Strona 257 z 896

The water of the fountain ran, the swift river ran, the day ran

into evening, so much life in the city ran into death according

to rule, time and tide waited for no man, the rats were sleeping

close together in their dark holes again, the Fancy Ball was

lighted up at supper, all things ran their course.

CHAPTER VIII. Monseigneur in the Country

A beautiful landscape, with the corn bright in it, but not

abundant. Patches of poor rye where corn should have been,

patches of poor peas and beans, patches of most coarse vegetable

substitutes for wheat. On inanimate nature, as on the men and

women who cultivated it, a prevalent tendency towards an

appearance of vegetating unwillingly--a dejected disposition to

give up, and wither away.