beer comes not amiss. Their diet is exceedingly plain. The farmer is an early riser, leaving bed by four in summer and five in winter. Just before the morning meal he takes his dram, petit coup d'appetit, the beverage being usually whisky in which he has infused some absinthe leaves. He is careful not to allow the younger children to see him; he will take it à la cachette. The first meal of the day consists of a platter of skimmed and sour milk, in equal proportions, with buckwheat bread broken and soaked in the milk. Dinner is served shortly before mid-day, the bill of fare comprising pea soup in which pork has been boiled with green herbs. The pork is generally eaten with molasses. The dessert is a bowl of new and sour milk, mixed with the bread, as for the morning meal, but they add maple sugar at this repast. After dinner all take a nap, servants and family alike. Supper comes when the work of the day is ended, and consists again of new and sour milk, with cold potatoes and whatever pork may have been left over from dinner. Occasionally an infusion of hot water and toast, under the name of coffee, is taken. Near the rivers, lakes, and coasts fish is freely eaten. During harvest time, la moisson, each worker is given a hunch of bread and a piece of cold boiled pork to carry to the fields for the noon-day meal, which he eats with a claspknife carried in the pocket for that purpose. They have an odd way of cutting the bread and pork; they hold the sandwich in the palm of the left hand, and while pressing one corner of it against the thumb, they cut a piece off with a circular motion. They next stick the end of the knife into this piece and carry it to the mouth. The process is a peculiar and striking one. With a draught of water the meal is complete.

Of a Sunday they enlarge their dietary, treating themselves at breakfast to thick pancakes, crêpes, made of wheaten flour and milk, cooked with butter, and eaten with maple sugar or molasses. Another article of indulgence is roast pork, pore frais, the drippings of which, graisse de rot, are much appreciated by them, and also a stew, ragoût, of pigs' feet. In summer they seldom eat meat, but they use it in winter when game is abundant. When they kill cattle and pigs for market, they often keep certain portions for family use, which they bury in the snow and dig up as wanted. The ruling idea is to live on the humblest fare, made up of such things as are not convertible into money. All their meals are eaten with a relish begotten of pure country air, abundant exercise at the healthiest and most invigorating of occupations. The diet of the better class of farmers is more liberal, resembling that of the corresponding class in cities, but they do not, as a whole, eat meat as freely as their British neighbors. On festive occasions, like New Year and Easter, they treat their guests with

liberality, giving them cold meat-pies, tourtières, and a cake, croquignoles, not unlike the doughnuts of New England, and such other dainties as they can afford, not omitting spirits.

On Friday no meats are eaten; fish, eggs, and pancakes being most in use, and bean soup also. Lenten season and the fasts of the church they faithfully and rigorously observe, using meats only during certain days of the week, and only once then. When they sit down to table they all make the sign of the cross and invoke God's blessing, Benedicité; after meals they offer thanks, Deo gratias, and again cross themselves. At table general hilarity prevails, and if one be noticed to eat less than usual he is at once rallied to indulge more freely.

All their soups, meats, and stews are served in one large dish, à la gamelle, which is placed in the centre of the table. They break their pieces of bread, drop them in the main dish, and then scoop them out with spoon or fork till the appetite is satiated. This custom is called sauces, and the parent is heard now and then saying to a child whose appetite is flagging, Sauce donc, mon cher-" Dip in, my dear."

As a boy I remember, while out fishing at a place some forty miles below Quebec, near the village of Montmagny, calling at a farmer's house at dinner-time, and being invited to join the family circle. I hesitated for a moment when asked to help myself from the main dish in the family fashion, but a long walk had so sharpened my appetite, that when I was urged a second time I threw mauvaise honte to the dogs and acted upon the principle, "In Rome do as the Romans do," and I live to tell the tale.

Prosper Bender

BOSTON, July, 1890.

OUR BELOVED FLAG

[Poem of Hon. Horatio King, ex-Postmaster-General, at the reunion of the Society of the Army of the Republic, at Portland, Maine, July 3, 1890.]

MINOR TOPICS

THE EDICT OF NANTES

POEM BY THE REV. CHARLES S. VEdder, d.d.

Read before the Huguenot Society of Charleston, South Carolina, at its celebration, April 14, 1890, of the Promulgation of the Edict of Nantes.

The sword that flashed at Ivry, its splendor seen afar,

Still lights the page where glory names King Henry of Navarre;

But nobler claim to deathless fame

Than gleams from sword or lance,

Hath he who planned, for subjects banned,
The chartered rights of Nantz.

The plume that waved at Ivry, at Arques, and Coutras,
Its snowy sheen, wherever seen, on leading like a star,
No more outsped the eager tread

Of all his host's advance

Than leaped his pen to sign for men

The great rescript of Nantz.

The triumph won at Ivry! its fullness who may tell,

That hushed the savage cry of strife, its groan and funeral knell !
But-richer far than silenced war

To fratricidal France

That triumph wrought enfranchised Thought

From Henry's hand at Nantz!

Ah, had the boon but come to stay, unchallenged and unlost,
The Master's heeded voice, "Be still," to spirits tempest-tost,
How would our song its strain prolong,

And years its joy enhance,

That Ivry's field such store could yield
Of garnered good at Nantz.

Yet not HIS blame the curse and shame, that following feet outtrod
The right he gave that lord and slave might know and own their God!
Though much of ill assoil him still-

This knightly Prince of France-
With all we miss, his praise be this,

His throne of fame was Nantz!