We left the station, and thought we might as well use the omnibus in waiting.  It was small and held about four passengers.  As soon as we had taken our seats two fat priests came up and entered.  We felt rather crowded, and, like the moping owl, resented the intrusion; but when three stout ladies immediately followed, and looked appealingly at the state of affairs, it was too much.  We gave up our seats and walked; and presently the omnibus passed us, one of the ladies having wedged herself in by a miracle between the priests.  It would take a yet greater miracle to unpack them again.  The driver looked round with a smile—­he had admitted us into the omnibus and released us—­and, pointing to the roof with his whip, humorously exclaimed:  “Complet!”

The towers and steeples of St. Pol de Leon raised themselves mightily in front of us as we walked, beautiful and imposing.  The town dates back to the sixth century, and though once important, is now almost deserted.  Pol, or Paul, a monk, who, according to one tradition was Welsh, according to another Cornish, went over to a neighbouring island about the year 530 and there established a monastery.  He became so famous for his piety that a Breton king founded a bishopric at Leon, and presented him with the mitre.  The name of the town was then changed to St. Pol de Leon.  His successors were men distinguished for their goodness, and St. Pol became one of the most famous ecclesiastical towns in Brittany.  Churches were built, monasteries and convents were founded.

In course of time its reputation for wealth excited the envy of the Counts of Leon, and in 875 the Normans came down upon it, pillaged the town and devastated the cathedral.  It was one of those Counts of Leon who so vigorously claimed his rights “de bris et d’epaves”—­the laws of flotsam and jetsam—­esteeming priceless as diamonds certain rocks upon which vessels were frequently wrecked.  This law, rigorously enforced through long ages, has now almost died out.

In the fourteenth century du Guesclin took possession of the town in the name of Charles V., but the French garrison was put to the sword by the barbarous Duke John IV. of Brittany in the year 1374.  In 1590 the inhabitants of the town joined a plot formed for their emancipation, and the neighbouring villages rose up in insurrection against an army of three hundred thousand men raised by the Convention.  The rebels were conquered after two disastrous battles—­one within, the other without the town—­when an immense number of the peasants were slain.

Seeing it to-day, no one would imagine that it had once passed such stirring times:  had once been a place of importance, wealth, and envy.  Its streets are deserted, its houses grey and sad-looking.  The place seems lifeless.  The shadows cast by the sun fall athwart the silent, grass-grown streets, and have it all their own way.  During our short visit I do not think we met six people.  Yet the