feel ready to exclaim. But why do some of you smoke in public places? To take the boat, I put myself at the end of a long queue, and when at length my turn comes, and I am ready to step on board, they tell me that I shall have to go down into the cabin, for it seems that all the deck places are taken. I express my disgust and refuse to go forward. "Then," says an officer, "you must put yourself at the end of the queue;" and, sooner than go back there, I go on board and down into the cabin, where I find social Americans, and it is not disagreeable, after all. When I get back to my lodgings, I find that our friend Mr. Carpentier is here to dinner, and we have considerable conversation. He says of the French, "We are the most republican people in the world; we have the idea of equality." But," say I, see what we did in our country: we emancipated our slaves, and gave them at once the rights of citizens." "But," he rejoins, "we liberated ours centuries ago." "But my husband could establish a paper in our country without asking leave of any officer of the government." "That is a question of organization," he concludes.

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Having met at Mr. Carpentier's and elsewhere a gentleman who has suffered loss on account of a volume which he published, I desire to have the matter clearly explained, and thus it is. Mr. F. was professor of belles-lettres at the academy of B.; the academies resembling our colleges or universities, and the professors being paid by the government. Mr. F. published a book in which he said that the law of divorce ought to be re-established, and that morality is independent of theological ideas or opinions. (I have before stated that while the civil marriage is the only legal one, the law of divorce in France is that of the Catholic Church. Infidelity of either party does not entitle the other to a divorce and the privilege of marrying again.)

On account of the two propositions above mentioned, the rector of the academy complained to the minister of public instruction, and Mr. F. was suspended from his place, with a greatly diminished salary.

I venture to add the following anecdote, which illustrates manners. Madame Leblanc says to Mr. Carpentier on this occasion, "Only think, Madame G. has had five children and has four living!" "That represents much labor," replies Mr. C. "That represents forty-five months of preg

nancy."

Before long I propose to go southward, and Victor paints to me the dreadful things that will befall me among the peasants. He tells me that I must not say that I am a Protestant, and one of the company says that I shall have to lie. Next day, however, madame says that they did not say that I should have to lie to the peasants; but that if I tell them I am a Protestant, the peasants will lie to me.

Friday, June 21st.—I do begin to have some fears about going, and among strangers. I remember some of the dreadful things that have happened to Protestants in France; and I have lately read the speech of Victor Hugo at the centenary of Voltaire; wherein he told how Calas, the Protestant, was broken upon the wheel on a false accusation; the king afterwards reversing the decree as far as the family were affected, owing to the exertions of Voltaire.

About this time Madame Leblanc, too, helps to frighten me, telling me of her grandfather, who was a bigot, and who, when he heard them discussing religious matters at

her father's, said, "You will go with the goats." He also said, "I would pull the rope," meaning that he would be willing to hang Protestants, Jews, and free-thinkers. We can begin to realize what a powerful word Catholic has been in these countries, when we remember what orthodox has been in our own, and what evangelical now is. Ferdinand of Arragon was honored by the pope with the title the Catholic.

To-day, I make my first visit, and but a short one, to the Louvre Gallery. It seems to me that I never saw anything of the kind to compare with some of the statues here, or as if I never saw statues before. The Diana of Houdon is wonderful for the extreme lightness of the figure. But I forbear to try to criticise any of the works of art that I see. It was not to describe galleries, churches, pictures, and statues that I came to Europe; they have been much written of before. Yet, in reflecting upon this matter, I have fears that I have neglected to give a sufficient idea of the magnificence of Paris, and how in the elegance of its public buildings it outshines London. See what an immense amount of decoration has been put upon the outside of the Louvre! Certainly no city I have seen can compare with this beautiful one; and I feel tempted to doubt whether Athens and Rome in their best days surpassed it.

Above stairs in the picture-gallery, among the artists at work, are a number of women. There is one young woman who is drawing from Paul Veronese's Marriage at Cana in Galilee. She is corseted, and I wonder whether any great work can ever be expected from women who confine the waist. A great artist, too, must be an anatomist, and should understand these things. The reader will please

recall the picture of Rosa Bonheur, with her arm over the neck of a bull. Paris, however, it seems to me, is not remarkable for a knowledge of anatomy and physiology in the people at large. Perhaps they have not had popular writers on these subjects, like George and Andrew Combe.

In this picture-gallery is the celebrated painting of the Conception, by Murillo. The young lady just mentioned tells me that the French government, or administration of fine arts, paid six hundred and forty thousand francs for it. Yet the public are admitted to the Louvre Gallery without charge!

After leaving the Louvre, I see a sign upon the Seine, "Great National Swimming-School for Ladies;" and upon the front of the wrecked and disfigured Tuileries we read: "Republique Français. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité." The men are at work in the garden of the Tuileries preparing, with their wonderful French care, for the great festival of Peace, now approaching. I ask a direction from a man, who inquires whether I see "ce monsieur avec un panier." I do indeed see the gentleman who is carrying a basket upon his head.

Victor tells me what the festival of the 30th of June will cost. The city of Paris gives seventy-five thousand francs, and the general government two hundred thousand. He says that there will be fireworks and music, garlands of flowers and triumphal arches, and he adds that the citizens of Paris will probably spend about eight or ten millions of francs in banners, lanterns, and candles. Was it not rather cool for me to ask him, then, "What is the debt of Paris?" His statement is higher than one I saw in an American paper; but in my note-book it is written with his own

hand the debt of Paris, one billion seven hundred millions of francs, or about three hundred and forty millions of dollars. If the population of Paris be two millions, we thus have a debt of one hundred and seventy dollars for every man, woman, and child in the city! The debt of France Victor gives me at twelve billions of francs, or about two billion four hundred million dollars. He further says that France has an army of four hundred and seventy thousand men, each costing upon an average nine hundred francs a year, or about eighty-four million six hundred thousand dollars. To public school education he says that France gives about eight million four hundred thousand dollars yearly,-about one-tenth of what the soldiers cost!*

Saturday, June 22d.-It has been said to be but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and I find it written at Paris that you are a lucky dog if you spend twenty-four hours in Paris without a flea. What ought to be the condition of those who do not change their undergarments at night nor take a bath? It is added that it would be a good plan to erect scratching-posts, as we hear was done for a nation who cried, "God bless the duke of Buccleugh!" Why should I find a flea in making my bed? The sheet,

The total public debt of France amounted on January 1, 1875, to a nominal capital of eighteen billion seven hundred and fifty-one million six hundred and eighty five thousand six hundred and fortyfive francs. The nominal capital of the debt of the city of Paris at the end of September, 1878, amounted to one billion nine hundred and seventy million francs. To this was added a loan, issued in December, 1878, of three hundred and twenty-five million francs, raising the total debt to two billion two hundred and ninety-five million francs.—Statesman's Year-Book for 1879, Macmillan & Co.