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mune. Hearing these things, I of course feel great interest in this teacher, and Pierre kindly accompanies me to visit his school. We stop, way-making, at the house of one of his cousins, who is conseiller municipal, or member of the town council, in the commune that we are visiting. The councilman and his wife receive us with hospitality, offering wine, etc., and the councilman accompanies us. In education and means he probably resembles the average school director in my own region in Pennsylvania. As we three walk over to the village, Pierre appears to be telling his cousin something I had said about our public schools, about their being the institution of which we are most proud; so then I explain to them that we have liberty of speech, of the press, of religion, and our public schools. It is not a long walk to the village of St. Alban. The antiquity of the place is striking, and it was probably one of the strongholds of ancient feudalism. There is here a heavy ancient tower, with stone steps deeply worn, up two flights of which the village boys go to school; and then, most striking, are the great ruins of the ancient château, in part demolished during the Revolution, stone having been taken from the ruins to build some of the village houses. There is a new and ornamental cemetery near the village, but not all the human remains have been taken from the old; for behind the church is an unfenced space, whose bank rises above our path; and here, when the chickens scratch, they bring to light bones. Some of the people of this village whom I meet do not seem so skilful in French as the Lesmontagnes: they are doubtless used to patois. St. Alban is not so large as our village, but it holds a great fair four times a year for selling animals of different kinds, the greatest being at AllSaints' in November. We have a fair, too, in our village, but it has only been held about fifty years; this one at St.

Alban's is much more ancient. It is held on a great level space near the centre of the town, where there is a fountain, and a great cross with the image of Jesus, the first that I remember seeing thus placed in the open air since the one at Dieppe, on the seashore. But when I speak of it to Pierre, he says that they are in all the communes; that they have one in their village, which was concealed on Sunday by the dancing-floor.

We go into the old tower, but Pierre and I do not mount the worn steps so high as Mr. Councilman. We stay below while he goes up the second flight. His conversation with the head teacher lasts so long that Pierre thinks we are not to be permitted to enter the school, but we are at length invited up, and meet the teacher outside of his school-room. He is a middle-aged man, with a face somewhat red. He will allow me to visit the school if I obtain permission. "From whom?" I ask. "You must write," he answers, "to Mr. Inspector of Academies at St. Martin in order to obtain permission to visit schools in our canton." "And who has permission to visit them?" I inquire. "The mayor, the cantonal delegates, and the inspector have permission to visit the schools." "And the parents of the children?" I ask. "And what for?" he answers, three-quarters do not know how to read and write."* He speaks of our being so advanced in education in America, and of teachers being sufficiently paid, and not receiving merely three francs a day. I afterwards understand from

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* According to the census of 1872, if we set aside children under six years, thirty per cent. of the French people may be said to be entirely devoid of education. In the department spoken of in the text over twenty-nine per cent. were unable to read or write; and in an adjoining department, which is mountainous, over fifty-two per cent. -See Statesman's Year-Book.

Pierre that the Sisters in this village receive less than that.

When the teacher decidedly refuses my entrance to the school, I wax wroth, and threaten that I will write about this matter, but when I have time to reflect, I remember that I have now seen all sides. This is Wednesday; I am to leave on Saturday; I shall trouble no Mr. Inspector of Academy, and shall be exposed to no refusal from him.

Before leaving I speak to the teacher about his daughter who passed the examination, and inquire who taught her. In a sort of pompous voice he answers, "These ladies," meaning the Sisters who teach the girls' school. I express surprise, for the Sisters had sent no girls from our village. He returns to his school-room, and the councilman points out to me in the little entry some guns on a shelf above, with which the boys exercise. I note these in my book, and while we are still there the teacher looks out his door. I feel a little awkward, and say, "Can you tell me the name of this flower?" showing one I had gathered on our walk. No, he cannot. "We call it Forget-me-not," I say. "Very well; I won't forget you," is his last remark.

We went after wool, we may go home shorn, down the ancient stone steps. I am afterwards told that the schoolmaster at St. A- receives twelve hundred francs a year and dwelling, and his assistant seven or eight hundred and dwelling-room too. Those who have children pay to the commune twelve francs a year. There are thirty or more children of poor parents who pay nothing. We still have a good bit of the afternoon before us, and one of the men suggests that we visit the church. Over the door is a statue of a saint with his cross under his arm, and above it is a statue which looks very ancient and somewhat grotesque, having large round eyes, and something upon

the head like a mitre, and a globe in the hand. As we enter the church, my companions take off their hats, and dip their fingers into the vase of water, crossing themselves; but I make no sign. As we mount the stairs into the bell-tower, I have a good opportunity to see the statues above the door, the ancient one higher up than the other. Aloft in the tower hangs the chime of bells. One of my companions says that the bells were broken during the Revolution, and have been recast. "And why," I ask,

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were these things done to the churches? One can understand why they destroyed the castles, but why the churches?" They make no reply. On another occasion Pierre says that the bells were broken in nearly all the communes. Ours at Boissières were not, but most were, and all are not yet repaired. He says that the old statues were broken, and the crucifixes in the graveyards. It was the people who did it,-the people in revolution. For three years there were no services in the churches. Before we leave the spot I ask Pierre what that old statue is above the other. "It is the Eternal Father," he replies. I say, quietly, "Does not the Scripture say, 'Thou shalt not make an image of me'?" No; he does not think it does. "What is that upon the head?" "A crown of many rows." On the way home I recur to the subject, and ask him why he thought the statue to be such. "Because there was a globe in the hand." "And what is the first commandment?" "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God." "And what is the second?" He does not remember. "Have you them?" "Yes." "Does it not say, 'Thou shalt make no graven image'?" "No; you say that you have the liberty of the press, and you have not the liberty of making images." "But of God?" I ask. "Does not the Scripture say that God made man in his

image?" he replies; adding, “I find that that is a superstition, and I don't like superstitions myself." Once when talking I laugh at something he says, and try to explain by saying that he does not understand that these are the points in dispute between Catholics and Protestants; and as I note down some of his remarks, I tell him that he is at liberty to write down what I say; but he does not want to, it is too simple. Most of this conversation, however, is subsequent to our visit to the village of St. Alban. Before leaving this village we go to see the old chateau, of which a portion is habitable, two rooms being furnished. I clamber a little about the ruinous part, and when we get down give something to the woman who keeps the key, but my companions recompense her by going into her restaurant and taking a bottle of beer, which is dearer than wine. We also go to the new graveyard, which is tastefully laid out, but hanging on monuments are some tasteless souvenirs in black and white, somewhat like our hairwork memorials at home.

Thursday, July 11th.-At the breakfast-table lately, Mrs. Lesmontagnes and I have our principal or only conversation on doctrinal subjects. She asks whether Protestants baptize. Knowing her feelings on this point, I reply that all do except one or two sects,-that Quakers do not; that the Scripture tells that John said, "I baptize you with water, but there cometh one after me who shall baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire," adding that it was this text which was noticed by ancient Quakers. She receives what I say with perfect good feeling, and inquires nearly as follows: "And was your friend of whom you have spoken baptized when she entered the Catholic

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