other English settlements in France. Latterly, however, fierce animosities broke out amongst them, which were carried to an indecent excess. Two rival clergymen contested the cure of their souls, and the struggle was conducted with a violence on both sides that showed how much our countrymen stood in need of the Christian instruction they were fighting for. The church itself was desecrated by these unseemly broils, which led at last to scenes of a disgraceful character. But the Revolution has dispersed the combatants, and swept their feuds into oblivion; and of the four or five hundred English who were recently located here, not more than forty or fifty are now remaining.

Few places on the French coast present more decisive attractions to people of limited means than Avranches. An excellent house and garden may be had for thirty pounds a-year; much less, too, if you watch your opportunity, and know how to take advantage of it, or don't mind casting yourself amongst the farmers half a league or so distant from the town. Provisions are in proportion. A small family might live comfortably, and keep a one-horse carriage, upon three hundred a-year. A little farther off on the coast, at the Rocher des Cancales, the native millionaires (as they are pleasantly called) never range above four hundred per annum ; and the few who enjoy so vast a fortune are looked upon as great men in their locality.

It would be an idle experiment to invade the cheap habits of Avranches by a shew of wealth and ostentation. A Parisian gentleman, some years ago, with the sinister design of overtopping the whole department by the splendour of his ménage, built a magnificent house on an elevated plateau overlooking the Jardin des Plantes, with an observatory on the top, commanding extensive views of Mont St. Michel, the sea, and the country. But his costly design was no sooner completed than he discovered that it was impossible to live here in the style he had contemplated. He found out, when it was too late, that his sumptuous project isolated him from society, and, instead of giving him a supremacy in the frugal circles of Avranches, only condemned him to the penance of living "alone in his glory." He accordingly advertised the house to be let or sold. For a long time it lay vacant. At last an English gentleman ventured to occupy it, but finding it too large for his family and his fortune, speedily threw it up; and there stands the grand house, with its observatory tattered and blistered in the sun, its garden running to seed, its closed shutters and silent salle, a striking memorial of the folly of attempting to trespass upon the rigorous economy of Avranches,

There is nothing to attach you to the place except the scenery and the markets. To live in a charming country at a small cost is no doubt a great temptation; but you must look for nothing more. People whose sense of the pleasures of existence is circumscribed within the limits of being able to eat cheaply, drink cheaply, and look out of their windows upon valleys and uplands teeming with woods and cornfields, may be as happy as the day is long in Avranches They do not lack intellectual enjoyments, and are best off, perhaps, 1

a place where there are none to be had. But if books are necessary to your happiness, or the intercourse of cultivated minds, you will find Avranches wofully dismal. Art and literature are luxuries not to be obtained here. Mutton, beef, and chickens, may be procured for about a third less than you can get them in England; but, in saving your pocket, you must waste your mind. Whenever anything is attempted here in the shape of a recognition of any loftier qualities than those that enter into the management of the cuisine, it is done in the worst taste, and most ignorant spirit. For instance, they have erected a vulgar colossal statue in the square leading to the Bishop's gardens of one General Valhubert, who was killed at Austerlitz, a hero known only under the shadow of these flattering trees; while the celebrated Huet,* to whose memory they have always been promising a statue, has not even an inscription to record his name. The statue of the great unknown Valhubert occupies a more prominent stituation than the statue of Henry IV. at Caen. Such are the uncertainties of fame in places like Avranches; such the accidents of popular sculpture.

The scenery about the town may, however, afford some consolation for the intellectual nakedness within. Up the painful lanes you ascend from various points to reach the higher part of the town, you get some splendid views, glimpses of Mont St. Michel, and the farstretching sands, and the coast as far as Granville; and from the heights such as the Jardin des Plantes, and the desolate hill where the cathedral once stood, and where Henry II.is said to have performed penance on his knees for the murder of Beckett+-there are magnificent varieties in the undulating landscape before you, a vast surface of wooded country, broken by tracts of pasturage and cornfields, streams, high-roads, châteaux, and farmhouses. The finest view in the neighbourhood-perhaps in extent the finest in Normandy-is from the highest point on the summit of the hills between Avranches and St. Malo. This point commands an immense sweep of valleys on both sides, crowded with features of picturesque interest as far as the eye can reach.

But we must not linger over these scenes. plore the ocean fortress of Mont St. Michel.

XIII.-MONT ST. MICHEL.

We have yet to ex

WHILE other saints are disposed of indifferently on slopes, and plains, and even in the depths of valleys, the chapels dedicated to Saint Michael, who is called by the French writers l'ange chevalier, are always built on the pinnacles of the highest hills, in the laudable desire of getting as near heaven as possible. The reason of this is, that St. Michael once had a desperate fight with the Devil on the top of a hill; and so miraculous is the ubiquity of the tradition that, wherever one of these chapels points its cross to the skies, it is an established article of faith in the immediate neighbourhood, that it was there, on that identical spot, the aforesaid rencontre took place. The archangel is thus made to do duty on innumerable hill-tops. Brittany is full of St. Michaels, perched up in this way, at Grèves, Faouet, Plélan, Plouray, Carnac, and other places. Nearly all these, to which our own Saint in Cornwall may be added, were

Huet was a native of Caen, and not of Avranches, as stated in a recent work. The circumstantial details of this curious scene are preserved by Baronius.