File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904 (1904) (14596118149).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew0109various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 109 June to November 1904
Year: 1904 (1900s)
Authors: various
Subjects:
Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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d a weather-wornand lichen-grown stone crucifix. Well-to-do roomy farmhouses and comfortable-looking cottages rose on the horizon aheadand slowly drifted down upon us, andslowly fell away astern — cleaner andwholesomer than buildings of a like classover in Normandy, but holding to the Nor-man custom of having dooryards filled withstable mire. Little shops for the sale ofstrong cider and of strong drink in generalwere almost as numerous as were the road-side crucifixes. The old horse, from forceof habit no doubt, was for stopping atevery one of them; and my driver castwistful looks at them, and let me knowby the expression of his back that hemourned over the hardness of my heart.They are grand drinkers, the Bretons.Only through force of adverse circum-stances are their gullets ever dry. It wasa week-day and wayfarers were few. Mymost pleasing encounter was with a niceold woman, nicely dressed, who cameclacking along in a pair of shabby sabots,carrying carefully a pair of well-blacked
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Vol. CIX — No 650.-35 278 HARPERS MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sabots and a basket in which no doubtwas her best cap. I decided—she had agayly grandmotherly look about her—that she was going to the christening ofher first grandchild. As she passed meshe was as smiling as an Easter-morn-ing sun. At the end of an hour or so we beganthe ascent of a very long hill: up whichthe road went wearily to a church-crowned crest that cut sharp against theseaward sky. A dozen times the oldhorse stopped, wagging his old headslowly from side to side with an airof gloomy discouragement. The bravebeasts negotiation of the ascent was sostrikingly at odds with the bounding dis-position ascribed to him that his melan-choly humor communicated itself to hisdriver—in the droop of whose shoulderswas such utter dejection that in sheerpity for him I asked questions about thechurch on the hilltop in order to maketalk. My well-meant diversion sensiblyrelieved the strain of a tense situation.Ordinarily, at least when

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