From this scene, full of life and interest, at the call of duty, she visited Britany; and, when her uncle desired, or motives of economy urged, buried herself in the solitude of her country seat of Les Rochers, a _château_ belonging to the family of Sévigné, one league from Vitré, and still further from Rennes. As far as the character and person of the writer are concerned, we prefer the letters written from this retirement to those that record the changes and chances of her Parisian life. They breathe affection and peace, the natural sentiments of a kind heart, an enlightened taste, and an active mind. "At length, my child," she writes, on her first visit to her solitude after her daughter's marriage (May 31. 1671), "here I am at these poor Rochers. Can I see these avenues, these devices, my cabinet and books, and this room, without dying of sorrow? There are many agreeable memories, but so many that are tender and lively, that I can scarcely support them: those that are associated with you are of this number. Can you not understand their effect on my heart? My young trees are surprisingly beautiful. Pilois (her gardener) raises them to the sky with an admirable straightness. Really, nothing can be more beautiful than the avenues you saw planted. You remember that I gave you an appropriate device: here is one I carved on a tree for my son, who has returned from Candia: _Vago di fama._ Is it not pretty to say so much in a single word? Yesterday I had carved, in honour of the indolent, _Bella cosa far niente._ Alas, dear child, how rustic my letters are! Where is the time when I could speak, as others do, of Paris? You will receive only news of myself; and such is my confidence, that I am persuaded that you will like these letters as well as my others. The society I have here pleases me much. Our abbé (the abbé de Coulanges, her uncle, who resided constantly with her) is always delightful. My son and La Mousse (a relation of M. de Coulanges) suit me extremely, and I suit them. We are always together; and, when business takes me from them, they are in despair, and think me very silly to prefer a farmer's account to a tale of La Fontaine."--"Your brother is a treasure of folly, and is delightful here. We have sometimes serious conversations, by which he may profit; but there is something of whipped cream in his character: with all that, he is amiable."--"We are reading Tasso with pleasure. I find myself an adept, through the good masters I had. My son reads "Cleopatra" (a romance of Calprenède) to La Mousse; and, in spite of myself, I listen, and find amusement. My son is setting off for Lorraine: his absence will give me much _ennui_. You know how sorry I am to see agreeable company depart; and you have been witness, also, to my transports of joy when I see a carriage drive away with that which restrained and annoyed me; and how this caused us to decide that bad company was better than good. I