A
while ago, when England largely supplied herself from this district
with the lace called TORCHON, it was not unusual to earn five francs
a day; and five francs in Monastier is worth a pound in London. Now,
from a change in the market, it takes a clever and industrious work-
woman to earn from three to four in the week, or less than an eighth
of what she made easily a few years ago. The tide of prosperity came
and went, as with our northern pitmen, and left nobody the richer.
The women bravely squandered their gains, kept the men in idleness,
and gave themselves up, as I was told, to sweethearting and a merry
life. From week's end to week's end it was one continuous gala in
Monastier; people spent the day in the wine-shops, and the drum or
the bagpipes led on the BOURREES up to ten at night. Now these
dancing days are over. 'IL N'Y A PLUS DE JEUNESSE,' said Victor the
garcon. I hear of no great advance in what are thought the
essentials of morality; but the BOURREE, with its rambling, sweet,
interminable music, and alert and rustic figures, has fallen into
disuse, and is mostly remembered as a custom of the past.
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