000,000, and for warlike purposes, $12,000,000.

That

of France he gives at only $8,400,000 for public instruction, and $140,000,000 for the army.

He tells me that the new opera-house at Paris, or National Academy of Music, was built by the state at an expense of 63,000,000 of francs, or about 12,000,000 of dollars, and he complains that although his money helped to build it he cannot afford to enter it; but I understand him to mean at a representation. In looking at this great building it seems to me glaring and inharmonious. with its gilded figures and marble of different colors. It was begun during the Empire in 1868, and finished in 1875.*

My American friend lives up two flights of stairs, on what is generally the handsomest floor of the house. She has a vestibule or antechamber; a parlor, fourteen feet by eighteen; a dining-room; two good-sized sleeping-rooms, and two smaller rooms; two rooms on the sixth, or up six flights of stairs; a kitchen, and two cellar-rooms. She has no bath, and no gas except in the vestibule and kitchen. She has taken the rooms unfurnished on a lease for three years. Besides her rent, she pays the owner the door and window tax, and her share of the expense of the entry and stairs-carpet. She also pays the city of Paris a tax on residence and furniture, the whole amounting to about $760 yearly. On the same floor is a suite of rooms somewhat larger, and looking upon a more fashionable street, which rent for nearly twice as much as my friend pays.

* I feel inclined, in turning French money into our own, to make the calculation on the basis of nineteen cents to the franc, or, perhaps, of five francs to the dollar, and to abandon the awkwardness of the repeated expression, about ten dollars, and so on.

May 17th.-The letter of introduction which I brought from Mr. L., in Philadelphia, is addressed to three gentlemen, to two of whom I presented it some time ago, and to-day I breakfast with the third. The time mentioned in the note of invitation was 11.15, but Victor thinks that I must get there sooner, lest it should look as if I came for my breakfast! I find the gentleman's house very pleasantly situated beyond one of the octroi gates, but in a a district closely built. Reaching the street and number, I find a wall, within which is a large enclosure, for here the gentleman has about two and a half acres; and, besides his own dwelling, there are houses upon the ground, in which live married daughters. Is it not quite patriarchal for the suburbs of Paris?

I find that I am before time, for one of the daughters comes in to receive me, her manners and dress being simple and unpretending. I will call my host Mr. Pierre. Madame comes in ere long, in a buff dress trimmed with brown. She speaks English very well, and Mr. Pierre can also speak our tongue. They were once Catholics, but are now interested in another church or society. There are busts, in the house, of Mr. Pierre's father, who held an office of some importance under the government,—a life-office. He wears--or the bust does—a wide embroidered cravat, and he looks like an important person. Before breakfast I have some conversation with a nice-looking young gentleman, one of the sons-in-law. I speak of visiting one of the prisons of Paris, but I understand that he thinks I shall have difficulty in obtaining permission, for there was a prisoner who did himself some injury after a stranger came in, saying that he was not a wild beast to be stared at; and then the prison for women, St. Lazare, is so old that they would be ashamed of it. He wants me to visit a peniten

tiary colony in another department, Indre-et-Loire, but this will not suit me. Madame Pierre thinks that if I get a line from our American minister, I shall be more likely to succeed.

It is not rare in our own country to have recourse to the photographic album when strangers visit us, and madame shows me hers, with pictures of her four eldest daughters when young girls. They are in simple dresses, dark and plainly made, with white collars, and dark sashes tied behind. I tell her that if it were not for the sashes they might pass for Quaker girls. Mr. and Mrs. P. have a larger family than most Parisians; there were twelve children, of whom nine are living. Madame Pierre has also photographs of several of my friends in America, members of a society in which Mr. P. is interested.

My invitation was to a breakfast en famille,—an unceremonious one; and I do not remember that any servant was in the room during meal-time, all the dishes being upon the table at the beginning. The parents, the four sons, with two daughters, the Italian, German, and English governesses, with two or more guests, fill a good-sized table. The oldest son, who is getting a beard, does not look very well, and as the father comes into the room he kisses this son, which makes me fear that there is something the matter; but madame explains that he is preparing for his examination. The youngest child is a girl, who, as she goes to her place, stops beside me for me to kiss her. As I now prepare this volume in my own country, I recall that there was something animating in that dining-room upon the ground-floor, looking out upon the pleasant enclosure. I have been censured for speaking so much about eating; but simple details of every-day life help to relieve the mind, which might become fatigued if I spoke of

nothing but schools and religious parties and the military. The dish that most surprises me here is a plate of butter, as I have sat down to so many meals without it. It is soft, but very good, and without much salt. We have boiled eggs; a large dish of mutton sliced and warmed up with the gravy; and there is something that looks like a loaf of bread, but proves to be one of the richest dishes that I have tasted in France. Madame P. allows me to note its contents: within the crust is vermicelli or small macaroni, mushrooms, and livers of poultry, and it is called a timbale Milanaise. There is no ice upon the butter, but there is a little upon a dish resembling curds, which proves to be cottage-cheese, delicate, and doubtless made from sweet milk. Mr. Pierre takes sugar with his; we have nice cream to pour over it, and it is flavored with vanilla. Not much wine is drunk. After the cheese with cream, the boys leave and coffee is served,-very good coffee,-milk being brought for me especially. Madame Pierre gives me some account of the son-in-law whom I have seen and admired. He is from the south of France; they were there, and he fell in love with her daughter, then about fifteen, and several years after they were married. I remark that such marriages are rare here, and that they have marriages de convenance, and madame replies that she has known some happy marriages of that kind; she seems to avoid the expression mariages de convenance (of propriety, of suitableness). I remark that it is not so common here as it is with us for men of means to marry poor women; and she replies that here rich women sometimes marry men without property, who are men of parts, or likely to distinguish themselves.

May 18th.-At breakfast to-day, Victor tells me that he

has understood that there was a woman in America who made seven millions of dollars by procuring abortions. He adds, "That does not speak well for the Americans, does it?" "That was frightful," say he and his wife. "Don't you think so?" he adds.

After this midday breakfast, I again visit the communal school lately mentioned, desiring to visit the third class, for I began at the lowest. It is Saturday afternoon; but their holiday, as I have before said, is Thursday. On my arrival, Madame — the principal, tells me that thirty of her pupils are absent at church; that next week there will be almost constant interruptions, because of the first communion; that from the age of ten to twelve children are prepared for their first communion, and that they have to be absent at church, for confession or to be catechised, so frequently as to cause great derangement in the classes; that those whom they accompany to church on Thursday are those who are preparing for their first communion. She repeats that one of them is expected always to be here on Sunday morning to accompany the children to church, adding, that not more than sixty come on Sunday for this purpose, or only about one-third; that of the remainder she does not suppose that more than twenty go to church, because there is, in matters of religion, a great indifference. Other remarks I suppress, from prudential motives. As I have said, my visit this afternoon is to the third class. The teacher of this class tells me that half of the children are absent at church, and I see that the benches are not filled. If the public were allowed to visit the schools these things might be changed,

In this class, girls of ten are ciphering in division of