your actions?" "Yes, yes! I conform to my conscience and my heart, and that is enough." "But do you think that this is a sure guide for all men,-that their conscience is sufficiently enlightened?" "Yes, certainly; if a person is instructed, he can do good; if he be not learned, he can do good; but the more a person is instructed the more evil he can do." Then he bursts forth, "The proof is all this Catholic clergy, this kennel of Napoleons, and all the kings of France." "What about Henry IV. ?" I suggest. "One cannot be a good man-brave homme-when he is a monarch; and although Henry IV. said he would put the hen into every man's pot, yet he starved Paris to make himself king."

Near Mr. Dide's I had seen a vacant lot, where in a shanty a shoemaker has his shop, and I ask Victor whether a poor cobbler can vote in France. "Yes,-why not?" he answers," if he has a fixed residence, if he has lived six months where he is, if he has not been imprisoned for crime, and if he has not failed in his business." This last exception surprises me; but Victor says that it is upon this principle, namely, the man who fails dishonestly has committed a crime; and if by inattention to business, he is not fit to attend to the affairs of others. I understand, however, that if a bankrupt pays his debts, he can then vote. "Men that fail go off to America," Victor

says.

Victor and his wife do not now admit that idleness is the only cause of prostitution. He says that when women earn no more than the buttonhole-maker of whom I have spoken, they will thus eke out their living; or a girl will meet a fellow who tells her how he loves her: "I am out of my wits about you; won't you come with me? I will

marry you." The girl says, "I must go and ask my mother." "But what can your mother have against it?" She goes with him, and in a month or six weeks he leaves her. "Do you remember," I ask, "how the student abandons the girl in Victor Hugo's Les Misérables?" Victor is a member of Josephine Butler's Britannic and Continental League for the Abolition of Licensed Prostitution. I do not understand that the society is large here, and in such a city the reader may be reminded of the primer:

"Little David, with a sling,

At Goliath he did fling."

Or of Hercules and the Lernean hydra.

I tell Victor that Mr. had spoken as if there were a few of the Catholic clergy who are republicans.

"He is very simple to tell you that." "Well," I say, "there was La Mennais." "All the curés who become republicans throw off the gown," says Victor, “La Mennais did." "And he died in want," adds madame. Victor adds that Father Hyacinth too has thrown off the gown.

I tell them about one of our friends lately mounting his high horse and riding off on his hobby of Fourierism. They reply, "Every one has his beast."

Here I add a sketch from memory of the gentleman's remarks: "There is now a new religion. The Christian religion is nineteen hundred years old, and was founded upon an older one; but now we have to learn the law of harmony, of attraction. We have it in physical bodies; the proportions of numbers give us the harmony of mathe

matics; and the harmony of sounds is music. It is left now to establish harmony among human beings."

Friday, May 31st.-"We lose nothing at Paris," Victor says. I had asked them for a bit of flannel to get paint off of my dress; but he says that all is used, and shows me a baby's shirt, which, he says, has at least nine pieces in it. I never saw stockings more darned, I think, than at Paris; yet I was sometimes surprised to hear how much had been paid for dresses. In this volume I frequently have occasion to speak of the personal neatness of the French. Often it is very wonderful. Yet there is a law binding the faithful historian which induces me to add that in France I sometimes observed a misappropriation of utensils, or the using of one vessel for highly dissimilar purposes. Sometimes this may be caused by economy. One thing which I thought I observed repeatedly in rural France was the taking of the handtowel then in use, to wipe dishes.

Lately, I have seen the Jesuits of the College of St. Ignatius walking in their garden, and have heard their animated talk. They walk in a formal manner, but chatter informally. Three of them walk forward a few paces to meet three others, and then the two sets walk backward, as people do in dancing forward two. I should not think that half an hour of such exercise would be extremely useful. I suppose that it would not do for them to chop wood like Lyman Beecher, and they have no opportunity to take home the peasant's cow, like Fénelon. As for their

talking so animatedly, this seems exceptional; something uncommon may be on the carpet.

When I speak of them to Victor he says, "There are some rascals who are not obliged to sweat to earn their living like me." The state, however, does not pay the religious orders. This valuable real estate, as I understand, was left to the Jesuits by a woman, and Victor says that such schools as theirs sometimes charge very high.

Victor says that on account of the Exposition the price of everything except bread has risen. He estimates that there are now four hundred thousand strangers in Paris, and says that in ordinary times there are one hundred thousand. Under these circumstances we must not expect Parisians to be interested in every stranger. They may be said to live in the grand hotel of the world, and, like the hotel-keeper, cannot form intimate friendships with all that come and go. Victor afterwards tells me that they are afraid of strangers; he has lent money to Italians, who did not repay him.

Saturday, June 1st.—For several mornings, about four o'clock, I have been listening to a strange noise, heard at intervals, somewhat like dragging a chain; so this morning, about five, I go on a voyage of discovery. When outside the door of our apartments I do not hear the sound, but when nearly down the first two flights of stairs it is very audible. I find that it comes from the stable on our court-yard, and is caused by a horse scraping his foot on the pavement. I can see him by getting up to the nice window of his stable. Probably he is impatient, after he beholds daylight, for the groom to give him his food.

Our friend Mr. Carpentier was engaged day and evening of the 30th (Ascension-day) in celebrating the anniversary of the death of Voltaire. There was a banquet; for Paris is great on banquets. I ask Victor to bring me an account of the proceedings, and he brings The Nineteenth Century, journal républicain conservateur. I ask him what conservateur means, and he answers that it is humbug; so I suppose it to be what we mean by conservative. The article upon the centenary of Voltaire opens thus: "The festival of Voltaire has been what it must be, all external ceremonies being interdicted." I ask Victor who forbids public meetings. He answers, "The minister of the interior." No public meeting can be held without a permit. Here is an abbreviated copy of one from the chief of police, which I saw while in Paris. In the corner are the words, "Prefecture of Police, Cabinet. 1st Office. Number of the paper, 58,733." It is addressed to Mr. Charles Lemonnier: "SIR,-As president of the International League of Peace and Liberty, you have applied to the minister of the interior to obtain authority to hold at Paris, in conjunction with Messrs. Dide, Bratiano, Morin, etc., a series of public lectures upon the following subjects: Peace and War, International Arbitration, The Law-suit of the Alabama, The United States of Europe, etc. The minister of the interior orders me to inform you that he authorizes these lectures by their individual titles, but that he sees serious impropriety in giving them the character of a public manifestation on the part of an association which has no legal existence in France. The minister adds that the handbills and programmes should make no mention of said association. Receive, sir, the assurance of my very distinguished consideration." Signed by the prefect of police. These last remarks about the association's having no legal