of the comparatively uneducated agricultural population—­the farmers, all through the district we have come, especially near Vire and Falaise, being rich proprietaires and investing largely; and there are many other things in these half-penny French newspapers which find their way into these remote corners of France, which must make the cure sometimes regret that he had taught his flock to read.  In a little paper which lies before us, the first article is entitled ‘Le miroir du diable;’ then follows a long account of a poisoning case in Paris, and some songs from a cafe chantant, interspersed with illustrations of the broadest kind.  But let us not be too critical; we have seen many things in France which would startle Englishmen, but nothing, we venture to say, more harmful in its tendency, than the weekly broad-sheet of crime which is spread out over our own land (to the number, the proprietors boast, of at least a hundred thousand[53]), wherein John and Jane, who can only sign their names with a cross, read in hideous cartoons, suggestions of cruelty and crime more revolting than any the schoolmaster could have taught them.

In these rich and prosperous provinces, the people (revolutionary and excitable as their ancestors were) certainly appear happy and contented; the most uneducated of them are quick-witted and ready in reply, they are not boorish or sullen, they have more readiness—­at least in manner—­than the germanic races, and are, as a rule, full of gaiety and humour.  These people do not want war, they hate the conscription which takes away the flower of the flock; they regard with anything but pleasure the rather dictatorial ‘Moniteur’ that comes to them by post sometimes, whether they ask for it or not, and would much rather be ’let alone.’[54]

Such is a picture of Lower Normandy, the land of plenty where we wander with so much pleasure in the summer months, putting up at wayside inns (where the hostess makes her ‘note’ on a slate and finds it hard work to make the amount come to more than five francs, for the night, for board and lodging for ‘monsieur’) and at farmhouses sometimes; chatting with the people in their rather troublesome patois, and making excursions with the local antiquary or cure, to some spot celebrated in history.  They are pleasant days, when, if we will put up with a few inconveniences, and live principally out of doors, we may see and hear much that a railway traveller misses altogether.  We shall not admire the system of farming, as a rule (each farmer holding only a few acres); and we shall find some of the cottages of the labourers very primitive, badly built, and unhealthy, although generally neat; we shall notice that the people are cruel, and careless of the sufferings of animals, and that no farm servant knows how to groom a horse.  We shall see them clever in making cider, and prone to drink it; we shall see plenty of fine, strong, rather idle men and women