The Lamar register., 1909-09-29

tremendous threshing floor. and the
white road to Paris Is barred with the
shadows of the plane trees which Ma.
poleon planted to shelter his march.
ing troops. Motorists ought to bless
the memory OF Napoleon. for, once on
the evil pavee which surrounds the
towns. there are no roads In the world
SO good as those he made all over
France. Behind the avenue OF planes
are apple and pear trees laden with
fruit. and. although within reach OF all
who pass by. apparently untouched.
Either the little boys of France are
Of superhuman virtue or they get filled
to repletion before reaching the high
way. Coming from the north, the sun
NY road runs abruptly into the for
est and Is compelled to curve among
the rocky ridges. Glades branch on to
right and left. losing themselves In
the green twilight distance. and ex-
cept for the murmuring OF the leaves
utter silence reigns. Here and there
the beeches give way to thickets Of
acacia and hornbeam, and sometimes
the tangie IL broken by a group Of
pines rising from the needle-strewn
soil.
There Is an atmosphere OF iegendry
about this ancient forest. It is not
difficult to picture medieval knights
or richiy-caparisoned horses moving
In giittering procession between the
smooth trunks of the beeches. or n
merlin chanting incantations and
weaving spells among the crags above
them.
II 10 q relief to turn under tho
acacia and plunge among fallen trunks
and rank heritage towards a lighter
spot. where open sky can be seen. A
grnss-grown mound reveals itself as
the remains of wall Of rough. hewn
stones. and beyond It lies q clearing
bearing reassuring traces of human.
ity. crop OF green maize Is way.
ing Iuxuriantiy in the breeze. Further
on are fruit trees-almonds full OF
green nuts. standard peaches. apples.
some with heavily-burdened bougbs
weighed down almost to earth. others
clothed with fiuttering gray moss; ana
only green with clumps OF mistIetoe:
and under these old trees the grass
is hidden in shimmerlng cloud of
harebeils- Presently the Joy Of har
vest Will even penetrate the sadness.
OF the forest So when the sun has
set. and twilight Is fast creeping over
the vast plain. the village appears
once more. The struggling street In
full OF color-even after the glow OF
harvest fields. Old tiled roofs spIashed
with orange lichens rise against the
darkened forest Every step calls
forth an exquisite picture. Rustic
homes nestle among trees. walled gar
dens OF dreamy seclusion. leafy lanes
only leading to the deeper LEAKAGE of
the forest. Nothing Earring. nothing
new: only little village OF old France
"a gem OF exquisite simplicity set In
the pure gold of the corn. At little
tables in the inn courtyard people are
dining or playing cards in the leisure
ly way that obtains In the country.
while horde of mongrel dogs. vary.
ing from an atom family suggestive of
= griffon to a sedate monster obvious
ly claiming relationship to mastitf.
wander casually in and out among the
tables and solicit scraps with eloquent
eyes or gently insistent paws.
Above the clatter of wooden soles
and chatter of MISUNDERSTANDING har-
vestfolk there arises rumble of
heavy wheels. Up the street comes a
wagon piled high with sheaves. and
drawn by two cream-colored oxen
muzzled and bowling low beneath a
ponderous wooden yoke.
Ok MOORE