sturdy Bretons cannot be quite indifferent to the stern blast that comes
from the East laden with ice and snow.

Not that the people of Morlaix look particularly robust, though we found
them very civil and often very interesting. We must pay for our
privileges, and if a town is built in a hollow, and is sheltered from
the east wind, the chances are that its climate will be enervating.
This, of course, has its drawbacks, and sets the seal of consumption on
many a victim that might have escaped in higher latitudes.

One charming type we found in Morlaix, consisting of a family that ought
to have lived in the middle ages, and been painted by Raphael, or have
served as models for Fra Angelico's angels. Three generations.

We were climbing the Jacob's ladder leading to the station one day, when
we chanced upon an old man who sold antiquities. We were first taken
with his countenance. It had honesty and integrity written upon it. Had
he been a German, living in Ober-Ammergau, he would certainly have been
chosen for the chief character in the play--a play, by the way, that has
always seemed questionable, since the greatest and most momentous Drama
creation ever witnessed appears too sacred a theme to be theatrically
represented, even in a spirit of devotion.

Our antiquarian was growing old. His face was pale, beautiful and
refined, with a very spiritual expression. The eyes were of a pure blue,
in which dwelt almost the innocence of childhood. He was slightly
deformed in the back. There was a pathetic tone in the voice, a resigned
expression in the face, which told of a long life of struggle, and
possibly much hardship and trouble--the latter undoubtedly.