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406 children. Oh! no. Oh! no. I have enough of the country. The country is fit only for peasants."

And, straightening up, with a noble gesture, he concluded, in a proud voice:

"I must have sport. I am not a peasant; I am a sportsman."

Nevertheless I was happy, and I awaited the month of June with impatience. Oh! the mar- guerites in the meadows; the little paths under the trembling leaves; the nests hidden in the ivies against the old walls; and the nightingales on moonlight nights; and the sweet conversations, hand in hand, on the brinks of wells, lined with honeysuckles and carpeted with maiden’s-hazr and moss; and the bowls of foaming milk; and the broad-brimmed straw hats; and the little chickens; and the masses heard in the village churches, with their towering steeples; and everything that moves and charms you, and makes an impression on your heart, like one of those pretty ballads they sing in the music-halls!

Although I am fond of fun, I have a poetical nature. The old shepherds, the outspread hay, the birds that pursue one another from branch to branch, and the brooks that run singing over light pebbles, and the handsome lads, with complexions made purple by the sun, like grapes on very old vines,—the handsome lads with robust limbs and