and many others to visit it.

For if all the houses of the Grand' Rue are not actually fifteenth
century--and they are not--they all look of an age; they all belong to
the same school of architecture, and the harmony of the whole street is
perfect. Looking upwards, the eye is delighted at the outlines of the
gabled roofs that stand out so clearly and sharply against the
background of the sky; and you return to it over and over again during
your sojourn in Morlaix, and each time you gaze longer and think it more
beautiful than before.

These old-world towns and streets are very refreshing to the spirit. We
grow weary of our modern towns, with their endless monotony and their
utter absence of all taste and beauty. Just as when sojourning in a
country devoid of monuments and ruins, the mind at length absolutely
hungers for some grand, ecclesiastical building, some glorious vestige
of early ages; so when we have once grown familiar with mediæval towns
and outlines, it becomes an absolute necessity occasionally to run away
from our prosy nineteenth century habitations, and refresh our spirit,
and absorb into our inmost nature all these refining old-world charms.
It is an influence more easily felt than described; also, it does not
appeal to all natures. We can only understand Shakespeare by the
Shakespeare that is within us--an oft quoted saying but a very true one;
and Pan might pipe for ever to one who has no music in his soul; and the
rainbow might arch itself in vain to one who is colour-blind.

Morlaix also, as we have said, owes much to its situation.

Lying between three ravines, it is most romantically placed. Its people
are sheltered from many of the cruel winds of winter, and even the