An old college friend invited me to pass last autumn with him at Arbigny, a small village about a league distant from Pont-de-Vaux. The situation of his estate was picturesque and rural in the extreme, but to my taste far too secluded. The inmates of the castle consisted of my friend, his wife, and two ladies on a visit. The country has no great charms for me; and the monotonous life we led, caused my time to hang heavily on my hands, so that I soon sighed for the society and brilliant reunions of our gay city of Paris. As a pastime, I bethought me of making love. Two were married, but the prettiest was free from incumbrance, and might have been an agreeable companion, had she not had an intolerable habit of laughing, which was wearisome beyond measure it had become a passion, a sort of mania with her; at breakfast, dinner, riding, walking, the most insignificant gesture, or unmeaning word; the simple "utterance of good night," or "good morning;" the accidental flitting of a bird; the spring of the grasshopper across her path, whatever happened, created violent and frequent fits of laughter. Whilst standing one morning at my chamber" window, I saw a young girl enter the castle-yard carrying a pitcher, to fill it at a well situated in an adjacent meadow. She was a brunette of about twenty, with piercing black eyes, and a complexion in which the piony certainly preponderated over the lily and the rose, and a figure as broad as she was long. Her picturesque costume of blue cloth was ornamented with crimson ribbons fringed with silver; and her tiny hat with its floating ribbons was placed over one ear, as if it had fallen there by accident. Although I could neither fancy her a Ruth nor a Rachel, still in a country where the women wear their waists just beneath their shoulder-bones, and shade with these baby hats their enormous faces, which are as broad as pumpkins, I thought her sufficiently charming to enable me to pass an hour agreeably.

One morning I approached my little
In the department of Ain, at the foot of

Mount Jura.

heroine as she was about to draw water from the well; and as I have often found the success of a well-placed compliment upon a pretty woman, I lauded the brilliancy of her eyes, and becoming costume: this, as it flattered her vanity, was tolerably well received. Unfortunately, however, I was tempted to push my curiosity too far. Wishing to ascertain the texture of the ribbon to which a gold cross was suspended from her neck; I had scarcely touched it, ere I received a blow in the face, which made the blood flow copiously from my nose, and sent me reeling backwards several paces. How fortunate that we were alone, for had my laughing damsel been present, her risible faculties would have been beyond measure excited. I judged it the most prudent plan to sound a retreat. I, however, still affected to laugh, telling her that she displayed a little too much vivacity in her mode of salutation. She instantly raised her pitcher upon her head without assistance, and departed, muttering as she went along, "Have you not had enough! or will you try it again?" At breakfast I inquired the name of my charmer, taking good care not to allude to her extraordinary prowess. My friend, who was lord of the manor, told me she was the only daughter of one of his tenants, a farmer, of the name of Grand, and that Margaret was the affianced bride of William Brulard, the son of another tenant; that their marriage was to take place the following morning, and that it would be a sight well worth the attention of a stranger, as the manners and customs of the middle ages were still preserved in that part of the country on these occasions.

"This village," said he, "was originally a colony founded by the Saracens, after their defeat in the plains of Tours, by Charles Martel. Indelible characters mark it on the countenances of the inhabitants, although their manners and characters may have undergone a change, during long intercourse with the inhabitants of other parts."

At ten o'clock the following morning the marriage ceremony commenced. Voices were heard without; farmers de

m nding admittance into the court-yard of the castle. The great gates were accordingly thrown open, and the processions preceded by a most discordant band of musicians, consisting of hurdygurdies, bagpipes, and squeaking clarionets. Foremost was Farmer Grand, leading his daughter by the hand, attired in the ancient Bresson costume; the former with his jacket and culotte-courte of white velveteen; the red, long-flapped waistcoat, with its immense buttons made of bone; the enormous three-cocked hat, that had seen nearly as many years as its aged proprietor; and the huge bunch of wildthyme, fastened with long red ribbons to the button-hole of his waistcoat. Margaret walked, with her eyes modestly cast downwards, the very personification of gentleness; she wore a robe like that in which I had previously seen her, of blue Bressian cloth, with crimson ribbons, ornamented in front with an apron of the changeable colour "Gorge de Pigeon:" placed over her ear was a tiny hat, ornamented with long black lace lappets, which floated over her shoulders; white cotton gloves covered her rustic, but well-formed hands; blue stockings, wove with red clocks, covered her feet; and her shoes were black, bound with crimson velvet. Next followed a whole tribe of relations-grandfathers and grandmothers, brothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins of the bride.

A second procession simultaneously entered at another gate-the party of the bridegroom, who himself was dressed in the costume of the present day. He wore loose trousers of blue velvet, short nunting jacket, with its double row of metal buttons, and its seams covered with gold braid, a broad red belt, long silver watch-chain, and a white cotton night cap, with the tassel thrown backwards. The latter is so generally adopted at the present day in Bourg-en-Bresse, and indeed throughout the department of Ain, that no male of the working or lower classes is without, excepting perhaps the very aged and infirm. The two groups drew up at about fifteen paces distaut, salutations commenced in true country fashion with the scrape of the foot, the leg thrown backwards, and the hat in hand. The dialogue began by the bride's father addressing the father of the young man

Farmer Grand-"What do you want?"

Farmer Brulard (twisting his cocked hat in his hand)-"I want you to deliver your daughter, Margaret Grand, to my son, William Brulard."

Farmer Grand-"Come forward."

There was some hesitation, neither party seeming inclined to take the first step. At length the two groups advanced at the same time.

Farmer Grand-"Have you much money?"

Farmer Brulard (thumping his waistcoat pocket to make the money jingle)-"We have as much money as you.'

Farmer Grand-"How much will you give your son William on the day of his marriage?'

Farmer Brulard-"I will give my son William, as much as you will give your daughter Margaret."

Farmer Grand-"I will lay five hundred silver crowns on the notary's table for my daughter, Margaret: and together with this dowry, a beau trousseau made expressly for her by her grandmother."

Farmer Brulard "I will give my son William, now before us, and taking a wife, my hemp field, valued by the surveyors at two thousand francs. I dispossess myself of it in his favour; and by act of notary renounce all right and title to it, both present and future."

Farmer Grand-" Will you take care of my poor little Margaret? Will you love her be kind to her? Will you make her happy? Do you promise all this before God, who sees and hears us, and before her family here assembled ?"

Farmer Brulard—“Will I take care of her! Better care than if she were my own. Shall we all love her! As we would the child of our bosoms: and William, will he love and make her happy! He promises it to God, to you, to me his father, and to both our families."

Farmer Grand (taking Margaret by the hand, turns her slowly round twice) "Ah! look at her! Is she not pretty and well-favoured, and good, and industrious, and modest? Saving the company's presence, she is as mild and gentle as the pet lamb of the flock she takes to graze upon the mountain." (I think I could answer for the truth of this assertion.)

can

During this dialogue, which scarcely be translated in all its sim

plicity, the blushing Margaret stood close by her father's side, her hands folded beneath her apron, scarcely daring to cast even a furtive glance towards her future husband. William, taking her by the hand, now advanced, and proceeded at the head of the now united processions, to the church where the marriage ceremony took place.

On their return to the court-yard, twelve village youths, friends of the bridegroom, entered, demanding to speak with Margaret they had brought her, as a present, a magnificent wedding gown of crimson cloth-but custom forbids that this gown should ever reach its destination; for twelve youths, friends of her family, lying in wait, rushed upon the bearers: a struggle ensued, and the side of victory was long doubtful: in the end, the dress was torn to shreds, and fixed on the top of a pole, when it was carried in triumph through the village by the bridegroom's friends, the victorious party.

In the evening, the interior of Grand's farm presented a most animated scene. Several hogsheads of wine were broached; whole quarters of beef, an entire calf, two sheep, geese, ducks, fowls, &c., were all to be seen roasting before an enormous kitchen fire. But the impatient guests actually tore the half-cooked provisions from the fire, in their eagerness to commence the delicious repast.

*

The dinner ended; Farmer Grand rose, and demanded silence. He apprized the company that, according to ancient usages, the bride would make a collection to defray part of the expenses of the nuptial banquet. Accordingly, Margaret, accompanied by the bridegroom's man, made the circuit of the tables. She presented a piece of gauffre and a glass of wine to each person, who in return dropped his offering into the purse. This ceremony ended, the musicians, stationed in an adjoining room, sent forth their discordant sounds. At that moment the bride was seized, carried away, and hid with the bridesmaid upon the roof of the house behind a large chimney, where the two damsels were left exposed to an inclement night atmosphere. This singular custom, handed down from time immemorial, is preserved unchanged in the present day; and the greater the difficulty in discovering the bride, the higher

* Gauffre, a kind of light paste cake. 3 D-VOL. VIII.-JUNE.

she is held in estimation by the inhabitants of the village.

Whilst the dancing continued, William was anxiously seeking his bride; at length, after more than two long hours, he discovered her nearly benumbed with cold.

Sometimes brides are hid in cellars, in empty casks, and in cauldrons: at other times under hay-ricks; in short, in the darkest and most impenetrable corners. It happened not long ago that a girl was concealed in an old chest, which was carefully closed: when her husband discovered her, after several hours, the poor girl was a corpse! Another time a handsome village youth married an ancient damsel, merely for her money; at night she was hid in a dark closet in the bedroom; instead, however, of looking for her, the husband retired very contentedly to bed. When the guests had departed, and the house was quiet, the lady perceiving the indifference of her lord and master, put out her head-" M. Jacquier," she said, "I lay you a wager you will not find me." 66 Probably not, Madame Jacquier," said her spouse, turning on the other side, and falling into a second sound slumber. The bride at length came to the wise determination of coming unsought out of her hiding-place.

As soon as William had discovered Margaret, he proposed conducting her to his paternal home: but there was another singular ceremony to be previously gone through. The bride had to proceed through every room in the farm-house, and to take the farewell of every object, animate and inanimate. She began in the kitchen, taking her apron between both hands to receive her tears, which flowed most abundantly.

"Farewell!" she said, "my chimney corner, in which I have so often sheltered my head young and happy days, when I sought refuge from rain and storm. Farewell my winter's evenings passed beside thy cheerful hearth! farewell my chair, my spinning wheel, my shovel, tongs, my frying-pan; farewell my table, my mirror, my bed where I have dreamed of my red-cow, my pretty sheep and lambs! farewell my cat, my faithful dog! alas! must I leave you all! my God! is it possible? farewell brother, farewell to thee father, and to thee my poor old grandmother who hath fostered my infant head! farewell! farewell! to all who have so long and kindly loved me !"