Wales, as will be seen from the following
companion picture of "The Welsh Wedding,"
in a recent number.

When a marriage in Lower Brittany has
been definitely resolved upon, the bride makes
choice of a bridesmaid, and the bridegroom of
a groomsman. These, accompanied by an
inviter, or "bidder," as the personage is called
in Wales, bearing a long white wand,
invite the members of their respective families
to the wedding. On so important and solemn
an occasion, no one is forgotten, however
humble his condition in life may happen to
be; and in no country in the world are the
ties of kindred so strong as in Lower Brittany.

These consequently include a very large
circle; and it happens that the task of
"bidding" very frequently occupies many
days. A thousand persons have been known
to assist at the wedding of a prosperous
farmer.

On the Sunday preceding the wedding-day,
every one who has accepted the invitation
must send some present to the youthful pair
by one of their farm servants, who has been
very carefully dressed, in order to produce a
high idea of their consequence. These gifts
are sometimes of considerable value, but for
the most part confined to some article of
domestic use, or of consumption on the wedding-
day, which is usually fixed for the following
Tuesday.

At an early hour of that day the young
men assemble in a village near to the
residence of the bride, where the bridegroom
meets them. As soon as they are collected
in sufficiently imposing number, they depart
in procession, preceded by the basvalan
(ambassador of love), with a band of music, of
which the bagpipe is a conspicuous instrument,
to take possession of the bride. On
arriving at the farm, everything, save the
savage wolf-dogs, is in the most profound
silence. The doors are closed, and not a soul
is to be seen; but on closely surveying the
environs of the homestead, there is sufficient
indication of an approaching festivity,—
chimneys and caldrons are smoking, and long
tables ranged in every available space.

The basvalan knocks loudly and repeatedly
at the door, which at length brings to the
threshold the brotaër (envoy of the bride's
family), who, with a branch of broom in his
hand, replies in rhyme, and points out to
some neighbouring chateau, where he assures
the basvalan such a glorious train as his is
sure to find welcome on account of its
unparalleled splendour and magnificence. This
excuse having been foreseen, the basvalan
answers his rival verse for verse, compliment
for compliment, that they are in search of a
jewel more brilliant than the stars, and that
it is hidden in that "palace."

The brotaër withdraws into the interior;
but presently leads forth an aged matron, and
presents her as the only jewel which they
possess.

"Of a verity," retorts the basvalan, "a most
respectable person; but it appears to us that
she is past her festal time: we do not deny
the merit of grey hair, especially when it is
silvered by age and virtue; but we seek
something far more precious. The maiden
we demand is at least three times younger—
try again—you cannot fail to discover her
from the splendour which her unequalled
beauty sheds around her."

The brotaër then brings forth, in succession,
an infant in arms, a widow, a married
woman, and the bridesmaid; but the ambassador
always rejects the candidates, though
without wounding their feelings. At last
the dark-eyed blushing bride makes her
appearance in her bridal attire.

The party then enters the house, and the
brotaër, falling on his knees, slowly utters a
Pater for the living, and a De profundis for the
dead, and demands the blessing of the family
upon the young maiden. Then the scene,
recently so joyous, assumes a more affecting
character, and the brotaër is interrupted by
sobs and tears. There is always some sad
episode in connexion with all these rustic but
poetic festivals in Brittany. How many
sympathies has not the following custom
excited? At the moment of proceeding to
church, the mother severs the end of the
bride's sash, and addresses her:—"The tie
which has so long united us, my child, is
henceforward rent asunder, and I am
compelled to yield to another the authority which
God gave me over thee. If thou art happy—
and may God ever grant it—this will be no
longer thy home; but should misfortune visit
thee, a mother is still a mother, and her arms
ever open for her children. Like thee, I
quitted my mother's side to follow a husband.
Thy children will leave thee in their turn.
When the birds are grown, the maternal nest
cannot hold them. May God bless thee, my
child, and grant thee as much consolation as
he has granted me!" The procession is then
formed, and the cavalcade proceeds to the
parish church; but every moment it is
interrupted in its progress by groups of
mendicants, who climb up the slopes bordering the
roads—which are extremely deep and narrow
—to bar the passage by means of long briars,
well armed with prickly thorns, which they
hold up before the faces of the wedding party.
The groomsman is the individual appointed
to lower these importunate barriers; which he
does by casting among the mendicants small
pieces of money. He executes his commission
with good temper, and very frequently
with liberality; but when the distance is
great, these fetters become so numerous that
his duties grow exceedingly wearisome and
expensive.

After the religious ceremony, comes the
feast; which is one of the most incredible
things imaginable. Nothing can give an idea
of the multitude of guests, of all ages, and of
each sex; they form a lively, variegated, and