The Holbrook news., 1912-01-05


 none Is more charming than
 Coutances, writes Edna Hal NJ loran in the Los Angels Times.
 After several hours of jolting through a beautiful country, a ridiculous little box of train depos- ited us at the gate of Coutances on a gray morning in June.
 The old ramparts which bound the town on three sides. give it, in per spective, the appearance of clinging to the hillside The double row of giant trees edging the boulevard, rear their massive boughs above the house. tops; the lofty spires of the cathedral dominate the landscape. Steep, mar row streets thread the ancient quar- ters. Old houses, blackened with age, crowd together on the edge of the sidewalks, their fiat chimneys and pointed roofs making a sharp, irregu- lar skyline In almost every square, smoky window a pot of towering plants makes bit of color against the dullness of the gray walls. The heavy front doors are sometimes beau tifully carved, a remnant of former prosperity. And at an occasional window hangs a curtain of fine lace. 1t is essentially a town where the hand of Progress has been stayed. Nothing changes, nothing advances, nothing needs to. It is perfect as 1t is, and absolutely contented. On a sunny morning old women, in their immaculate futed caps, full skirts and wooden sabots, sit on the doorsteps and knit necessarily, fat sleepy cats bask in the pleasant warmth; boys from the boulangerie, in their coarse blue aprons, balance wicker baskets filled with long loaves of bread; maids sent out to market stop to gossip on the Place; children clotter over the cobblestones in their wooden shoes, serviette, bulging with school books. under their arms.
 In summer, in Normandy, the twi- light lasts all night. It never grows dark from sunset to sunrise. Soon after dinner in the evening, the sound of voices and snatches of song came up from the shadows in the valley through which the river flows. The women of the neighborhood were washing. in the lavoir, beating their clothes on the wet stones at the waters edge. Although knotted and gnarled by hard work, yet these peas ant women are good-humored and pc lite One was a particularly friendly soul, and told me that in Normandy one did not speak French, only a patois, for, ma foic one had not the time to learn pure French; life was too short, and labor was too heavy. The women indeed do mems work, herding cattle, blowing fieldss moving hay, carrying immense bundles, poised on the shoulder, with no apparent ef- fort
 In the shops, ruddy-faced old women beam at you from under their clean starched caps, and smIlingly make you buy. charging you two prices because you are a foreigner. With all the graciousness imaginable, everything in stock Is set out for your inspec- ton - sabots. pictures, postcards. trinket. lace-and a running fire of conversation kept up in the mean time. Madam has both time and cu- rfosity for the strangers.
 The cathedral is the one thing of Coutances. It has long been consid- cred among the most beautiful exam ples of Gothic architecture in France. l. Is indeed magnificent, lofty and pure in its beauty. The slim coupled columns meet in Gothic arches, the lantern is formed from the beautiful