Whether this

the family eating their soup of vegetables and pork. Then there is a little wine, but I do not see madame drink any. The young men all wear their hats at table. means French republic I am at a loss to know. In the kitchen, where we take this meal, there hangs a rack-about half a yard across-like a swinging-shelf. It is for the great loaves of bread, which lie upon their sides without touching each other. Most of their bread is of rye.

Madame Lesmontagnes, as I call her, is a widow. She has had nine children, but only four are living. (In counting children, however, in France, miscarriages are frequently included.) Mrs. L.'s only daughter is married, but there are three sons at home, whom we will call Pierre, Charles, and Henri. Pierre, the eldest, was a soldier at the time of the Prussian war, and lost his health. His countenance shows that he is not strong; and he is unable to attend to heavy farm-work. He is a reader, and soon produces for reference a little classical dictionary. Besides this farm, which comprises about one hundred acres, the family hold other property. They are of the class of wealthy paysans, or farmers who work with their own hands. Most of this farm is rented, however, and only a small part retained for Charles and Henri, the two younger sons, to cultivate. Another member of the family is a slender little girl, Jeanette, the boys' cousin, whose father is dead; and the family is completed by Toinette, the short, stout, dark-eyed servant.

Of this great, old-fashioned house we occupy the groundfloor only the upper floor is the granary or garret. The

best room is assigned to me for my sleeping-room, for nearly all the rooms have beds in. In going from my apartment into the kitchen I pass through another large room, with a plump bed in one corner, covered with a cotton quilt of Turkey red. This room madame calls the dining-room. Upon and above the mantel is ranged a collection of choice objects,—an image of Mary with the infant Jesus; a little crucifix; a colored picture of our Lady of the seven sorrows; and an engraving of Sainte Germaine, with distaff and sheep. Here, too, are certificates of the first communion of several of the family. On one of them are these mottoes: Heaven is a first communion which lasts always." "This is the bread of life come down from heaven; he who eats of this bread will live forever." "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him; I will raise him up at the last day."

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In the same collection, above the mantel in the diningroom, are photographs of several of the family; and here, too, is something new,-namely, a certificate telling, with considerable circumlocution, how Henri Lesmontagnes, born in 1862, was in 1877 found worthy of receiving the certificate of primary studies, comprising moral and religious instruction, reading, writing, elements of the French language, calculation and the metrical system, history and geography of France. I suppose this is similar to that which the little girl showed me in the Protestant school at Paris: perhaps it is the same; but I hear in the south that it is only of late that these certificates have been given here.

The walls of this house are between two and three feet in thickness, and some of the rooms have carved ceilings.

The furniture is plain, and is made of cherry and walnut. I am told that the marquis who once lived here was a little marquis, a dependent of the great marquis of St. Alban, the ruins of whose castle may be seen in a distant view. Strong stone steps come up to our house from the front yard, which is surrounded principally by stone outhouses roofed with tiles. How can one describe this yard better than by calling it barn-yard, we!l-yard, and woodyard in one? Standing upon the heavy gallery, or front porch, we can, on the left, look over these out-buildings which surround the court-yard, and have an extensive view of the plain and the distant hills. Within this landscape lies our village of Boissières, with the church. The season has been wet, and everything is green except the creamcolored houses, with their pretty red roofs.

Standing on the front porch, one of the conspicuous objects in the court-yard before us is the well, at no great distance from the front steps. It has a wall and hood of stone, and chain within for a bucket. The well and its surroundings remind me of Rosa von Tannenburg, who, as story tells, went down into the well to rescue the child of the knight who held her father a prisoner. On the top of the hooded well-curb here earth has collected, and, as the season has been wet, grass and weeds are growing upon it; and if you look in, plants are growing within the well from among the moist stones. The hooded curb so thoroughly protects the well that it only needs cleaning about once in twenty years. Close by is a short stone trough where the horse drinks; and such rude troughs, it seems to me, are likely to be very ancient. I speak of "the horse," for there is only one upon the whole farm. We use working-oxen, and sometimes even cows draw loads.

But let me speak of the buildings that enclose this front yard, or court-yard. The first on the left is the bakehouse; over the door some person has written Tremblez, tyran! I say to madame, who is showing me around, that I suppose this is from the Marseillaise, and she answers rather dryly, "Apparently," as if she does not sympathize. In the bake-house is an excellent new oven of stone, the old one in the house having given out. Here, too, is a great baking-trough,—the bread being baked once a fortnight. It is kneaded by Charles, the second son, he being the strongest person in the family. Next to the oven-house is a double gate going into the garden; after this, the low building on the left side of the yard is divided into a little tool-house, a goat-stable, a small and narrow wood-shed, a chicken-house, divided in two, and a pig-house, all of stone. In the goat-house are two sheep and a she-goat. They were out grazing this morning, tended by the little niece. That was goats'-milk cheese which I had at supper; the kids are killed at two weeks old. In the little wood-shed are lying bundles of bark tied up to sell,—bark from small branches,-for such things are scarce in France. In the chicken-house are about half a dozen places for hens to lay and hatch. I do not see the great quantities of poultry that are sometimes raised with us. Here is a hen whose wings are tied up with straw, that she may not fly up into a box, for she insists on hatching. Two pigs are shut up in the pig-house. I should think that more air and light might be desirable for them. When standing upon the front porch, we see that at this point the tile-roof runs upwards to cover another building behind these. This building is entered from the garden, and is the chapel of the De Chambres, as we will call the noble family who once lived there.

We have now finished the buildings on the left side of the court-yard; let us, then, take the side that faces the house. First is a smith's shop, then a bit of stone wall, with a wooden gate set in it, then a stable, and in a corner, in a sort of nook, behind a buttress, is the entrance to another stable, quite small. Within the smith's shop is plenty of room. It is furnished with a great bellows; and outside, before the door, lies the anvil. The sons can do all their necessary smith-work, but they do not shoe the horse. As for the stables, we do not need so much room, since the farm is rented.

Let us now turn the corner and take the larger buildings on the right side of the court-yard. The one supported by the buttress just mentioned may be called a barn, with room for animals, for wagons, for hay, and for the wine-press and vats. Now suppose the stone wall, which is the front of the barn, to be elevated a little and to become the front of a sort of square tower finished with a roof of flat tiles. Under this tower is the main gateway or entrance. Between the gateway and the house the continuous wall forms the front of one more building, which contains the caves, or cellars for the wine. We have now finished three sides of the court-yard, and the front of the dwelling forms the fourth. The end of the barn, where the wine is fermented and pressed, is the cuvage, and contains three cuves, or vats for treading grapes, and a great press of the year 1800. The largest vat is new, it cost about eighty dollars, although they furnished the wood themselves,—and it runs eighty hectolitres of wine, say thirty hogsheads. When the grapes have stood in the vats about twenty-four hours and are sufficiently fermented, if the vat be large several naked men jump into it and tread the grapes. This process is not without danger; they tell me that there is never a season