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winner of the rose." (This is a prize of virtue.) ceremony is to be held in the church of Nanterre, with the assistance of the communal band. "Brilliant illuminations by Madame Widow Gaudry, getter-up of public festivals. Great ball, Lemaistre the son." These are part of the inducements offered to citizens of Paris to go to Nanterre in balmy June. If you prefer Sunday the 16th, you may have at ten in the morning the solemn annual mass of the mutual aid society of St. Genevieve, and in the afternoon an instrumental concert, divers games for young men and young ladies, and a grand ball.

Another handbill informs us that on Sunday, June 9, Father Hyacinth Loison will speak upon the harmony of Christianity and civilization. First-class ticket, three francs; at the office, two francs.

My cobbler tells me that the bacon of America can be bought at twelve sous the French pound, while the French is selling at twenty-six sous. He says that our leather is not so good as theirs; it is cheaper, but they do not use it at Paris.

Victor has an herb-box,-quite a handsome one, like a work-box with divisions,—which, he says, contains all those things good for the health; which are marsh-mallow root, chamomile, tails of cherries, tails of gooseberries, mallow blossoms, marsh-mallow blossoms, dog's grass, linden, violets, and orange leaves. Tails of cherries of course are stems. They talk much about tails at Paris, as the tail of the saucepan, and they form themselves into a tail when a crowd wishes to enter a public place.

Victor tells me that if I sleep with my window open, the

bats will come in and pick my eyes. I should have answered that I would sleep with them shut.

Madame Leblanc shows me a very elegant silk, of a very handsome color, a sort of pearl, or about that of the garden flower-de-luce. It is trimmed with lace, and cost when made over one hundred dollars. (It will be remembered that silks of the same quality are cheaper in France; on board ship I hear that the duty on silks brought into our country is sixty per cent.) This was madame's weddingdress, which she wore to the mayor's office. She thinks that there were two hundred persons to see them married, and then the wedded pair went to Mr. Carpentier's to dinner. She adds that Mr. Carpentier was Victor's witness, and the fourth person at the dinner was her witness. They were married at the mayor's only. It will be remembered that the marriage at the mayor's office is the only legal one; but it is the correct thing in the eyes of the world to be married at church also. Victor complains to me of one of his acquaintances, who had told him that he would not be married religiously, and then was thus married.

I do not remember any Frenchman interested in phrenology, even when applied only to the division between the perceptive and reflective organs. Among the persons who were at Victor's home during my stay in Paris was a young student of medicine, who seemed to me to have the organ of locality remarkably developed. He admitted that he could readily find places, but he and Victor asked me whether I believed in palmistry or in metempsychosis. I find French heads almost universally developed in the perceptives or the lower part of the forehead, and I wonder whether this gives them their admirable power of arrange

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ment. I see very, very few top-heavy foreheads here. They have some men of very fine appearance. As regards phrenology, however, I meet at the house of a friend an Italian gentleman, who is quite a contrast to these Frenchmen in his interest in the subject.

Several times I have seen the poor little old man with crooked legs, blue blouse, and brass badge on the arm who has charge of the third omnibus-horse, which is put on in mounting the incline of our street. Though the little man plods up, yet he can ride down. One morning I notice a wagon going up the same incline, holding three people returning from market with their baskets, the middle one a solid brown peasant-woman,-the whole drawn by a persevering little beast of a donkey, who plods on as if it is the right thing. He is going home, and perhaps the load is lighter than in coming. The same day I observe three donkeys going up the street followed by a boy, part of them, or all, having bells on their necks; lately, too, I saw some who seemed to be going home alone. One of my friends tells me that she sees half a dozen a day; are taken to houses and milked into a bowl, and then sick people drink the milk warm.

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Saturday, June 8th.—I have often met Madame Latour, and she has kindly invited me to visit her to-day. She is a widow without children, and has a tiny apartment or set of rooms looking out upon a square; she is delighted

with its greenness. There are a dining-room about eight feet by nine, a bedroom, dressing-room, and a bit of a kitchen, her rent being four hundred and fifty francs. Until seventeen, she tells me, she was a Catholic, but since that age she does not go to the confessional.

My invitation is first to breakfast, where we have a stew composed of pigeons and green peas, with a little onion; we have, too, excellent bread and the ordinary wine. The next course is a veal cutlet beautifully cooked in a saucepan with its own juice and a little butter. With this madame opens a bottle of Chambertin put up in 1870, and I remember Tom Moore's speaking of this wine,

"Chambertin, which you know's the pet tipple of Nap."

Our next course is cold asparagus with oil and vinegar, and afterwards we have strawberries and biscuits or little sponge-cakes; then very strong coffee, and my friend gives me to add to it some milk just boiled. Hers is a dear little baby-house of an apartment; she keeps no servant, and she tells me that she is crazy on the subject of order,-maniaque d'ordre. I ask her how the bread of Paris is kneaded; for I have as yet met no one who bakes her own. She ventures to answer, "With the hands." I mention an anecdote that I have heard of a man's being employed in my own country to tread the dough for a cracker-baker; and Madame Latour tells me that when they are making wine a naked man gets into the vat and treads the grapes, and will be discolored to his shoulders, but she adds that the wine purifies itself.

In madame's dressing-closet I see a low, broad zinc tub or pan in which she stands to take her daily sponge-bath. When Mr. Carpentier formerly told Lenoir, the wine-man with whom I lodged, that all the people in England and

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America were accustomed to wash themselves every day, or to take a bath, he made a very broad statement; but even if it were correct, it now seems that they are not alone in the custom. Madame Latour's husband was a travelling salesman, and afterwards a manufacturer or machine-maker. He was twenty-two years older than herself. Both had made wills, leaving the property of each to the other. He was a Fourierite; and from him madame learned daily bathing. A likeness of Fourier seated is in one of the rooms; it is thoughtful, sad, benevolent. We can at least give him credit for having wished to banish want, so that no one should suffer from insufficient food and clothing.

After breakfast madame with much politeness accompanies me to Père la Chaise, but, as the afternoon is somewhat rainy, I have not a very good opportunity of seeing the celebrated cemetery. I remark the monument to Raspail, quite covered with crowns. Above it is a shield, inscribed "The workingmen's associations of Paris." There is, too, a large decoration by the democracy of the 13th arrondissement, or ward. Below is a monstrous crown, covered with immortelles, from the democracy of Ivry. These immortelles resemble the life-everlasting, or Gnaphalium, that I used to see growing on the hills of Massachusetts; but those were mostly white, and these are yellow. In speaking of Raspail, Madame Latour says that his interment was civil, not in any church; he was a free-thinker. She adds that he passed part of his life in prison. (Some account of him can be found in Appletons' " Cyclopædia.”) We also see the tomb of Ledru-Rollin, which is much decorated, and bears a little engraving or ornament stating that he was the author of universal suffrage. We pass the great tomb of Abelard and Héloise, but it is undergoing repair, and I do not see the recumbent figures. Madame

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