When you leave the coast and approach the Channel, the country undergoes a marked change; it becomes less wild, less Celtic; the dolmens become scarcer, the flats diminish as the wheat fields grow more numerous, and, little by little, one reaches the fertile land of Leon, which is, as M.
Pitre-Chevalier has gracefully put it, "the Attica of Brittany." Landerneau is a place where there is an elm-tree promenade, and where we saw a frightened dog running through the streets with a pan attached to its tail.
In order to go to the Chateau de la Joyeuse-Garde, one must first follow the banks of the Eilorn and then walk through a forest, in a hollow where few persons go.

Sometimes, when the underwood thins out and meadows appear between the branches, one catches sight of a boat sailing up the river.
Our guide preceded us at quite a distance.

Alone together we trod the good old earth, flecked with bunches of purple heather and fallen leaves.

The air was perfumed with the breath of violets and strawberries; slender ferns spread over the trunks of the trees.

It was warm; even the moss was hot.