Oh, the fathers of the happy inhabitants who people that corner of the land did not bend their necks under the yoke of either Frankish seigneurs or Gallic bishops. No, no--they proved the old Gallic blood still flowed in their veins. The consequence is noticed in the picture of dignified felicity that the valley offers. Behold on the slope of the hill the cosy homes half shaded by vines, that carpet the walls and the ripe maturity and luxuriant quality of which are attested by their leaves and grapes that the autumn sun has reddened and gilt. Each of the houses is surrounded by a garden of flowers with a clump of shade-giving trees. Never did the eye of man dwell upon a more smiling village. A village? No; it rather resembles a large borough. From at least six to seven hundred houses are scattered on the slope of that hill, without counting the vast thatched structures that are situated below on the meadow, which is watered by a river that rises to the north of the valley, crosses it and forms its boundary far away where the horizon dips. Yonder the river parts in two arms; one flows eastward, the other westward, after bathing in its course the feet of a forest of gigantic chestnut trees from between the tops of which the roof of a tall stone building is perceived, surmounted by a cross of iron. No, never yet was promised land better calculated to reward industry with abundance. Half way up the slope of the hill, the purple colored vines; above the vineyards, the agricultural fields, on which the stubble of rye and wheat left from the last harvest is here and there seen burning. The fertile acreage stretches up to the skirts of the forests that crown the surrounding eminences, within which the spacious valley is locked. Below the vineyards are meadowlands watered by the river. Numerous flocks of sheep and herds of horses browse and graze upon the succulent pasture. The bells of the bulls and wethers are heard tinkling their rural melody. Here and yonder carts drawn by oxen slowly roll over the ground where the stubble was burned the day before, or four-wheeled wagons slowly descend the slopes of the vineyards and wend their way towards the common wine-presses, which, together with the stables, the sheep-folds and the pig-sties, all alike common, are located in the neighborhood of the river. Several workshops also lie contiguous to the river; the wash and spinning houses, where the flax is prepared and the wool washed preparatorily to being transformed into warm clothing; there also are situated the tanneries, the forges, the mills equipped with enormous grind-stones. Peace, security, contentment and work are seen everywhere reflected in the valley. The sound of the beetles of the washerwomen and the curriers, the clang of the blacksmiths' hammers, the joyful cries of the men and women engaged at the vintage, the rythmic chant of the husbandmen keeping time to the even and slow gait of the draft-oxen, the rustic flute of the