his mother were saying lately about the Virgin of Lourdes. He explains thus: last Sunday was their village festival,being the feast of St. Peter, their patron. It was also one of the movable feasts of the Church,-the feast of God, or the feast of the holy sacrament. It was really the second Sunday of the feast of the sacrament, and the first Sunday of the village festival, to-day being the second. It appears that the curé, or priest, did not want to go through the village last Sunday with his procession and pass by the preparations for the other festival, so he went in another direction, down by the pretty brook; and one of the reposoirs, or places where the sacrament rested, was a representative of Our Lady of Lourdes, which some man in the village had got up.

Mrs. Lesmontagnes accompanies me part-way this afternoon, but does not go into the village to the fête. She says nothing about it; but perhaps she is too serious. She takes me to her sister's, and her sister takes me to the village. Mrs. L. and I meet two or three nuns, who are out taking a quiet walk. She says that they would not go through the village on a fête-day: they would rather walk to one side.

At her sister's we find guests. The son, who is a soldier at Romilies, has come over to the festival with three of his fellow-soldiers. The dinner-table is not yet cleared, and the sister, Madame A., insists on my taking something. Will I not take coffee, or spirits of peppermint,-alcohol à menthe? At last, to get clear, I take some wine and water, and then our two hosts and Mrs. Lesmontagnes and I all touch glasses. As Mr. A. (the brother-in-law), and Mrs. A., and I are going to the village, we see people at work in the field at the hay. I notice it; and Mr. A.—he whose brother is a curé-speaks against such things being done on Sunday. His manner is not methodistical; it is

more like reproof, mingled with a sense of greater importance. It could not have been from ideas concerning the Lord's day, like those of most Protestants, or he would not have gone to the village fête. When we arrive at the village, the most remarkable thing about the fête is its entire want of religious character; another remarkable thing is that the gens d'armes shut the restaurants at midnight. These doubtless are those soldiers from our cantonal town of whom I have lately spoken. This fête makes me think worse of the people, partly because it is so puerile. Mrs. A. takes me to see the sights; Mr. A. doubtless finds friends at one of the restaurants, or in some of the private houses, as private persons in the village generally keep open house for their friends during the festival. One of the first things that we visit is the lotteries. Mrs. A. calls my attention to the "beautiful things" exposed at one of these booths, which things are mostly of earthenware and glass; there are spoons too, and in one a French clock. The second one I think more magnificent. Here is an upright wheel of fortune, and the woman in charge is giving out cards; price, two sous, I believe. When ready, she gives her wheel a turn or two, and proclaims the winning number, and then a rustic comes up closer and receives a neat pair of candlesticks; they look like plated ware, but are clumsy; are they not glass prepared in some way? At the third lottery booth, the things to be raffled for are on revolving tables. At the most beautiful one you have to pay ten sous for a chance, and there are more chances of gaining, and if you happen to get that little flag on the edge, you may make your own choice. When we arrive. here, the woman in charge whispers to Mrs. A.; I suspect that she wants her to get me to take something. Mrs. A. calls my attention to the elegance of a basin and

pitcher on the summit of one of the piles; they are larger than those in my room at Mrs. Lesmontagnes', and I tell her that it would not be convenient for me to take them to America, which she is quite ready to grant.

One of the first things that I notice at the fête is the riding-house of the wooden horse,―manège du cheval de bois. In the centre of a canopy is an upright post, from which branch out arms, each supporting one or two little wooden horses. On these children are seated. In the centre a horse plods around, and causes the whole to revolve. Mrs. A. says that the horse is blinded, so that his head shall not be turned. In the middle, a man is making music in some manner, and I sympathize with a little girl who is sitting up to a large drum and beating it with her lean arms. I wonder how many hours she has got to beat. Before some of the restaurants groves have been improvised by sticking up pine branches; before another men are drinking in the open air,-wine! wine! red wine! They do not appear to make white wine here. Then there are two dancing-floors in the village, like ours at picnics. I go to one where they are waltzing, and I believe that they have the identical brass band of three pieces that I saw at the wedding in the restaurant. There is one little. room, opposite to the tobacco-office, where a piper or player on the flageolet seems to be playing for what he is paid on the spot; he is a jolly-looking individual of about sixty. There he pipes away, while some of the elderly people dance La Bourrée, an old French dance, very simple. There is one very tidy woman, in a white cap, with a good dark skin, and nose somewhat aquiline, who dances abundantly. When she has done, her partners generally kiss her on both cheeks, for this seems to be the rule of the dance. There is here an animation more interesting to me than the ever

lasting waltzes and polkas, if such they are, in the more fashionable dancing-floors. I see the woman mentioned dance three times or more. I should have been pleased with her, although so much absorbed in her dancing, if I had not afterwards heard that she could drink a good cup. She is about fifty.

These stone-paved streets are nearly destitute of sidewalks. We meet a quantity of people, mostly simple folks like ourselves. But here are three or four gentlemen abreast,-persons of importance; one is the notary. I do not think that the ladies come. It looks strange, in the midst of the festival, to see a man driving through the street with a load of wood; it contrasts much with the holiday-time.

Pierre afterwards tells me events of the previous Monday, the second day of the festival.

The young men of this commune raised a subscription to pay the expenses of the banquet on Monday, the music, and the fireworks. At nine on Monday morning they go on foot to all the principal houses of the commune or township, carrying brioches, or great cakes like crowns, made with flour, butter, and eggs, but without sugar. They are accompanied by all the musicians, and at every house they give a little serenade and a brioche. The least that they receive at any house is five francs; Monsieur du Soleil, -Count du Soleil,-who has a grand house upon the hill in this township, gives every year fifty francs, and sometimes they take him a Savoy cake, which is richer. Generally eight hundred francs are raised, but this year only four hundred. By one o'clock they are back at the village for the banquet, the tables being set in a restaurant or on a dancing-floor. From twenty to one hundred and twenty young men partake; the number depends on their having

been united if they have had no disagreement concerning the fête or other matters there may be one hundred and twenty at table. The parents of the young ladies do not allow them to be there; that is not good manners.

The young men, having selected a suitable spot, went out to fire at a mark, the prizes being foulard neckerchiefs. Another of the games of Monday was firing with the cross-bow at a row of pipes, at one sou a time. He who broke one of the pipes gained a pipe or a cigar. Pierre says that he gained every time, and then the merchant begged him not to fire any more, as there are generally three who miss to one who hits. There is one game which I here request all French republicans to discontinue. Let not republican Frenchmen at the close of the nineteenth century hang up a live goose for young men to ride under and see which will first get the head. But Pierre says that sometimes it is a dead bird.*

This Sunday evening Toinette, the domestic, goes off to the fête in spite of Mrs. L.'s remonstrance. She had told me that she thought she would not dance, as her father is dead; and I see that she wears black. But she says something to Mrs. Lesmontagnes about wanting to try the lottery; and it is strongly suspected also that she danced. She gets back about one in the morning with a party composed of Charles Lesmontagnes, the farmer or his brother, and their servant and her brother. Henri Lesmontagnes, the youngest, came home earlier. The wooden horses were

* While revising this manuscript for publication, I see an account of a chicken-fight in Virginia at which persons from Pennsylvania assisted.