bore up to us the meagre details of the conflagration.
The holy days of the Church are observed with true French ardour. On Corpus Christi Day the route of the procession from one street altar to another is marked by a brave showing of damask and fine linen hung on outer walls in lieu of the silken draperies of more affluent communities. At the Feast of the Mother of God on August fifteenth banners are borne through the town in fulfillment of a vow made at the burning of the old church a decade ago. In March a service is held by the island fishermen to ask a blessing upon the coming season, and in November thanks are given for what the season has brought forth.
There is no theatre to furnish frivolous amusement; even the cinema impresario has deserted St. Pierre for a more lucrative field. The Fall of the Bastille is celebrated by parades of French marines and receptions to visiting officers. Dog Island is host on a Sunday in August at the blithest function of the year when the greased pole and sack race vie in hilarity with games of more essentially local invention.
The salons of the Cafés de Joinville, du Midi and Biarritz which were formerly bright with balls and sprightly cabarets are dull now except at the "green hour" when merchants and officials gather to discuss news dripped by the cables, or announced at street corners by the paid crier of auctions,
