of trees. What could the little animal find so fascinating in the
somewhat monotonous sight? A friend at home assures me that a pet of her
own enjoyed drives from purely snobbish motives; his great gratification
arising from the sense of superiority over fellow dogs compelled to
trudge on foot. But in these woodland solitudes there was no room for
such a sentiment, not a dog being visible, only now and then a cyclist
flashing by.

There is no more splendid cycling ground in the world than this forest
of Fontainebleau.

Shakespeare says:--

"This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they
Most breed and haunt, I have observed the air
Is delicate."

About this time at Bourron the village street was alive with swallows
preparing, I presume, for departure southwards. A beautiful sight it was
to see these winged congregations evidently concerting their future
movements.

Another feature to be mentioned is the number of large handsome moths
frequenting these regions. One beautiful creature as large as a swallow
used to fly into our dining room every evening for warmth; fastening