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Church?" "I presume so; she could not be a Catholic without." "No; she could not," concludes Mrs. L.


At the table this morning I tell them that there have been people among us who said that every step in the dance is a step towards hell. "And there are people here who say so," say one or more of the family. "Who are they?" I inquire. "The curés," says Pierre, "the bigots." "I say so," says his mother. "Then," I rejoin, "I may say that it is the curés, the bigots, and Mrs. Lesmontagnes," which makes them laugh. "Hell is full," says Pierre; "there is a big devil behind the door with a stick, who will not let any more come in." "You may say," says Madame L. during the conversation, "that Mrs. Lesmontagnes and her sons are not of one mind." I tell them that I have not yet found the gay grandsire of the English poet, who,

"Skilled in gestic lore,

Has frisked beneath the burden of fourscore."

Then they tell me of one of their townsmen at the village who married at eighty for the third time, and who is deaf as an iron pot, and who still dances. You should see him jump. On my return to America, however, I find that Goldsmith speaks really of the burden of threescore.

After we got back from our unsuccessful walk to St. Alban, I asked Pierre for the Commandments, and he brought me the same book of prayers for the diocese of Lyons, and shows me some verses, the Commandments in simple rhymes. I hear the same quoted afterwards at Paris, in the north of France, and in Belgium.

They begin literally

One only God thou shalt adore, and shalt love perfectly;
God in vain thou shalt not swear, nor other thing likewise.*

Pierre having brought the little volume into my own room, and I having seen these first two commandments, he says, "So now you see the ancient religion of the Jews, and you have changed it." I have at hand no Catholic nor Jewish Bible, nor, indeed, any version to show him, so I laugh and say, "If you were my son I would give you a little blow on the cheek,-not to hurt." He goes out, and I begin to write; but pretty soon he comes in, bringing me a wild-flower and an insect for my collections; and then I tell him that I had thought I might have given


Here they are in the original, two lines being here thrown into

Un seul Dieu tu adoreras, et aimeras parfaitement,
Dieu en vain tu ne jureras, ni autre chose pareillement ;
Les Dimanches tu garderas, en servant Dieu dévotement;
Tes Père et Mère honoreras, afin de vivre longuement;
Homicide point ne seras, de fait ni volontairement;
Luxurieux point ne seras, de corps ni de consentement;
Le bien d'autrui tu ne prendras, ni retiendras à ton escient;
Faux témoignage ne diras, ni mentiras aucunement.
L'œuvre de chair ne désireras qu'en mariage seulement,
Biens d'autrui ne convoiteras, pour les avoir injustement.

I add from the same book the


Les Fêtes tu sanctifieras, qui te sont de commandement,
Les Dimanches Messe ouïras, et les fêtes pareillement,
Tous tes péchés confesseras, à tout le moins une fois l'an,
Ton Créateur tu recevras, au moins à Pâques, humblement,
Quatre Temps, Vigile jeûneras, et le Carême entièrement,
Vendredi chair ne mangeras, ni le Samedi mêmement.

him offence by not doing as he did in the church,-dipping into the vase. "No," he says, "I am not offended at anything that people do in church; but you said you have liberty, and twice to-day I see that you have not. You cannot make images, and a young man cannot say what he wants to his mother without having a blow." I laugh, and say if I had my friend's great Catholic Bible here, as large "As that," he says, pointing to a volume that he has brought, to show me how bad one of Alexander Dumas's novels is. "No larger? Then I could show you the Commandments; but this is only a little verse." "But then," he replies, "I have seen the ancient history of the Jews."

To me there appear contradictions in the mind of Pierre. Immediately after his remarks before given, on dancing and hell; he reads the telegraphic news from America— from Canada-about the fear of disturbances on the 12th of July; and I speak of the late trouble about a man who could not be buried in consecrated ground. Pierre says, "He was not a Christian?" "A Catholic, you mean?" "Yes; they were in the right," he says. Then I lamely add something about the man's having been a Catholic and having written some book.

This morning the little cousin does not go to school,— she has to watch the animals grazing, while Toinette is at work elsewhere. I am invited to dine in the village with Mrs. Chevalier, who is at home on a visit from Paris, where she is assisting her husband at the Exposition. As little Jeanette is going to school in the afternoon, she accompanies me over. On the way we meet little boys, who' know me since I have visited the school, and lift their hats very prettily; and coming up the hill, a little girl drops a

small courtesy, and says, "Good-day, madame." Although it is so late in the week, we still see women washing clothes in the little river. They have boards set up to wash on. At this season of the year all the women around Boissières come to this river to wash their clothes,—those women who take in washing,--and in a dry time the women of St. Jean, who have only a little stream, come too, and those of St. Alban. When the weather is cold they wash their clothes in the house, and rinse them in the river. There was a curé who gave two thousand francs, I hear, to build a wash-house in our commune; and I see one near the stream, built of stone, but only partly enclosed, and with no utensils within.

Approaching the village, I look up at the hillside, planted with vines, and I think I can count six rows of stone wall that run across it to keep the soil from running down into the valley of the Boissières.

Madame Chevalier treats me first to mutton-chops in mashed potatoes; second, sweet-breads in tomatoes; third, string-beans; fourth, chicken; and for dessert we have a cake called mattefin de cérises,—a thick cake, made of flour, egg, and cherries, and baked at the baker's, also soft cheese with cream, different kinds of fancy cakes and bonbons, and cherries, strawberries, and gooseberries. She has also two kinds of wine, water from the mineral spring which I visited, and coffee.

In the afternoon Madame Chevalier takes me to ride; her man drives, and her little son accompanies us. The country here is beautifully diversified, and the roads are fine. I am pleased to hear the servant call the little son "my friend." Speaking of the men who were drinking on Monday instead of mending the roads, Madame Chevalier says that the saying is, they are making or keeping Holy

Monday. We sometimes speak of persons who will never set the river on fire: they have several expressions of the same kind; one is, "He has not stolen the Holy Ghost." Madame Chevalier tells me of the rides that she has had with her husband (who is now at the Exposition). We speak of chestnuts, and she remarks the small size of ours, for she has visited Philadelphia. She is sorry when chestnut-time comes, for then the fine days are drawing to a close.

Towards evening, as I am returning from the village to Mrs. Lesmontagnes's, Mrs. Chevalier's daughter and niece accompany me for a short distance. Cows are passing along the road, and I observe a young girl with a basket and shovel collecting the droppings. One of my young companions thinks that they are to be put to the vines.


Friday, July 5th.-Twice I visit the village church. Pierre tells me that it is much more ancient than that of St. Alban. He says that it is the oldest and worst in the canton; he thinks it is six hundred years old. I observe its stone buttresses, and a great stone vessel before the door, large enough to receive a child of some size. It is a baptistery, and once stood within the church. The reason given for removing it is that it took up too much room. Such simple stone vessels may be of great age. The stone pavement of the church is bad enough, but I incline to the opinion that Pierre over-estimates the age of the building. He tells me that there is a Greek inscription above one of

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