ried; not in money, but in land." "But how did that happen in France?" I inquire. "She had no father nor mother, and she wanted to marry him. He was not like some others, going to fêtes, dancing here, dancing there. He is now the clerk of the church where he lives,—an hour and a half's walk from here." Afterwards she tells me that this son has a tenor voice; and the curé who was here then, taught him to play on the harmonium. A neighboring curé employs him as clerk,—his salary being three hundred francs, and he must sing at all the masses, which, on week-days, are before eight in the morning.

One of the six children is at a greater distance from home, for he is a soldier in camp at or near Besançon. He is a soldier for five years. There are two boys at home at work on their land,—that which they own and that which they rent. When I tell them about my country, one of them thinks that it might be well to go there, as then they would not have to be soldiers. It is quite surprising to the people here that we should hire our soldiers and pay them so much. They always have the conscription, and the common soldier receives one sou a day, besides his clothing and rations.

One other son, who is about nineteen, has a situation in a bank in a neighboring town, where he has been eighteen months. At first he got four dollars a month, and now eight. He goes to the bank at eight o'clock, and stays until seven, being allowed two hours at noon. He must work until noon on Sunday.

The youngest child is Marie, the only daughter. She is a delicate-looking child. The three at home have light hair, which was very uncommon at Boissières. (It may be observed that Mrs. Salmier spoke thus of her married son : "I only gave him three thousand francs;" but I do not

infer that the money was hers. Afterwards, when the notary's young man comes and receives money from them, it is she who produces the bag.)

When we arrived here we drove up to a high brick wall, with few, if any, windows, but with great double wooden doors, large enough for wagon and horses. We generally, however, open a little door cut in one of the big ones, and behold we are in a barn-yard, with a bed of manure near the centre. On the left hand, but not very near the entrance, stands a solid brick house, long, and facing the barnyard,—if I must so call it, when there are some trees. The house is only one story high, and has two front doors and six front windows. The walls of the house are of the thickness of two bricks placed lengthwise. Mr. Salmier and I measure them, and we find them to be, with the mortar, over half a yard thick. The windows are set in the wall, so that there is a wide window-seat outside and a narrower one within. Like all the windows that I have observed in France, they open in the centre like a double door. Rooms seem to be well aired by such windows, but must they not be more inconvenient for winter? All our roofs are of tiles, but our next neighbor has an excellent slate one. Her house is a nice new brick one, a long house, one end of it being the stable.

Opening upon our yard is another brick building, that was once Mr. Salmier's school-house, and still has the bellframe on top. It is now the stable, where two good horses, two cows, and a heifer are kept, and whence the horned cattle very rarely come out. An adjoining room, which also belongs to the former school-house, is the sleepingroom of one of the sons, who can thus guard the animals at

night. Upon the same yard, also, opens the brick barn. A very little brick building standing out from the barn is the dwelling of our porker,-poor animal!—with no light but what enters around the door. He is not actually poor, but a very respectable swine; he is pink, and remarkably clean, his house being generally cleaned twice a week. On the same side as our dwelling there is a little brick stable, where the calf is kept, and which seems always to have clean straw in the bottom, and over this stable is a dovecote. There is, too, a little hen-house, with short, broad ladder or rack for the fowls to roost on. All is of brick here, as at Boissières of stone. The north side of our yard is formed by the garden-wall, of brick and stone; grass has been growing on top, and the dry stalks wave in the air. About midway there is a wooden gate, by which we enter the garden. Within our barn-yard or house-yard is a pool of water for the animals; it is rain-water, which runs down here from the street, and is kept in some manner to me very mysterious. Such watering-places seem common here,-the bottom must be cemented. A few stone steps go down to the water, and on the east it is shaded by a beautiful ash and other trees. There is a minute orchard, too, in our yard, occupying, as I estimate, about sixteen square feet, and containing some dwarf pear-trees, a little cherry-tree, and two plums. To the garden-wall and east wall pear-trees are nailed, and on the house front are two apricots, but altogether there is not a great deal of fruit. The two strangest things in this yard, unless it be the water-pool, are two troughs dug in the ground,—one of them about two yards long and one and a half wide, and nearly a yard deep. These holes are for pulp; guess what that means. Just outside the village there is a raperie, or place where our beets are pressed. We sell them there to a company that has

obtained the right to manufacture sugar. Here in a neat new house lives the basculeur, who weighs the beets. When we take our beets to be weighed, we can buy the pulp left in pressing, at ten francs the thousand kilos, or at about two dollars for two thousand two hundred pounds, and we bought one hundred francs' worth and put it into these holes to keep and to feed. "I would like to have more still," says Mrs. Salmier, "because then the butter would not be soft in the summer,-the butter of the beet is hard." About half the cultivators here signed the compromise with the company, which entitles them to the privilege of buying one-fifth of the weight of the beets in pulp. They signed to induce the company to put up the works, and when the raperie was built the rest came in and signed. After the beets are pressed at the raperie, the juice is conducted underground in a pipe. Ours is not the only raperie,—there is another about three or four miles from here, where the pipe begins; thence the juice flows here, and, increased by ours, goes on about three miles farther, where there is another raperie; thence the juice of the three goes on to the mother or central house of this region, where there is a sugar-house for making cassonade, or brown sugar, and perhaps a refinery, too, though not a complete one, I am told. Every day during the season the basculeur at our village telegraphs to the chief house what weight of beets he has received; and the agent at the sugar-works writes us a letter letting us know to what we are entitled, and we can go to that place and get our money.

But we have left Mr. Salmier's house to follow the beetjuice in its underground travels; let us return. I was interested in the cellar, which had not upright walls like ours, with the beams and floors showing above, but was entirely covered with an arch of brick. I am allowed, too, to visit

the grenier, or garret. The wheat has been sold, but there is a nice heap of rye; we feed rye to the hog. And here madame has some clothes hanging to dry. I see, too, a bust in plaster of some one who has a laurel wreath around his head; she tells me that it is Louis Napoleon. It was at the mayor's office, probably the mayor's father bought it,—and when the republic came they said it should be put into the garret, and they broke the nose. Thus passes the glory of this world!

With us in Southern Pennsylvania, even if our houses are at some distance from the barn-yard, we are tormented with flies in the summer; but here there are almost no flies in the house, although it is July and August. Even bacon hangs in the open room without a covering to protect it from insects.

I have mentioned the garden-wall. On the other three sides the garden is surrounded by a high hedge of elder, which is cut once in three years for pea-brush. Cabbages, onions, leeks, and garlic are growing within (remember our high northern latitude, Paris being north of Quebec). There are, too, chicory,—used here to help out coffee,—and oseille, or the sorrel which I ate at Paris, broad-leaved like spinach. There is a plant called cassis, with fruit like large black currants, some strawberries of the four seasons (small), and a few raspberries; peas with very high brush, and scarlet and white runners; there is a quantity of beet-seed, but we do not eat beets on the table; there are potatoes, carrots, etc., and delicious crimson clove-pinks.