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at Pitres (1), once the seat of royalty, now a modest, 

 rustic commune — the quiet home of an industrious 

 peasantry. There it lies basking in the scorching rays 

 of an August sun, under the shadow of lofty hills, at 

 the junction of the lovely valleys of the Seine, the 

 Eure, and the Anclelle rivers ; the highest of those hills 

 goes by the name of the Hill of the two Lovers, la cSte 

 des deux amants. Later on we shall learn why. From 

 a diminutive railway station, the highway, constructed 

 of coble stones, runs over a little bridge, along hedges, 

 rugged stone-walls, and pastures to the small but emi- 

 nently historic village church. In more respects than 

 one, the landscape reminds you of Canada, except that 

 the inhabitants look poorer, ruder in their ways, less 

 educated, than our peasants. Here, a one-story farm 

 house ; next to it, a barn with a thatched roof ; close 

 by, men in coarse blue or gray blouses, (no mowing- 

 machines here) reaping the harvest, with the same 

 primitive sickle, used for hundreds of years by their 

 sires ; the women, in white calines gauffrdes, caps, 

 sabots, mantelets, leading the work-horses to the wheat 

 fields or barn. 



The meadows and pasture lands adjoining the farm 

 houses are in general well provided with shade -trees, 

 such as they are. Unfortunately, the uniform mutilation 

 of the tree, by cutting away all its branches down to 

 short stumps, in order to make charcoal and fagots, 

 gives it a heart-broken, hide-bound aspect. Sorely 

 beset and lanky, the tree looks like a gigantic, closed 

 umbrella, crowned by a leafy cap with a fringe of green 

 leaves descending to a few feet from the soil. We 

 noticed these painful deformities not only in Normandy, 

 but even quite close to Paris ; one has to go to England 

 to see proper respect shown to parks and trees. Nor- 

 mandy however, as a set-off, interested us by its mag- 



(1) The population of Pitres is about 1000 souls. 

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