CHAPTER XVII.

AROUND my room are hanging some simple engravings and drawings. One is a stiff, dandified individual,—if I may use the phrase,—who wears a sash, but no orders; his right hand rests upon his hip, and his left holds an open scroll," Constitution of 1848." It is Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, President of the French Republic, born at Paris in 1808. He had quite a history before and after he was forty. What are the politics of this family of Lesmontagnes, once Bonapartist, now republican? I remember how one of my Irish friends has told of the caution which young men who are friends, and desire to remain so, must use in his native land when one of them is Protestant and the other Catholic, and how they must never discuss politics nor religion; and, as I desire to remain friendly with the people here, I wish to try and do the same. I am sincerely glad to have obtained this place, which suits me admirably. These people impress me as very truthful.

I go into the chapel to-day. It stands in one corner of the garden, and the floor is level with the ground, or nearly so. The walls are painted with Scripture scenes,-old paintings retouched, and not elegant. There is, too, an ornamented altar or shrine; and in the window, a fragmentary inscription tells that a young branch of the family of De Chambre made and caused to paint this chapel in 1693.

To-day I say something to madame about my being able to see myself in one of her pots, and this permits me to bring up the subject of a glass. She tells me that she has

a large one and will let me see it. Behold, it is an ancient one in her room, about fifteen inches by two feet in size, having a narrow gilt frame, and set in the woodwork of the chimney-piece or partition. Madame lends me for my room a very small one, which I have unless some one else wants it.

On our walk yesterday we picked up a few of the edible snails, and Mrs. L. is so good as to fry them for me. I may safely say that they do not equal fried oysters. They are tough. In the spring-time you can gather a basketful along the lanes, beneath the vineyards, and among the vines and under the cabbages, for they love cabbage much.

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This afternoon we have a delightful walk, climbing a hill near the house, whence we can see a number of villages and the town of R., where I left the railroad. On our way to the hill we find a little party from the village out tasting the country." One says that they are keeping up the fête of last Sunday and Monday. They have at least one bottle in their basket. Among them is a young man, who, as Pierre tells me, is from Paris, and is at home for the fête. He is coachman, Pierre adds, in a family where his father and mother were before him; and I can judge whether it is a rich family when the mangers are of marble and the stop-cocks of silver!

Climbing the hill, we come to a region of small pines,— a spot never cultivated. Close by are quantities of ferns, intermingled with the purple foxglove, which grows wild and fine. When partly up the hill we hear singing, and Pierre tells me that it is a shepherdess; and there she is near the top, with a pair of goats and several cows and calves. She has her knitting, and is very clean and tidy, except that her sack has a few cherry-stains. She has been up here since three or four in the afternoon, and is to stay

until nightfall; but she comes down when we do. Pierre talks patois with her. She belongs to a family of their good neighbors. I cannot persuade her to sing again, but she joins us and helps Pierre to pick huckleberries for me. They are growing thickly here, but are very low, and are more acid than ours. She also helps to pick flowers, and when she puts them into my bag cries out, and wants to throw away the caterpillars-les chenilles, as she calls the insects that I am preserving, and that are eating a plant. She gives me a little flower that she calls Polygale, and Pierre calls the foxglove, Digitale. Somehow we get to talking about the dancing on Sunday, and one or both of them say that it would be no use for their curé, or parish priest, to talk to them about not dancing on Sunday, for they would not mind him. I speak to them of a strict sect that we have at home, opposed to music and dancing, and we speak of the Sabbath of the Jews. One or both of them think that the Catholic is the least severe religion. Speaking of Jews, Pierre says that at Besançon there is a very elegant synagogue; and again I have the feeling of our being put upon a level with Jews, or below them. Coming down the hill, I say to Pierre that it seems best not to discuss religious differences. He tells me that his young brother Henri took the prize at the examination, of which I have before noticed the certificate. He adds that there were eleven applicants from their township, and only four passed. There was no girl among the applicants. However, from the next township a girl passed,-the daughter of the teacher. He can take me to visit their own school, which is congreganist, not laic,-that is, it is taught by the clergy. He tells me that these school examinations began two or three years after the fall of the Empire, but not immediately, because for a while every

thing was in confusion at that time. They are not held in every town, but picked scholars go up for examination.

Coming down we pass the house of the shepherdess, and see where vines have been planted with much labor. The ground has been deeply turned, and stone has come to the surface, which has been broken rather coarser, I judge, than for macadamizing. Farther down this stony bit ceases, and the ground looks better; but Pierre tells me that stony ground suits the vine. Cabbages, beans, and pumpkins are planted in the same ground, the vines being as yet very small. As we go home, Pierre points out to me the cattle belonging to their farm, which are pasturing at a distance; while near the house the little cousin is tending our own cow, goat, and sheep. I ask him whether the farmer can put by something every year. Yes, he can; and he can lend it in the neighborhood at five per cent., or he can buy government securities at about four and a half.

When we get home supper is ready, and I find myself very happy among these people. Among other things at supper I have a bowl of vermicelli, boiled in water, and milk and butter added; also some of those fine cherries, gathered apparently on my account. When I am requested to say what I would like, I speak about our eating butter on bread, but madame says that she has only one cow now, and churns about once a fortnight. They have for their supper a soup made of some peas and bits of bread, and, I believe, butter. When they have not meat in their soup they put in butter or lard,-graisse. Here let me add that before I leave, Mrs. L. gives me butter for my bread. At supper I drink piquette, which is a slightly acid and not a disagreeable drink. A difficulty arises in the mind of Henri, the youngest son, as to how they are going to sell wine if every one gives up drinking it.

Friday, July 5th.—Madame asks me this morning whether I am willing to take a meagre or lenten dinner, as they are Catholics. I say, "Oh, yes!" and Pierre afterwards invites me to go and see him take carp. He has let the water out of the pool where they keep the largest, but he still has some difficulty in getting them out of the mud and the little water that remains. Our dinner is very far from being a slender one. Pierre and I again take it together in the dining-room, but other meals we eat in the kitchen. We dine first upon an excellent omelet, much larger than some I saw at Paris, and dressed with a quantity of butter; then come carp,-one for me and one for him,-fresh from the water, sweet, fried in oil; and we have quite a variety at dessert. Here we have small plates with pictures on them. One is of a woman in a fancy dress, putting her arms around the neck of an astonished individual; while another man, in a harlequin dress and with a half mask, stands by. We also see the backs of two sober individuals, a man and a woman, who are walking away. Beneath is printed, "Sir, you inspire me with confidence; save me from the dangers that threaten my virtue at the masked ball; take me away quickly." "To your parents?" "No; to the restaurant." I tell Pierre, who is at the table with me, that we can let young ladies ride with young gentlemen, but that we do not have such things as these in decent houses. He says that they have some that are worse, and hastens to bring them. He adds that they use them, unless the curé is there, and that the people laugh at them. But when madame comes in she says that she would not have bought them if she had seen what they were.

To-day Pierre and I have a great deal of conversation, he being assigned to me as a companion or guide. Their farm is divided in this manner: in vines, ten acres; in