return for the Saint's politeness, who had offered his petition in
poetical terms to which his audience could scarcely have been
accustomed.

"Rendez-moi mon cochon, s'il-vous-plait,
Il faisait toute ma félicité,"

chanted the Saint, and to restore the pig with his tail on fire was
conduct worthy only of fallen spirits.

But let us leave the Saint's pigs and return to our sheep.

The Kersanton stone, of which so many churches in Brittany are built,
possesses many virtues, but one great drawback. It defies the ravages of
time, yet is admirable for carving, yielding easily to the chisel. But
time has no influence upon it. Centuries pass, yet still it remains the
same: ever youthful, ever hard and cold. It knows nothing of the beauty
of age; it does not crumble or decay, or wear away into softened
outlines; it takes no charm of tone; no lights and shadows. A dark
grey-green it was originally, and so it remains. Thus, in point of
effect, a church built of Kersanton stone two centuries ago might, as
far as appearance goes, almost have been built yesterday. This is a
great defect; and interferes very much with the charm of some of
Brittany's best churches. It is hard, cold and severe, without
refinement, poetry or romance.

In some cases it atones somewhat by its richness and elaborateness of
sculpture, as in the case of St. Thégonnec. The west front of this
church is Gothic, of the fourteenth century. One of the turrets has a
small, elegant spire, and at the S.W. angle there is a very effective