first quadrille; but, when the Orpheus is
poor, or too avaricious to afford a trifle for
his money-taker, the business is managed
differently. A party of peasants are dancing
in the garden, suppose, of the cabaret of the
Beau Soleil. The fiddler is mounted on a
cask on end. At the conclusion of the second
figure, he stops short, and shouts "Mi-danse!"
or "Half-dance!" he takes his two-sous from
each figurante, remounts his hollow pedestal,
and goes on playing La Poule and La Pastorelle.
If he observes in the next quadrille
any young ladies who have not danced before,
he again gives them a hint by the cry of
"Mi-danse " exacts his tax, and sets to
scraping again. He is well aware that, if he
waited to the end, his couples would
disappear, like a flock of pigeons with the hawk
in sight, under the pretext of walking or
taking refreshment.

In Paris, and other elevated regions of
the dance, the figures of the quadrille are
always the same; but, in the ducasse-countries
they are often varied according to the musician's
fancy, who shouts, in a loud, head-splitting
voice, "Ladies' chain!" "Cavaliers
en avant!" and so on. When he is in particularly
good humour, he will conclude the
quadrille with the order, "Embrace your
partner." Cunning lads have committed
bribery with quarts of beer, to have the word
of command given, whenever the fiddler saw
them dancing with pretty girls. In all the
villages around Douai, the necessary finish
of a ball is to dance Gayant (the name of a
giant effigy which is the favourite pet of the
population) to the Douai national air, which
the town chimes play during Gayant's fête.
It is a lively tune, and the dance is nothing
more than the figure called l'Été, ending in
hands all round, with plenty of leaping and
romping. In some villages, the established
finish is the Boulangère. The musician plays
the well-known tune, "La boulangère a des
écus qui ne lui coûtent guère," &c. "The
bakeress's money is easily earned," &c. A
large circle is formed, with one of the girls
in the middle; she takes a young man by
the hand, gives him a turn, sets to him; and
so on all round. Each girl successively plays
the part of the prosperous bakeress, which
we may suppose to be the impersonation of
some bit of antique scandal and satire.

Besides the wide-spread ducasses which
require his presence, each for their two or
three allotted days, the ménétrier is called
for on many domestic occasions. There is a
wedding; he accompanies the party to church,
playing them up to the church door, where
he steps aside to let the company pass, and
then takes part in the matrimonial mass
with the devotion of an anchorite. When a
public-house is opened, there is a dance;
when a cottage is finished building, there is
a dance; the same of archery-meetings and
cross-bow competitions. The fiddler never
wants for summer employment in a country
where they dance, as in England they dine,
à-propos to every event in life. Be it understood
also, that if they dance, they do not
fail to drink in proportion. Stories are
current of lords of the creation having to wheel
home their ladies on wheelbarrows, so
thoroughly had the fair ones enjoyed their ducasse.
But I whisper this in confidence.

The fiddler is not forgotten for his share
either of drinkables or eatables. One poor
minstrel, after having well exercised the legs
of the young folk in a village a short distance
from his own, was anxious to get home
because the night was dark, and would not stop
to drink after supper. The landlord gave
him a tarte and a gâteau to take home with
him; and the fiddler, as he trudged along
the road, reckoned on the treat in store for
to-morrow. About half-way, at a solitary
spot, what should he meet but a great hungry
wolf, with glaring eyes and open mouth.
The wolf, sharp set, was about to eat
him up, when he thought he might beg
off his enemy with a bit of cake. He tossed
him a morsel, with a heavy sigh, and
continued his journey without daring to run.
He knew the wolf would run quicker than
he could. In a moment, the lump of gâteau
was swallowed; a few yards further, and
there was the wolf again. The beggar's petition
was so effectually urged, that the cake
was eaten, and the tarte also, before the fiddler
had reached his home. At his wit's end, he
said to himself, "What the deuce does he
want with me now? I have nothing left
but my fiddle. I'll play him one of my
liveliest airs; perhaps it may amuse him till
I can reach the village." But, before the
minstrel could play a dozen bars, the wolf
scampered away with a horrible grimace, as
if his teeth were set on edge. The fiddler
fiddled with all his might and main, to exorcise
the demon still more effectually. At
last he stopped short, and began tearing his
hair, exclaiming, "What an awful fool I was,
not to treat him to music at the very first!
O mon Dieu! My gâteau and my tarte!"

MY LONDON GHOSTS.

I MAY usefully tell how I filled my mind
with pleasant ghosts who chased away the
spectres which haunted the couch of my
childhood. There is some difficulty at first in
ghost-making. The summoning of spirits
from the vasty deep of the past by incantations
over books, pictures, and haunted spots,
was often and long unsuccessful at the
beginning, until I began to doubt if they would
ever come when I did call. I chose a personage
whose acquaintance I thought likely to
prove agreeable and useful, and when resident
in London I chose one who had resided
in it long ago,—a man who had loved truth or
justice, and served science, literature, or
liberty in by-gone times. I began by reading
such books about him as I could find. I