its old-days air and habits, for wedding and baptismal parties to walk
in procession through the streets from the house to the church and back
again. Pere Abelard used to head the procession, playing on his violin.
There has been but one event of that kind since I came, and I am afraid
it will be the last. That was for the baptism of the first grandchild
of a French officer who had married a woman born in this commune, and
the older members of the family had a desire to keep up the old
traditions. The church is at Quincy, just a step off the route
nationale to Meaux. Pere walked ahead,--he could not be accused of
marching,--fiddling away for dear life. The pretty young godmother
carried the baby, in its wonderful christening finery, walking between
the grandmother and the father, and the guests, all in their gayest
clothes, followed on as they liked behind, all stepping out a little on
account of the fiddle ahead. They came back from the church in the
same way, only father carried the baby, and the godmother scattered her
largesse among the village children.

It is a pity that such pretty customs die out. Wedding parties must
have looked so attractive going along these country roads. The fashion
that has replaced it is unattractive. To-day they think it much more
chic to hire a big barge and drive down to Esbly and have a rousing
breakfast and dance in the big hall which every country hotel has for
such festivities. Such changes are in the spirit of the times, so I
suppose one must not complain. I should not if people were any happier,
but I cannot see that they are. However, I suppose that will come when
the Republic is older. The responsibility which that has put on the
people has made them more serious than they used to be.

I don't blame you for laughing at the idea of me in a donkey cart. You
would laugh harder if you could see the cart and me. I do look droll.