familiar, even in the parks of London, planted 'by accident' (as we are
apt to call it), but standing together with clear purpose of protection
and support,--the strong-limbed facing the north and stretching out
their protecting arms, the weaker towering above them in the centre of
the square; whilst those to the south spread a deep shade almost to the
ground. French trees are under an Imperial necessity to form into line;
the groves at Fontainbleau are as straight as the Fifth Avenue at New
York. There are no studies of trees in all Normandy like the royal oaks
of Windsor, there is nothing to compare in grandeur with the stems of
the Burnham beeches, set in a carpet of ferns; and nothing equal in
effect to the massing of the blue pines--with their bronzed stems
against an evening sky--in Woburn Park in Bedfordshire. We may bring
some pretty studies from Avranches and from the country round, but we
should not come to France to draw trees.

But there are studies which we may make near Avranches, and of scenes
that we shall not meet with in England. If we descend the hill and walk
a few miles in the direction of Granville, we may see by the roadside
the remnants of several wayside 'stations' of very early date. Let us
sit down by the roadside to sketch one of these (A.D. 1066), and depict
for the reader, almost with the accuracy of a photograph, its grotesque
proportions. It stands on a bank, in a prominent position, by the
roadside; a rude contrast to the surrounding scenery. Presently there
comes up an old cantonnier in a blouse and heavy sabots, who has just
returned from mending the roads; he takes off his cap, crosses himself
devoutly, and kneels down to pray. The sun shines upon the cross and
upon the kneeling figure; the soft wind plays about them, the bank is
lovely with wild flowers; there are purple hills beyond, and a company
of white clouds careering through space. But the old man sees nothing
but the cross, he has no eyes for the beauty of landscape, no ear for