and beef are by no means unknown. The sheep
browse in the fields behind the farm, and his
wool is in request, not so much for the
purposes of commerce, as for the supply of the
needs of the household; for, in the cold winter
days and the long winter nights, Madame Jean
Baptiste, like Penelope and her daughters in
the olden time, card, and spin, and weave the
wool into warm but serviceable cloth, fit for
the whole attire of the fathers and sons, and
for the petticoats and cloaks of mothers and
daughters. The habitant does almost everything
for himself; makes and mends his clothes and
shoes at home, weaves his own straw hat,
extracts sugar from the sap of the abundant
maple-trees that thrive so luxuriantly all over
the country, dries and cures his own tobacco,
distils his own execrable whisky (beer and wine he
scarcely ever sees), makes his own soap, and,
where there is much timber on the "terre,"
which is not available as lumber or for
commercial purposes, burns down the trees and
boils their ashes in iron caldrons to produce
the potash which he can sell in Montreal and
Quebec. From the produce of his potash, and
the sale of his sheep and beeves, he has
generally a surplus out of which to pay his willing
dues to the Holy Mother Church which he loves
so well, and in whose teachings he so implicitly
believes, or the purchase for the women-folk
of the well-beloved tea, and of the gewgaws and
the finery that women desire and must and will
have, from the age of five to seventy or eighty;
or, if they live so long, to a hundred. He is
far more ignorant of the meaning of the word
taxes than George Cruikshank's superb John
Thomas "of the calves," and only pays them
in the shape of the corvée, so many days' labour
per annum for the maintenance of the roads,
whether "dirt" or "corduroy," that traverse
his district. The most inattentive of travellers
can scarcely fail to notice that the wives of the
habitans are fresh, healthy, comely, and prolific.
The children swarm at every door, and when
madame peeps out, her curiosity excited by the
noise of wheels, the clack of the driver's whip,
and the constant talk he keeps up with his
horses, to see who is passing, it is most
probable that she has a baby in her arms, and three
or four children of larger growth hanging about
her apron, behind or before. And the dogs
seem to be as plentiful as the children, and
greet the traveller in such fashion and style
as suit their age or character; sometimes, if
they are young and foolish, rushing out to bark
at the horses' heels; sometimes, if of maturer
years, intoning their salutation in their throats,
without stirring from their usual snoozing-places;
or, if they are old, experienced, and
philosophic, lifting their heads a little in the
sunshine, surveying the passing vehicle with
lazy interest, and then lying down again to
sleep, perchance to dogmatise on the ways of
men. Another noticeable and agreeable
peculiarity is the love of flowers with which these
fair Canadiennes seem to be possessed, and the
abundance and beauty of the specimens which
they rear at their windows. The flowers which
adorn their gardens are not many. Jean
Baptiste wants the garden for use, and not for ornament,
so madame makes her garden at the
window, and cultivates her geraniums, pelargoniums,
lobelias, cinerarias, roses, and lilies with
such care and success as to convert the one
room of her modest cottage into a veritable
bower, as richly adorned during the season of
flowers as if it were, barring the other furniture,
the boudoir of a duchess. The day on
which our party passed through St. Etienne
happened to be a gala day—the day of the
première communion of all the little lasses of the
village, of nine years old and upwards—a day
looked forward to by these tiny charmers with
as much pleasant anticipation as at a later
period they doubtless look forward to that other
day when they shall also be dressed in white,
and wear long white veils and white wreaths
around their foreheads, and kneel before the
priest at the altar at even a holier communion.
The little ones whose domicile was in close
proximity to the church walked to the communion
dressed in white muslin, with white
ribbons streaming behind, and with long white
veils, looking—with the glow of health and
excitement on their cheeks and eyes, and in their
whole demeanour—like so many cherubim
—minus the wings and plus the more ordinary
helps to locomotion—and all of them, together
with the fathers, and mothers, or other elders
who accompanied them, had a smile and a graceful
recognition for the passing strangers. Those
who lived at longer distances from the church
were driven in charette, farm-cart, gig, or
calèche; and the drivers, the fathers or brothers
of the little communicants, invariably lifted
their hats to us as we passed them on the road,
an act of courtesy which we as invariably
returned. Around the church, at every available
space, were stationed the vehicles which had
discharged their human freight, suggesting by
their numbers what was quite evident enough
before, that the Canadiennes were by no means,
like their American sisters further to the south,
of an unprolific race, or dependent in any
degree upon the immigration from Europe to keep
up the parity of numbers between the annual
births and deaths. To maintain the equilibrium
is as much as the native-born Americans appear
to be able to do, and they do not manage even
this in some cities of the Union; whereas
among the French Canadians the tendency is
to a superabundant population, as in Ireland
and the western isles of Scotland. "How it
comes, let doctors tell," as Burns says, and
doctors or philosophers will have to tell it,
sooner or later, however displeasing the
explanation may be to the tender, delicate, little
ladies of the States, who dislike walking, live
in heated rooms, and eat sweetstuff till their
health suffers and their teeth become
unserviceable as well as unornamental.

Jean Baptiste does not trouble himself very
much about politics, and generally takes them,
with his religion, from the priest. Thirty-five