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ery, oo-ery, ickery, an; bobtail, vinegar, who began ?" But this is what the little French girl says:

"Une souris verte, qui courait dans l'herbe,

Je la prends par la queue, je la montre à ces messieurs.”

(A green mouse that was running in the grass: I take it by the tail; I show it to these gentlemen.) Thus she decides who shall hide the handkerchief. Now the poor-looking boys are coming from the public school; see the names on baskets they carry. A quarrel arises; one picks up a pebble, as if going to throw it at another, but he concludes by throwing it into the water. Before long the man in authority appears, the big man in uniform; he can keep children in order. He wears a dark green coat and cap; he carries a stick and wears a sword; he has a decoration on his breast: doubtless he was long a soldier. I get up to walk, and meet a very neat-looking girl, about twelve years old, without a bonnet, walking with a woman in a cap. The girl wears a high black woollen apron, and on her breast are two medals-one white, one yellow-attached with black ribbons. A lady tells me that they are probably the medals of her class: the nice girl wears them much as the military man wears his decoration. I make an inquiry from a woman who joins me in my walk. She tells me of an acquaintance, who was in Philadelphia, who paid twelve francs for a beefsteak. (Let us at least hope that it was a large one.) She tells me that her daughter teaches; she speaks of the Park Monceau, where she very often goes, and she conducts me thither. It is more elegant, and so are the people; upon it is the house of Menier, whose advertisement is so often seen upon the streets,Chocolat Menier; he is a rich man.

CHAPTER XII.

Tuesday, June 18th.-A friend in America gave me a souvenir to take to one of her French friends. He does not live in Paris, but I can hear from him through Mr. Letellier, who does. To-day I proceed to find this gentleman, and, reaching the right number, I go up six flights of stairs, until I come to his neat apartment. He seems to live alone; he is a childless widower. He calls my attention to a carved cabinet, which he says is of the time of Henry II. It is the piece of furniture which the quiet gentleman seems proud of,—a gift to his wife from her father, who was an artist. Mr. Letellier, as I call him, is connected with a newspaper, but not a political one; nevertheless, this seems a good opportunity to obtain some information about the press, which Mr. L. gives me nearly as follows: "If you desire to establish a political newspaper in France, you must apply for authority to the minister of the interior, who will give his orders to the prefect of police of Paris (or, in another department, to the prefect of that department). The prefect of police sends you to the governor of Paris, who is the military governor (this was the rule two years ago; perhaps it has become more liberal since). When you have obtained permission of the military governor, you must go to the treasurer, or minister of finance, to give bail. This is always high; the minimum, I think, is eighteen thousand francs. This must be readymoney, which will be returned when the journal ceases to exist; the money is always restored to the individual, or to

his heirs, if he has not lost the whole by proceedings against the paper. These proceedings may be in the form of fines exacted by the government."

While in Paris, I call again upon this gentleman, and in leaving I open a wrong door. It is that of a little room containing canaries. I remark that Parisians want something to love (I could not then give the word for pets), and that often they have little dogs. He answers that he has only his birds. He has a brother, but he lives in the provinces; and, as I have before said, Mr. Letellier is a childless widower. Loneliness in a crowd! If he is taken sick what will be his refuge ?—a hospital?

I call again to-day upon the liberal Protestant gentleman before mentioned, and have further conversation with him. Out of the thirty-eight millions of people in France, about four hundred thousand are Protestants. There are two hundred and fifty liberal churches in France, the greater part being village churches. (In opinion, I understand that they resemble the late Theodore Parker.) The gentleman adds that the average number of members in these churches is two hundred; and the conditions of membership are, to be baptized, to have made the first communion, and to have had one's marriage blest in the church. (Thus it will be seen that even liberals demand something beyond the only legal marriage, which is in the mayor's office.) All these liberal churches are recognized by the state but one, that of St. André, in Paris, the only one of the kind in this city. As I have before told, this church was deprived of all government aid by the action of Guizot, the historian, towards Coquerel, the former pastor, now dead. Here I propose to give an anecdote, an exceptional one,

as I have hitherto avoided giving names and tales both; this story, however, may be interesting to my fellow-countrymen, such as are now opposing the old doctrine of rotation in office. It was told to me by a person of great respectability, but one who has reason for not loving the name of Guizot. Guizot, the son, had contracted gamblingdebts, amounting, perhaps, to ten thousand dollars. He himself was in opposition to the emperor; but, as his father was a distinguished man, he wrote to Louis Napoleon, asking him to pay his debts. The emperor did so; the younger Guizot supported him, and was soon made -what? Sub-director of public worship! And this is a permanent office, as it is not the custom to displace officeholders. The ministry may pass away, but the lower officers remain. It was after the action of his father towards Mr. Coquerel that the son received the appointment. Through the Guizots, is the Church purified? Here may be the proper place to add that in the north of France I saw a handbill posted, stating that Mr. Bardoux had been to Lisle to lay the corner-stone of a building; Mr. Bardoux, "minister of public instruction, of worship, and of fine arts,❞—a concatenation accordingly !*

When out lately I became pre-occupied, and went through a new street, where I saw a building with the sign St. Augustine Laundry; so called from the great church near by. The signs of Paris are a curiosity; the storekeeper rarely or never putting his name over his door. One establishment is "Great Stores of the Louvre ;" another the

*By the budget estimate of 1878, the cost of public instruction, worship, and the fine arts was about 115,000,000 francs; that of the army more than four times the sum.

cheap store or "Bon Marché ;" another large store is "To Spring;" and a place for infants' clothing bears the tender appellation "To Maternal Joy." "To Maternal Joy." But to return

to the laundry or lavoir: the upper part of the door is not closed, except by some upright iron rods, so that I am able to look in and see the rows of women at work, -three rows with tubs, besides an enormous vessel for rinsing. Seeing me looking in, a nice-looking woman comes to the door, and talks with me on the subject through the bars. I understand that there are mistresses and assistants; if so, the French passion for grading things can be observed even here. Each woman with a tub has also before her a little inclined plane, like a school-desk. Upon this she lays a piece of the wet clothing and soaps it; then doubling it, she takes a paddle, like a large butterworker, and beats the article, probably to beat the soap through. Afterwards she takes a brush, like a clothesbrush, but longer in the bristles,-the bristles (if I may say so) being made of fine broom-corn; with this she brushes the article that she is washing. I ask whether they do not boil the clothes; and I understand that if they are brought in in the evening, they put them into a vessel and boil or scald them during the night, and that they use lye and Javel water,-eau de Javel. As regards this eau de Javel, a lady from the centre of France tells me that it burns the clothes, but I understand at Paris that it is used for removing wine-stains. As I am leaving the laundry, I see an old woman carrying away a quantity of wet clothing, and on inquiry, she tells me that there is a drying-place above the wash-room,-a séchoir above the lavoir. Adèle, the servant of my friend, tells her that women who have washing to do can take it to a lavoir, and make use of all the conveniences by paying a moderate sum.

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