We stayed for eight days at a small village on the banks of the Mississippi, about six miles below St. Louis, and four above Jefferson barracks, called Carondalet, or, _en badinage, "vide poche."_ The inhabitants are nearly all Creole-French, and speak a miserable _patois_. The same love of pleasure which, with bravery, characterizes the French people in Europe, also distinguishes their descendants in Carondalet. Every Saturday night _les garçons et les filles_ meet to dance quadrilles. The girls dance well, and on these occasions they dress tastefully. These villagers live well, dress well, and dance well, but have miserable-looking habitations; the house of a Frenchman being always a secondary consideration. At one of those balls I observed a very pretty girl surrounded by gay young Frenchmen, with whom she was flirting in a style that would not have disgraced a belle from the _Faubourg St. Denis_, and turning to my neighbour, I asked him who she was; he replied, "Elle s'appelle Louise Constant, monsieur,--c'est la rose de village." Could a peasant of any other nation have expressed himself so prettily, or have been gallant with such a grace? Accompanied by our landlord, we visited Jefferson barracks. The officer to whom we had an introduction not being _chez-lui_ at that time, we were introduced to some other officers by our host, who united in his single person the triple capacity of squire, or magistrate, newspaper proprietor, and tavern-keeper. The officers, as may be expected, are men from every quarter of the Union, whose manners necessarily vary and partake of the character of their several states.