, though much shorn of its ancient
revelry, and neglected, _la fete du village_ is still kept up, for it
is, so to speak, indigenous,--a part of our social habits, and like
everything which carries within it a generous sentiment, is loved and
cherished by the people. As the day approaches every village is suitably
decorated, the women are all on the tip toe of excitement to see and be
seen, the peasant throws dull care behind him, and the artizans in the
nearest town work with renewed energy in order that they may do honour
to the occasion. Every one, in short, makes his way to the rendezvous, a
merry laugh on his lip and joy in his heart, and, lost in the tumult and
general gaiety that prevail, all forget, for some few hours, their hard
work and privations.

These festivals offer to each either profit or amusement; the peasants
find in them a refreshing and salutary rest from toil, the tradesman
fails not to fill his pockets with their hard earnings, the clown shows
off his summersets, the young men are touched with the tender passion,
and the young girls, with their white teeth and sparkling eyes, await
with feigned indifference the proposals of their admirers. The village
_fete_ forms a bright epoch in rustic life, and the gay hours passed at
them are the happiest, the most joyous, and the most enchanting of the
year.

Our ancestors, who knew and more thoroughly understood these matters
than we do, who loved a laugh, the dance, and the merry outpourings of
the heart, endeavoured by every means in their power to multiply them,
and, after having seized upon the name of every saint in paradise, they
managed to appropriate, and always for the same motive, all the various
occupations known in the cultivation of the fields as a good excuse for
holding more of these saturnalia. The season for sowing was one, the
hay-harvest another, the wheat-harvest, the period of felling the oaks
in the forest were excellent opportunities for establishing a new
_fete_, and consequently buying a new coat, singing a carol, drinking to
France, and skipping _des Rigodons_. For, be it said, one really does
amuse oneself in my beautiful country; yes, one amuses oneself, perhaps,
much more than one works; there are more Casinos built than acres
grubbed up, and is not this partly the reason why the land is so badly
tilled and produces only one half of what it should. But what signifies
it, after all, if this half is sufficient for us. England, t