had brought down my new Erard.

Sometimes a country wedding passed, and that was always a pretty
sight. A marriage is always an important affair in France in every
class of life. There are long discussions with all the members of the
two families. The curé, the notary, the patron (if the young man is a
workman), are all consulted, and there are as many negotiations and
agreements in the most humble families as in the grand monde of the
Faubourg St. Germain. Almost all French parents give a dot of some
kind to their children, and whatever the sum is, either five hundred
francs or two thousand, it is always scrupulously paid over to the
notary. The wedding-day is a long one. After the religious ceremony in
the church, all the wedding party--members of the two families and a
certain number of friends--adjourn to the hotel of the little town for
a breakfast, which is long and most abundant. Then comes the crowning
glory of the day--a country walk along the dusty highroad to some wood
or meadow where they can spend the whole afternoon. It is pretty to
see the little procession trudging along--the bride in all her wedding
garments, white dress, white shoes, wreath, and veil; the groom in a
dress coat, top-hat, white cravat and waistcoat, with a white ribbon
bow on his sleeve. Almost all the girls and young women are dressed in
white or light colours; the mothers and grandmothers (the whole family
turns out) in black with flowers in their bonnets. There is usually a
fiddler walking ahead making most remarkable sounds on his old cracked
instrument, and the younger members of the party take an occasional
gallop along the road. They are generally very gay; there is much
laughing, and from time to time a burst of song. It is always a
mystery to me how the bride keeps her dress and petticoat so clean,
but she does, with that extraordinary knack all Frenchwomen seem to
have of holding up their skirts. They passed often under the wall of