And a shout of human woe!
The brambles let no footsteps pass
By that rent in the broken stair,
When the pale tufts of the windle-strae grass
Hang like locks of dry dead hair;
But there the keen sound ever sweeps and moans,
“Working a passage through the mouldering stones.”
The Lady of La Garaye.
From Dinan, instead of taking the customary road to the railway station of Caulnes, we hired a carriage, in order to visit the fortress castle of La Hunaudaye, midway between Dinan and Lamballe. The road lay by Jugon, a town prettily situated in the cleft of two hills. On one once [pg 062] stood an important castle, which gave rise to the saying:—
“Qui a Bretagne sans Jugon,