parishes, jolt along in file, dragging along in company their new legion of servant girls.
A gaudy and noisy defile, a sort of apotheosis of farm-work by the sons of the soil. During their passage the air vibrates with perfume, light, and music.
Cowherds and ploughboys,—the blue smock festooned with a scarlet ribbon, the cap girt with a leafy twig, a branch for goad,—precede the procession like postillions, or else caracole alongside, some astride with short spurs, their legs wide apart owing to the broad backs of their mounts, others seated sideways on the saddle their legs swinging over the horse's left side, just as they may be met in the twilight, going home through narrow path-ways, when the day's work is done.
Their loud voices reverberate from one village to another.
"See there another Roseland!" exclaim the urchins, whom their approach gathers around near the church, for the nickname of "Roseland" has been given to these triumphal cars, on account of the refrain of the ballad sung only by the swains on these occasions:—
