of this family have been to that great city: the proportion of French people who have visited their capital is not great.

I further understand from what Mrs. L. says that if men here do whip their wives, if the women have domestic troubles, they do not complain of their husbands to the judge of peace and have them bound over. This justice of the peace lives in the cantonal town of St. Jean. He gives an audience every Monday. The principal troubles are about boundary-lines,-there being no fences,-and about water in the ditches to water the meadows.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Sunday, July 7th.-This is the second Sunday of the festival of St. Peter, or our village fête. There are three masses this morning, the last at ten o'clock.

I observe the church-bells much more than those who have always heard them. The church is in the village, about a mile off, and at evening we hear the Angelus. In the early morning, before five, our church-bell can be heard, as well as that of the next village, and our chimes sound on Saturday evening. These awake enthusiasm in me, but none in the people here. They have rung under republic, king, emperor, republic. But many of the church-bells were broken and the churches demolished in ""93." Was it because then patriotism was stronger than the sentiment of religion? or was it because the ministers of their religion were joined with the nobility to bring in foreign armies? For three years the churches were closed.

I remarked lately before Mrs. Lesmontagnes that our government does not support churches, but that we let all those who believe in these different religions pay for their support. This appears to produce an argument in patois between madame and her eldest son; and I have thought that it sounded brutal to her, as it would to me, to hear an Englishman say, "I don't believe in the government's supporting schools; let every one who wants education pay for it." I am very fearful of a religious discussion with Mrs. L., but when I have a good opportunity I ask Pierre what was the subject. He tells me that his mother said, "Now you see that what said was true when he sent here to raise money to build a church in America." Habitually the family speak patois,—or jargouin, as they call it, but to me they speak good French. I suppose that the patois is easier from not having so many difficult grammatical forms. And there are generally enough words that I understand for me to catch the subject.

Last evening Toinette combed and braided Mrs. L.'s hair, as if to be ready for early mass this morning. Madame has black hair, and wears a thick white cap. Were it not for the ruffle on her cap, her little ear-rings, and her slender wedding-ring, she might pass for one of the plain "Dutch" women among whom I live in Pennsylvania; and in character she is not unlike them, in her industry and economy. They, however, are very Protestant,-descendants often of Swiss Anabaptists. Mrs. Lesmontagnes walked over to early mass, and later in the morning she had Henri, the youngest, to go, and the little niece. Toinette went also; so that madame was working alone for a while at the Sunday dinner, a much better meal for them than the week-day one.

At the breakfast-table they did not scruple to speak of the

father of Jeanette, their little cousin,-how he was abrutit, or so brutalized that he would drink three weeks without eating. This, however, is brought up as an argument that wine is nourishing. On the same point, one of them had before maintained that those eat less who drink wine, telling me that mountaineers who have no wine eat half as much again; but I turn the point the other way, that those who do not drink wine have a better appetite. I ask them whether those mountaineers are not strong and hardy, and it is granted that they are. To-day, Henri, the youngest, maintains that those who do not drink wine have not so much vigor; they may have as much strength, but they are not so active. "Oh, madame, when one drinks wine, that makes one lively and active!" he says. He is quite handsome, and looks very well to-day when I see him, perhaps for the first time, without his hat. On the question of strength, I tell him that I should like to have them tried with some of our harvest-hands at home that do not use intoxicating drink. They tell me that most men cannot drink for three weeks, as little Jeanette's father did, for they have not the means; but they can drink for several days, until they have spent all their money, and then sleep and go to work. Madame afterwards tells me that her brother-in-law did not waste his means by drunkenness ; he knew well how to manage when he was not drunk, but his drunkenness caused his death. His legs swelled, and if he had wounds they did not heal. They have told me that there is a family here where both the father and mother get drunk, and they have a little one. does she do," I ask, "when both are drunk?" to the neighbors to get something to eat." before told me that there is not the want here that there is at Paris; for if any persons in the village are in need, one

"And what

"She goes

Madame has

takes one thing and another takes another, until they are well supplied.

The weather has been much cooler here than I anticipated, but this Sunday morning the warm air, the smell of the vines in blossom, with the sound of the church-bell, are pleasant. The farmer's mother comes over, and wants me to sit down, and takes a seat herself, for a little gossip with us. She wants to know again from Mrs. L. whether America is a part of France. She says that I am thin, and I reprove her for not being complimentary. She offers me a pinch of snuff, and seems to be somewhat troubled at my not wearing a cap. She is a mountaineer from a neighboring department.

66

While the sons are away to-day, I ask Mrs. Lesmontagnes for whom they vote. She replies that they vote for deputies, but cannot be sure about senators. I ask whether I cannot inquire at the farmer's. No," she answers; "they are ignorant. When it is time to vote, my sons have to tell them who are the republicans." She shrugs her shoulders, and adds, "It is not possible to get information there." There are a brother-in-law and two sons in the family, none of whom can both read and write,—nor can Toinette, our hired girl,-and yet Mrs. L. speaks of them as desirable persons, and says that the farmer can put by something every year.

Towards dinner-time I go out upon the front porch, and find seated there, back to the court-yard and facing the house, a true specimen of the genus loafer, with grizzly beard and red face. He has a large piece of brioche, or plain cake, a glass, and a pitcher of wine. I ask Mrs. L. why she gave him wine, knowing that they are choice of it. "He asked for it," she replies. "He did not ask for bread." "But why did you not put water into it?" "He

would not have drunk it." "But why, when he looks like a drinking man, did you give him wine?" "To get rid of him. He will drink all that." She was alone; but soon I hear the voice of little Jeanette, who has got back from church. The drunkard is a man they know. He came here once when they were shifting the wine, and drank fourteen small tumblers, having before drunk a quart at the farmer's. If he had been drunk now, they say that he would not have eaten bread: he would only drink wine from place to place. It surprises me to hear how freely they speak of him in his hearing.

Being Sunday, we have a feast at dinner; and, what is more remarkable, Mrs. D. and one of the younger sons who is at home come into the dining-room to eat with Pierre and me. First, Mrs. L. has a potage of vermicelli; second, boiled beef and carrots; third, stewed cabbage, with two young pigeons taken off of the nest; fourth, a chicken, --the abominable woman taking the head and neck for herself. She had before spoken of liking the gizzard, but she does not get it. Then we have some sweet cakes and cherries for me,-I do not think they care a great deal about this fruit,—and then there is black coffee and rum.

"Oh,

We are going to the village fête. The dancing does not begin until five in the afternoon, and ceases at midnight. Perhaps we had a greater dinner because this is the festival day. We are going to leave only little Jeanette in the house. But what about that man who was here? there is no danger of him," says Mrs. L. "He would never do any harm. I have seen him drunk fifty times. I have seen him lying in the middle of the road. But he would never hurt anybody, you see." His profession is repairing clocks and watches.

Having a private opportunity, I ask Pierre what he and