to which they belong, the bees are very
angry and the whole hive is in commotion,
and if any one swears or disputes near them
they get dreadfully excited, and fly upon the
person and " are ready to strangle him."

After conversation of this kind with
François, who is a philosopher, I return to
the chaumière with him. François begs
to know, in reference to the question
of the inferior animals having souls, how
can we account for the conduct of M. le
Curé's dog? The Curé's saucepan wanted
mending: he gave it to his dog to carry to the
tinman's; which he did. Soon after he was
told to fetch it back; he obeyed. His
master filled it with water to see if it leaked,
and, finding that it did, he ordered the dog to
take it back again, giving him several blows
with a stick—for the good cure is choleric.
In an angry tone he commanded the animal
not to bring it again if it leaked. What does
the dog do? He takes it to the tinker, fetches
it again, and, to ascertain if it leaks still, he
carries it to a fountain, dips it in, watches
whether any water escapes, and, finding all
right, runs triumphantly to his master and
lays it at his feet.

M. le Curé's theory is that animals are
devils, condemned to inhabit these bodies and
deprived of speech, but cognisant of all things
and subject to man, whom one of their body
originally injured. François does not like
this theory, and feels sure that birds, at
least, are not devils; they are much too
charming to belong to such a fraternity: but
I scarcely go so far as François, for he
believes that plants have souls, and is quite
a Darwin. He told me, the other day, the
legend of Sainte Thérèse as one proof of the
fact. It appears that every morning when
the saint passed along the walks of the convent
garden, the great trees, which were most of
them old, bowed down before her, not only
their leaves and branches, but even their
trunks, making most reverend salutations in
her honour. " Some say," he continued, " that
trees have devils hid in them sometimes, as
all the world knows happened to Sainte Rose,
for they got into the convent avenue and
began to bow to her as those others did, out
of piety, to Sainte Thérèse. Sainte Rose
was naturally proud, and they thought by
doing this they should deceive her and make
her their prey; but, by means of prayer, she
got every one of the devils out of the trees,
which bent themselves to the very ground
to thank her; and she easily saw the
difference by the respectful manner in which
they did it.

Plants, according to my friend, are just like
animals in their feelings: "If you tread on
one and crush it, does it not faint away and
lose its strength in a moment? " says he:
"it is true that they do not utter sounds,
nor can they gambol about you like a dog,
but they send forth a perfume if you
touch them, and they caress you in this
manner, the same as they walk, only they
do it upwards, towards the sky, instead of
along the ground, like animals."
François has probably never studied
Descartes, but I am sure he would not agree
with him that animals are mere machines,
only formed for the use of man. M. Poigné-
Bandel, who is not very tender in his nature,
is an admirer of the Descartes philosophy, and
insists that man has a right to do what he
likes to animals, for they feel nothing; and,
if they cry when beaten, it is only because
a sudden blow deranges part of their
mechanism.

Being invited to spend the day of the Fête-
Dieu at M. Poigné-Bandel's town house, I
soon found out—amongst the young priestesses
who were deputed to hold long ends of
ribbon depending from a golden shrine
borne by a priest—my little friend, Seraphine,
in all the dripping finery which it had taken
weeks to get together: her white muslin
dress was limp and splashed, her net veil hung
wofully close to her sides, the garland of blue
and white flowers was full of rain drops, and
her white satin shoes!—it was distressing
to behold Seraphine in the pouring rain.

But I have not yet quite come to the
end of my rambling description of the
garden of my chaumière: having left the east
terrace walk as a bonne-bouche of description.
How sensible it is of M. Poigné-Bandel
to have bought this charming piece of
ground, and created such a paradise for
himself! He can walk on this broad terrace in
winter or summer, and it is always dry and
pleasant, and affords him a magnificent view
over the cultivated fields below, the pretty
clear river, and its pleasure boats: most of
them, by the by, English. The downs
beyond, and, at a distance, the town standing on
a height, surrounded by fortifications and
boulevards, with its antique castle and
elevated cathedral towering above all. It is a
charming prospect on the whole; and if Mr.
Joseph Smith would lop his trees a little
more, I should be able to see it better;
however, he has not done what the last two
English people who lodged in the castle and
the cottage did when they quarrelled, after
having one evening sworn eternal friendship
over a glass of what the French call " gzogs."
One, out of spite, threw some rubbish into the
little garden before his neighbour's window,
now my delight; on which the other, regardless
of expense, purchased some thick planks
and raised a high barrier between them, that
shut out the view which the friends were
mutually and fraternally enjoying, when the
"gzogs," too potent, changed the course of
their true love. I should regret this, but that
the planks have long since been entirely
covered with climbing plants; and, as the view
is the same from the terrace, I would rather
see Mr. Joseph Smith's beautiful and luxuriant
rose bush peering over my wall than the
twenty eyes of the ten little and big Master