favorite resort for a pet donkey was under my window, where he had
uniformly slept in profound silence. But one glorious moonlight night,
probably to arouse me to enjoy with him the exquisite beauty of our
surroundings, he put his nose through this aperture and gave one of the
most prolonged, resounding brays I ever heard. Startled from a deep
sleep, I was so frightened that at first I could not move. My next
impulse was to rush out and arouse the family, but, seeing a dark head
in the window, I thought I would slam down the heavy sash and check the
intruder before starting. But just as I approached the window, another
agonizing bray announced the innocent character of my midnight visitor.
Stretching out of the window to frighten him away, a gentleman in the
room above me, for the same purpose, dashed down a pail of water, which
the donkey and I shared equally. He ran off at a double-quick pace,
while I made a hasty retreat.

On August 20, I returned to Toulouse and our quiet convent. The sisters
gave me a most affectionate welcome and I had many pleasant chats,
sitting in the gardens, with the priests and professors. Several times
my daughter and I attended High Mass in the cathedral, built in the
eleventh century. Being entirely new to us it was a most entertaining
spectacular performance. With our American ideas of religious devotion,
it seemed to us that the people, as well as the building, belonged to
the Dark Ages. About fifty priests, in mantles, gowns, and capes, some
black, some yellow,--with tinseled fringes and ornamentation,--with all
manner of gestures, genuflections, salutations, kneelings, and burning
of incense; with prayers, admonitions, and sacraments, filled the altar
with constant motion.

A tall man, dressed in red, wheeled in a large basket filled with bread,
which the priests, with cups of wine, passed up and down among those