I have remarked how little the people travel. There is a railroad about a mile and a quarter from here, but a large proportion of grown persons in this village have never been in a car: they are afraid. The greater part of the women here say three-quarters-have never been farther than the neighboring city, about six miles off. There is more movement among the men, because some of them are merchants who sell things; but there are men here, too, who have never been farther than that city. By the railroad just mentioned they can go there, but it costs nineteen sous; and those who have vehicles would rather ride, and those who have none would rather walk. The roads here are generally very good; one person is constantly employed to work on them, and he can always demand aid when necessary. In all the communes every man from eighteen to sixty must make three days' work upon the roads or furnish money, having made a declaration. Those who have horses and wagons are also obliged to furnish them for three days. At Lisle, the chief city of this department, there is a chief road-inspector. Another principal inspector is at the chief town of our arrondissement; and in the third place, there is a road-inspector in our cantonal town. These attend to constructing and repairing roads. The brewer, the sugar-manufacturer, the maker of tiles for roofs. and floors, the coal-merchant, is asked what he is carrying, and how much, and this is reported to the inspector of the canton. At the end of the year the merchant is charged for this transportation, and this is called industrial subsidy. When I express to Mr. Salmier my surprise at this regulation, he says in his open, clear manner, "You are not administered in America as France is; it is not possible." I rejoin that one of our great men said that the world is governed too much; and that we have another

saying of which I often think,-that "eternal vigilance is the price of liberty;" adding, "If you want to keep yours, you must be always upon the watch, and not allow coups d'état." Perhaps it would have been more pertinent to ask whether merchants are not public benefactors, and therefore entitled to a free passage; and whether octrois and such restrictions. upon trade are judicious.

The garde champêtre has been in at Mr. Salmier's wearing his blouse; but one hundred and forty-two francs have been voted to get him a new uniform. He is the field-guard, on a salary of six hundred francs; but he has also perquisites, as when he beats a saucepan and cries a sale, or announces the coming of a butcher with meat, or a hog-merchant. There is one of these guards, I am told, in every commune, and in the larger ones two. The duty of this guard is to watch the harvests and see that they are not stolen. He also makes a round of all the drinking-places at ten o'clock on Sundays and fête-days, at which hour he sounds the retreat on the church-bell; after that, if he finds drinkers in the restaurants or disorderly persons on the streets, he draws up against them a procès-verbal and signs it, and the mayor certifies it, and sends it to be registered, and then the receiver of registration sends it to another officer,-the huissier, -who cites the offender to appear before the magistrate or judge of peace.

This is a republican district, but, not long since, a Bonapartist was elected to the Chamber of Deputies. The republicans, it is said, were not rich enough or were not willing to offer themselves, as an election costs about twenty thousand dollars, for handbills, for distributing ballots, etc.

Although this is the most northerly department of France, yet a deputy elected here in the fall of 1877 was from the Oriental Pyrenees, in the extreme south. Candidates generally make a profession of political faith, and that of this person had also affixed the name of MacMahon, the candidate being a Bonapartist. He was elected, but he was set aside in the chamber on account of having used too much. pression, or persuasion: he had flattered the people too much. He went into the houses of workingmen and asked them how much they earned a day by weaving, and when they perhaps answered twenty or thirty sous, "But if I am elected," he said, "I promise you ten francs a day."

"And did they believe him?" I ask of Mr. Salmier. "Yes; and instead of gaining they lost, as their republican employer took away their work because they did not vote for him." Funny France! And when the Pyrenees gentleman was set aside, then this republican candidate, who is a great manufacturer in this department, was elected by more than four thousand majority. Mr. and Mrs. Salmier think that the laboring-man should support his employer. She says that they are ignorant people, who do not know how to read and write. But is it strange that a man who earns only twenty-five cents a day should have ignorant children?* So far I have spoken of the agricultural population, but this is one of the most celebrated manufacturing districts in the world. At Cambray is a statue of Batiste, from whom the French batiste, or linen cambric, derives its name. I have thought that our word cambric

* By the census of 1872, there were in the department above described, of persons over six years of age, fully thirty-six in a hundred who did not know how to read or write. By the census of 1870, there were in Pennsylvania, of persons ten years old and upward, less than four in a hundred who could not read.

comes from Cambrai. And who has not heard of Lisle I need scarcely mention for what Valenciennes

thread?
is celebrated.

CHAPTER XXIII.

sup

I HAVE said that Mr. Salmier, with whom I board, belongs to the fabric of the church. I suppose that the English would call him a church-warden. The curé and the mayor are by right members of the vestry, then there are five more, three named by the bishop (but here by the archbishop of Cambray), and two by the prefect or governor of the department. Thus church and state are both represented. However, the archbishop and the prefect are not to be posed to know the people of all the little communes, and so the three appointed by the archbishop are proposed by the curé, and the two named by the prefect are proposed by the mayor. (All the church-wardens here are republican except one; but they were named under the Empire, when there was no question of a republic.) The money for paying the expenses of the church is obtained by the chairs in the church; some of these chair-rights are twenty-seven sous a year, some thirty-two, and some forty. The vestry gets part of the expenses of funerals, and six sous on masses chanted through the week. The money received by the vestry is expended in ornaments, candles, incense, and wine for the curé in the masses,—the wine costing forty francs yearly. The vestry pays also for all repairs in the interior of the church, the government paying for the outside; but the vestry does not furnish fuel, for they have no fire in

the winter. "Is it not very cold in winter?" I ask. “Yes; as for me, I do not go to mass when it is cold: I cannot," says Mr. Salmier. "I should think the curé would get sick," I say. "Oh, no; they are more hardy than we: they are ten years in the seminary without fire." "They have fire in the rooms in which they recite ?" I ask.

to do the cooking.”

"No; only fire

Mr. Salmier tells me that he once visited a Protestant temple, and that everybody sang and nobody talked. I do not understand what he means by the last part of the remark; but he explains that in their church the men talk. The women have chairs and do not converse, but the men stand back of them and talk, and the curé says nothing about it. Also, some of the men stand outside and talk loud enough to be heard within. Not more than half the men go to church. In summer they continue their work in the fields, and the weaver takes Sunday to cultivate his truck-patch. Of the men that do go, one-half leave when the mass is over, and do not wait to hear the sermon. A person in the village speaks thus to me: "In winter, when the curé comes down from the altar and goes into his cask- "What?" I inquire, in surprise. "Chair of truth. Don't you know what that is, the chair of truth?" Of course he means the pulpit. "When he goes into his chair the men, or at least half of them, go to the tavern. In summer they have not time,—they go into the fields to work. Perhaps those men who go to the tavern will come back when the preaching is done. The curé is not a good speaker: he tells things we all know."

At home, in townships containing from seven hundred to two thousand people, we should have more than one church. But more than one does not seem to be wanted in