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mostly or entirely without bonnets, but wearing white caps. I hear that the men are out catching fish. How willing the people are to give information! I buy a large, but poor and withered apple for two sous, and see butter in an enormous earthen pot, butter which smells to heaven and sells at eighteen sous the French pound, which is about one-tenth heavier than ours.*
Upon a sign is "The widow of Ls. Angot and her sons, Wines and Brandies." I lunch at the buffet of the railroad station, the butter being very good, with little or no salt.
By my train it is four and a half hours from Dieppe to Paris. Although it is still April, and far north, some horses and cattle are already out grazing, but they appear to be tied. Colza is growing, with its bright yellow flowers of the color of mustard blossoms, but larger. In England it is called rape. The seeds are used for making oil, which is burnt in France. The trees are very pretty and striking after the bare hills around New Haven, in the south of England. Afterwards I see quite a number of wooded hillsides. The woods are enchanting in the tender green of spring with the bright sunlight; they contrast well with a manufacturing town through which we pass. In my division of the car is a young English woman, married to a young Frenchman. She speaks a little French, and he a little English. He says to me,-ours is a second-class car,"Will you permit I smoke?" She has a parrot in a cage, the same that was on the boat last night. They live in or near Paris. We pass through Rouen, but stop only ten minutes; so I do not go to see where Joan of Arc was burned. The young woman with the parrot tells me that the heart of
The French sou nearly equals our cent. Twenty sous make a franc, worth about nineteen cents.
Richard Coeur de Lion is here, and that I can be shown. the church by paying a small sum. I observe after leaving Rouen that the ground is planted greatly in strips or bits, and the expense of fencing is almost entirely dispensed with, as the cattle are tied. We pass through a number of manufacturing places. Although it is Saturday, many clothes are still out drying or bleaching. We see the broad Seine often between Rouen and Paris. Many of the roofs are of tiles, and many are thatched; one I see is of slate, but I note none of shingles. Although there is fence or hedge along the railroad, yet a broad meadow upon the Seine seems to be undivided for a mile or more, which I imagine must be food for lawsuits; afterwards I learn that low stones are set to mark corners. There seem to be more tunnels upon the road than we have, and a lamp burns all the time in the car. On one of the little patches of ground a flock of sheep is grazing, guarded by a man and dog. Were there two or three times as many, it seems to me that they would cover the bit of ground entirely. Not a very beautiful object is a row of Lombardy poplars, so straightsided and tall. Other trees are trimmed nearly to the top; as I suppose, that they may not shade the ground, for I have not yet learned how scarce fuel is in France. There is very nice agriculture, but the hillside looks strange when thus cultivated in patches,-oblong bits of green and bits of brown. At a town stands a machine marked "Force, 20,000 kil.," the French kilogramme being about equal to two and one-fifth of our pounds. I see masses that I suppose to be mistletoe. These are dark green, and look strange upon trees that are putting on their spring foliage. Not all the land is good and cultivated. Some is gravelly, with sorrel growing among the grass; and again there is brush, or young wood, but another hillside shows greatly
variegated with green and brown irregular patchwork, and in the midst a village or town. Approaching Paris, we pass through a long stretch of poor ground grown up with wood or brush, or lying uncultivated; afterwards I observe that fruit-trees become numerous, and there are pieces of cultivated ground stuck with stakes like pieces of our fence-rails. These, as I infer, are vineyards, but not yet green.
On arriving at Paris, I see that the people have not the ruddy look of the English, but I notice one plump person with a good color. He is a tall man in a very neat, long, black robe, and he is an ecclesiastic of the Catholic Church. Among many other signs, I observe one of Madame midwife of the first class. At length I find the residence of the gentleman to whom I am especially recommended. It is in a rather handsome quarter, near a celebrated church. Finding the number, I go into one. of the stores upon the ground floor to inquire for Mr. C., but here I am referred to the concierge, or door-keeper. So I enter a great door and a carriage-way, and on the left side find the small room of the concierge, whose wife tells me that Mr. C. is "at the fifth," which means up five flights of stairs. I enter the handsome door on the other side of the carriage-way, and find the ascent easy, though long. When I get up, there are two doors with bell-pulls. I ring at the right hand. No one comes, and it is now near nightfall. I sit down on a cushioned seat, and a gentleman comes up stairs and rings also. He thinks the domestic may have gone to the cellar. He says, however, that Mr. C. will soon be in, as he is to receive some gentlemen. He has called to tell him not to expect him. I receive the message, and he goes. Hearing a sound within, I ring again, and a woman-servant comes. Mr. C. is in, and I
enter, and find an elderly gentleman with a benevolent look. It is he who has been expecting me, and who says that I shall stay there until the morrow. He is looking for his brother and wife from the south of France; but he has heard of several places where I may obtain board or lodging.
Then the domestic comes and conducts me to a neat room with a waxed-floor, like the rest, with a mahogany bedstead, a wardrobe,-the door of which is a great mirror, -and a French clock. Mr. C. is a widower.
On the wall is an engraving of Emile Souvestre, the author, beneath which is written, "Mr. and Mrs. CSouvenir of the family Souvestre." Under this hangs, in a frame, a bunch of black hair, rather long. My host has kindly inquired whether I have eaten, and told me that he dines at half-past six. The domestic asks whether I wish to wash, and then takes me to a little closet, partly filled with sticks of wood. She apologizes for these, but not for what is worse,-namely, the small amount of water. As I wish to take a bath in the morning, she tells me that there is a man who brings up two buckets of water for three sous, and I give her the change. Mr. C.'s rooms cost him about three hundred dollars a year, there being no gas nor water introduced. I ask Marie whether I cannot take the things into my own room to wash, but she fears that there will be spots upon the waxed-floor. A man comes "all the fifteen days," or once a fortnight, to polish the floor, but the spots that get on between-times are her care. She empties the water out of the window of the little closet into a large funnel, whence a spout conveys it down.
At dinner only Mr. C. and myself sit down. His sons are married and living elsewhere. We have first a clear
soup with little or no thickening, but with bits of bread in it. After this an omelet is served, and this Mr. C. tells me is the only dish added upon my account. There are two bottles of wine,-white and red, but only the white is opened. It was made by one of Mr. C.'s sons. We have bread with the omelet, and after this course le potage au feu, or piece of boiled beef with carrots, probably the same from which the soup was made. The next course is a fine cauliflower, eaten cold, with salt, pepper, vinegar, and oil. Afterwards a bit of fresh cheese, oranges, almonds, and raisins. The housekeeper will observe that there is not a great deal of labor for the domestic in such a dinner (all) the bread that I see in Paris appears to be baker's bread). There are several changes of plates; but the number seems to be adapted to the supposed habits of English and Americans.
This is quite a fine house, near one of the boulevards. It belongs to a widow. On the first floor are stores. The next is the entresol, where those live who keep the stores. On the next floor is the apartment of the owner herself, an appartement being a suite of rooms. Madame the marchioness, however, does not occupy the whole of this floor, but rents a part of it. The entry and staircase are very neat, and are furnished all through with the same carpet, this and the entry gas being furnished by the owner. Even up the five flights of stairs the floor of the landing is black and white marble. Entering Mr. C.'s door, we are in a neat little ante-chamber or vestibule, also paved with black and white stone, and furnished with curtains, chairs, a hat-rack, with a simple bracket for a candle, and upon the wall a yellow hand-bill with a notice of some free lectures in which Mr. C. is interested. The first room that we enter from this is the dining-room, with two win