pitcher on the summit of one of the piles; they are larger than those in my room at Mrs. Lesmontagnes', and I tell her that it would not be convenient for me to take them to America, which she is quite ready to grant.

One of the first things that I notice at the fête is the riding-house of the wooden horse,—manège du cheval de bois. In the centre of a canopy is an upright post, from which branch out arms, each supporting one or two little wooden horses. On these children are seated. In the centre a horse plods around, and causes the whole to revolve. Mrs. A. says that the horse is blinded, so that his head shall not be turned. In the middle, a man is making music in some manner, and I sympathize with a little girl who is sitting up to a large drum and beating it with her lean arms. I wonder how many hours she has got to beat.` Before some of the restaurants groves have been improvised by sticking up pine branches; before another men are drinking in the open air,-wine! wine! red wine! They do not appear to make white wine here. Then there are two dancing-floors in the village, like ours at picnics. I go to one where they are waltzing, and I believe that they have the identical brass band of three pieces that I saw at the wedding in the restaurant. There is one little room, opposite to the tobacco-office, where a piper or player on the flageolet seems to be playing for what he is paid on the spot; he is a jolly-looking individual of about sixty. There he pipes away, while some of the elderly people dance La Bourrée, an old French dance, very simple. There is one very tidy woman, in a white cap, with a good dark skin, and nose somewhat aquiline, who dances abundantly. When she has done, her partners generally kiss her on both cheeks, for this seems to be the rule of the dance. There is here an animation more interesting to me than the ever

lasting waltzes and polkas, if such they are, in the more fashionable dancing-floors. I see the woman mentioned dance three times or more. I should have been pleased with her, although so much absorbed in her dancing, if I had not afterwards heard that she could drink a good cup. She is about fifty.

These stone-paved streets are nearly destitute of sidewalks. We meet a quantity of people, mostly simple folks like ourselves. But here are three or four gentlemen abreast,―persons of importance; one is the notary. I do not think that the ladies come. It looks strange, in the midst of the festival, to see a man driving through the street with a load of wood; it contrasts much with the holiday-time.

Pierre afterwards tells me events of the previous Monday, the second day of the festival.

The young men of this commune raised a subscription to pay the expenses of the banquet on Monday, the music, and the fireworks. At nine on Monday morning they go on foot to all the principal houses of the commune or township, carrying brioches, or great cakes like crowns, made with flour, butter, and eggs, but without sugar. They are accompanied by all the musicians, and at every house they give a little serenade and a brioche. The least that they receive at any house is five francs; Monsieur du Soleil, -Count du Soleil,—who has a grand house upon the hill in this township, gives every year fifty francs, and sometimes they take him a Savoy cake, which is richer. Generally eight hundred francs are raised, but this year only four hundred. By one o'clock they are back at the village for the banquet, the tables being set in a restaurant or on a dancing-floor. From twenty to one hundred and twenty young men partake; the number depends on their having

been united if they have had no disagreement concerning the fête or other matters there may be one hundred and twenty at table. The parents of the young ladies do not allow them to be there; that is not good manners.

The young men, having selected a suitable spot, went out to fire at a mark, the prizes being foulard neckerchiefs. Another of the games of Monday was firing with the cross-bow at a row of pipes, at one sou a time. He who broke one of the pipes gained a pipe or a cigar. Pierre says that he gained every time, and then the merchant begged him not to fire any more, as there are generally three who miss to one who hits. There is one game which I here request all French republicans to discontinue. Let not republican Frenchmen at the close of the nineteenth century hang up a live goose for young men to ride under and see which will first get the head. But Pierre says that sometimes it is a dead bird.*

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This Sunday evening Toinette, the domestic, goes off to the fête in spite of Mrs. L.'s remonstrance. She had told me that she thought she would not dance, as her father is dead; and I see that she wears black. But she says something to Mrs. Lesmontagnes about wanting to try the lottery; and it is strongly suspected also that she danced. She gets back about one in the morning with a party composed of Charles Lesmontagnes, the farmer or his brother, and their servant and her brother. Henri Lesmontagnes, the youngest, came home earlier. The wooden horses were

* While revising this manuscript for publication, I see an account of a chicken-fight in Virginia at which persons from Pennsylvania assisted.

going the whole evening, I hear, but the poor girl did not drum all the time: she was transferred to the cymbals.

Monday morning, July 8th.-We had a fine rain last night, and the vines will grow well in this gravelly soil in the garden. Mrs. L. tells me that the farmer had three loads of hay out in the meadow, and when it rained he hurried, and they hitched up oxen and cows and got one load in, but the rain came on, so that they could not get in the rest, and they took out straw to cover it, and were up all night. No wonder that Mrs. L. approves them. Jeanette, the little niece, has gone this morning to school. She stayed at home a while on account of the hay-making, but now she must go again. Toinette was indulged this morning, being allowed to lie until five, instead of rising at four; now she has gone out to pasture the cow. Mrs. L. permits me to help with the breakfast dishes, and afterwards she cleans her sons' Sunday clothes. Then she brings the lilies from the chapel-withered ones—and puts them into a nice little stone bottle; she will put olive or walnut oil upon them to make a preparation for bruises, to last the whole year. At dinner Pierre takes a glass of piquette, saying that they had had too much wine the day before (the fête day). I look at Charles, and he has piquette too.

Pierre tells me for what officers they vote. They are the mayor and municipal counsellors (like the selectmen of a Massachusetts township). The only others for whom they can vote in all their country are one member of the council from every canton to be counsellor of the arrondissement, and one councilman-general from each canton to

go to St. Martin, the chief city of the department. (France is divided into over eighty of these departments, as I have said.) They vote also for deputies to go to Paris, this department sending seven. They do not vote directly for either senator or president.

This afternoon Pierre and I have a lovely walk along the pretty little river of Boissières, which here tumbles down its rocky bed and joins, not far from here, one of the great rivers of France. Beside the stream they are making one of their excellent roads to a mineral spring. Upon our way we meet the agent voyé, or he who inspects the work upon roads. He is on his return this afternoon, because, as he says, the workmen are making the wedding, and he can give no directions, because there are no men at work. Making the wedding means drinking wine all day; and, says Pierre, this is what the ouvriers-the workingmen of France-usually do every Monday. The men upon the public roads, and nearly all hand-workmen, work on Sunday until noon. They are at liberty to stop on Saturday, when they are paid, but very few do. He adds that the dancing-floor in the village was put up on the first Sunday of the fête. It is close to the church, and the curé could hear the noise of the hammers. I tell Pierre that the people in my country have an idea that the French Catholics are governed by their priests, but that it does not seem to be so. "But," I ask, are not the women more so?" "Somewhat," he answers; "it was different before '93."" "Do you think this an improvement?” "Yes, yes!" (Behold how I avoid the subject of religion!) Pierre continues to speak of the workingmen, saying that they begin to drink on the afternoon of Sunday, and continue until