able and drinkable; monsieur the curé is already seated at the wedding table, with chairs for bride and bridegroom on either side of him. The exhausted but still noisy dancers flock eagerly about the board; it is amazing to see what wonderful morning appetites they have, and how soon the mass of good things disappears. Monsieur le Curé, under the influence of the punch and wine, grows astonishingly funny, is extremely gallant and attentive to the bride, and pledges everybody, even me the stranger guest. Then comes a loud noisy song, under the inspiration of which the dancers resume their places on the sward. This time it is another, and very different dance; you would think that, after the wine, it would be a wilder one than the first; no, it is a sedate movement, the faces of the dancers according with it. They separate into couples, and dance in a sort of procession, one behind the other; it is not unlike the fine old minute in Don Giovanni, only it has a rustic spice to it wanting in the stately aristocratic dance of our grandfathers. All day long alternate dancing, feasting, and singing is kept up, and still the marriage ceremonies are hardly begun.
The company separated a little before sundown, to unite again in front of the church soon after the grey light of twilight had thickened to darkness. The tents which had been erected were illuminated by a hundred waxen candle—and waxen candles, even in the chateaux of noblemen, are aristocratic in Britany. Within the tents were long tables, bounteously laden; without, large fires had been made, and there was every variety of cooking pot, and pitcher, and grill, and saucepan. The tent was, of course, that of the bridal party; and here, among others, were the curé, the doctor, the apothecary, the tailor, the postmaster, and myself. At the upper end of the tent was a little rudely constructed daïs, where the beaming Nannine sat; around her were gathered the favoured few, her intimates. Opposite, was the good fat curé, supported on either hand by a buxom rustic dame. When we had all taken our places at the festive board, I looked about for the bridegroom, Jacques, but could see him nowhere; presently, however, the reason was apparent. It is, on the occasion of "La Table de la Mariée," or "Bridal Feast," the custom that certain of the young men should act as butlers and cooks; these offices are assumed by the relatives and near friends of the bridegroom, and are posts of honour. The bridegroom himself performs the double function of chief cook and head butler; he himself is forbidden, by the law of tradition, to take a drop or morsel that night; it is his business to superintend the dishes intended for the bride, and to serve them up before her. So presently in he came with a huge platter, on which lay, in bounteous sauce, a portly turbot; this he deposited before the bride, who rose and bowed with smiling solemnity. Whereupon Monsieur le Curé sprang to his feet, and raising high his glass of brandy punch, called out, "To the bride!" A summons which no one refused, and which was responded to by a tumultuous jingling of glasses, tossing off of punch, and clapping of feet. It was an improvement on our Anglo-Saxon civilisation, that no speeches were made. But what an orgy succeeded! How shall I describe the noise, and the dancing, and the tipsy songs, and the rude lusty games: not to speak of the promiscuous hugging and kissing, and chasing and fondling which that never-to-be-forgotten scene presented? Of all the gallant company, dawn found the bridegroom, and him alone, sober. The demure and solemn tailor, though an unusually modest man, was painfully boastful of his share in bringing about the present occasion; Monsieur le Curé was now too sombre and dignified by half; and as for Jacques's steady papa and his familiars, the doctor, and the apothecary, and even mine host, they had, long before dawn, disappeared beneath the table, and were being slowly sobered, as morning came, by a bath of dew. The womankind had retired in high spirits; all except the bride, whom custom doomed to sit there on her daïs, bolt upright amid the revel, until the first rays of the rising sun should slant into the tent. Jacques had most certainly the worst of the fun. It was his task to carry the jaded roysterers home; and this he did with admirable patience and perseverance. But his reward, the taking home of his pretty spouse, was not even yet earned. The bride must, by inexorable Breton tradition, go home to her mother on the succeeding day; and the orgies must be resumed a second, and yet a third, evening. The second evening was like the first; all boisterousness, singing, shouting, kissing, and final collapsing under the table. The third resembled the two previous evenings, only in slang parlance, "more so;" for on the last, winding up orgies, the shouting and dancing were noisier, the kissing more vigorous, and the drunkenness more general, than ever. Jacques, now permitted to indulge with the rest in deep potations, made up for lost time, and was the very first to slide under the table, where he remained until morning.
There was a curious sight on the morning following the final evening, which was at once a traditional custom, and a scene characteristic of rural Britany. This was the "Beggar's Dance." The remains of the feast, wine and meat, were neatly set on tables in the middle of the green; and all the beggars of the neighbourhood were invited to partake. The villagers gathered in a ring around the space, leaving an opening toward the street. Presently there issued from a little lane a most grotesque procession. There were the halt, the blind, and the lame—the one-legged, the one-eyed, and the one-armed; the patriarchs and the children of mendicancy, ragged and shoeless, with hats crownless, and coats tailless, and gowns threadless; hobbling, and plunging, and limping along, with cracked songs, and yells, and the queerest imaginable movements. Arrived on the green they took position in couples, and performed a singular burlesque on the wedding
