covered with leather. Those who cried To Berlin!' were police agents, dressed in white blouses like workingmen."

Thursday, May 23d.-The little one was born last night. Victor proposes to go to the mayor's office to register her birth and take out a certificate. These “acts of birth" are of much importance in France. This one will cost him three or four francs. His and Madame Leblanc's were burned during the commune.

I was up last night with madame while her husband went for the doctor; then, about three in the morning, I heard the strong crying of the little one, and rose and assisted at its toilet. They put on a thick cap, to which the doctor does not object at all, some clothing round the body, and a white sack over it, but never a petticoat. Instead, they take a blanket or swaddling cloth, wrap the little body well, and double the blanket up behind to protect its feet, which have on no socks. I had appointments for to-day at the Exposition, but I send notes to my acquaintances and remain while Victor goes out on business. They expected a woman to help them, but I hear that her husband had to go to the country, and that she will not come until Saturday. I run out on an errand to the baker's, and when Victor comes, behold, he has given up his business for two days.

Friday, May 24th.-Last evening the doctor spoke of the want that there is in his quarter among locksmiths, masons, and other mechanics, who cannot earn their living because they have so many children. "How many?" I afterwards ask of Victor. "Three or four." "And do their wives do anything?" "They do their house-work

(Elles font leur cuisine); they cannot do more." Because of having so many children?" "Yes, yes." "And how much do they earn a day?" "Three, four, five francs.” He tells me that the doctor said that what we need is to find out a way to prevent this want. "I know how it could be done," says Victor. "And how?" "By the patrons, the masters, being satisfied with making seven francs instead of ten." On another occasion I understand the doctor to say that the cause of this want is that capital is on one side and labor on the other, and that labor is obliged to accept the terms offered. He adds that there are little vices to which the laborer is addicted; he smokes, he drinks, and loses his time. He says that there are not such great families of children here as in England.

It may be remembered that I have been visiting a girls' public or communal school, beginning with the lowest class. When last there I proposed to pay another visit this week, but the principal said that she could not promise me much, as Thursday would be the time of the first communion, and the school would be much deranged upon that account. Well, then, I would not go there until Friday and Saturday. This being the proposed Friday, I go to the school, and find it in confusion,-in disorganization, if I may be allowed to say so. The principal is at church with pupils who are hearing a mass of thanksgiving for the first communion of yesterday; twenty-four from this school made their first communion, and thirty-six persevered. The pupils who are now at church have permission to rest, if they wish, for the remainder of the day. They will return from church to salute their teachers, but very few of them will be here in the afternoon. Among those absent from school

now are some who have permission to accompany brothers or sisters to the mass. Next Wednesday there will be another ceremony at church,-the confirmation,-but there will not be so many absent then. I have spoken of the schools being in a state of disorganization; but, in conversing with two of the teachers, they are not satisfied with the expression: they consider it more exact to say that on account of the obligatory absence of the principal, and of many of the children, their classes are found depopulated. I inquire of them about the clerical schools, and I understand that these were established before the others; they say that the nuns have money to furnish children with clothing that they may need. "Where do they get it?" I inquire. "It is given to them by rich ladies." "At the clerical school," I say, "there is a crucifix and there are pictures." Triumphantly one or both point to a crucifix, which I had not noticed,—a small one,-on high over the principal's desk. These are furnished to all the city schools (some, of course, would not accept them,―the Protestants and Jews). In the principal's room I find that out of thirty-six pupils, six are present to-day. I ask who gives them their lessons in her absence, and they point to the blackboard; their duties are assigned to them. Here I look into a school history, and find it highly enthusiastic on the subject of Napoleon Bonaparte. About half-past ten the principal returns from church. She looks very neat in a black cashmere, handsomely trimmed with black silk, a gay neck-ribbon, and gay bonnet. Afterwards a flower is brought in in a pot; I imagine it a present to her for her attention in bringing the children to church. I finish the morning in the room of the second-class teacher, the only one unmarried. She is very agreeable; I will call her Miss Fleutet. seemed to me more piously inclined than the others, and

She

there appears to be a difference in sentiment between her and others on the question of religious education in the schools. She tells me that those parents who do not want it are spendthrifts and drunkards. She complains that her class is badly graded; the inspector, finding the fourth class too full, had divided pupils from it between the second and third classes. She says that she thinks he is trying an experiment. I ask the salary of inspectors, and she thinks it is six thousand francs. In this school there are two hundred pupils, of whom one is Protestant and one Jewish (already mentioned). In Miss Fleutet's room maps are hanging, and here I observe the same centralization—if I may use the word that I have seen elsewhere. It is France, France, France. There is a map of the ward in which the school stands; one of Paris and its environs; one of the department of the Seine,-that department, small in size but great in population, in which Paris stands; there is also an outline map of France, with a small part of adjacent countries; and the only other unrolled is one of Palestine (I infer for sacred history). She has only one blackboard, and it is not large. There is a little altar or shrine, with a small image of Mary and a couple of flowerpots. But this "Holy Virgin" is also, I think, furnished to the schools. After leaving the school I desire some further information, and I address a note to this teacher, who is so polite as to come and call upon me, as I shall mention.

Among the various objects which I see at this season upon the varied streets of Paris are the young girls dressed for the first communion. I see one to-day in white muslin, no bonnet, but a long, white veil, and white shoes, like a bride. They are interesting. My American friend says

that white prayer-books and white porte-monnaies are also used on this occasion,-a prayer-book bound in bone or ivory, and a white porte-monnaie in which to carry the offering; but I do not find that a contribution is obligatory. Boys wear a white brassard, or handsome ribbon, around the arm, and sometimes white pantaloons, but the weather as yet is not suited to such clothing.

Upon a wall I see a handbill concerning a sale of the goods of some woman deceased. The handbill is printed by Widows Renon, Maulde, and Cock, Rue de Rivoli, No. 144. Victor tells me jestingly that their husbands were printers; and, after having well wept them, they continued the business.

I tell him that my relative will think him a dreadful Republican if she sees his invitations headed "Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!" He answers gayly that he is as well known as the white wolf. "When they see me persons say, 'V'la un bon !' There is a good fellow."

Saturday, May 25th.-Summer days are long in this latitude. This morning at about a quarter before four the sparrows begin to twitter, and I can read coarse print at the window.

To-day, at the Exposition, I see a crowd in our Mechanical Department, gathered around Fay's band-saw, and there are many thoughtful and interested faces. One person is a Swiss, another a German, and workmen in white blouses or in blue clothes are conspicuous among the crowd.

Madame C., the French lady from the south, whose husband is exhibiting here, is attentive to me to-day; and I am delighted to learn that all the difficulties in the way