French of J. Grange, by Th. Xr. K.

There still subsist, in certain provinces of France, old religious
customs which are full of charming simplicity. May they endure and ever
hold out against the icy breath of skepticism, the cold rules of the
beautiful, and the wearisome level of uniformity.

In the churches of Limousin, between Christmas and the Purification, is
found a rustic monument called crib. The crib is generally a straw hut,
thatched with branches of holly and pine; on these branches are
scattered little patches of white wadding, which look like snowflakes.
Inside the house, on a bed of straw, lies an Infant Jesus made of wax.
All these Infants look alike and are charming; they have blond hair,
blue eyes, pink cheeks, and a silk or brocade gown, with gold and silver
spangles. To the right of the Child is the Blessed Virgin; to the left,
St. Joseph. These are of wax or even of colored pasteboard. A little
behind the Holy Family, and forming two distinct groups, may be seen the
kings and the shepherds. The shepherds are like peasants of that part of
the country, with long hair, big felt hats, and blue drugget vests. Most
of them carry in their hands, or in baskets, dairy or farm
presents,--fruits, eggs, honey-comb, a pair of doves. As for the kings,
they are superbly clothed in long gowns, whose trail is carried by
dwarfs. One of them, called the king of Ethiopia, is black and has kinky
hair.

In certain cribs, simplicity and exactness are pushed to such lengths,
as to represent the ox and the ass, with the rack full of hay. There may
be also seen, but less frequently, in the kings' group, camels and
dromedaries, covered with rich harness, and led by the bridle by slaves.
If you want to do things right and leave nothing out, you must skilfully
arrange above the crib a yellow-colored glass in which burns a flame,
which represents the star that the Magi perceived and which stopped over
the grotto at Bethlehem. Candles and tapers burn before the crib, which
is surrounded by some pious women, and a number of children, who never
grow weary of admiring the Holy Family and its brilliant retinue.

I was one day in a church where there was one of these cribs. I was
hidden by a column and was a witness, without any wish of mine, of the
impressions which the little monument made on visitors.

A gentleman, a stranger in the locality, entered the church with a young
lady, about eighteen years of age, who seemed to be hi