dows looking on this court-yard, we will call the house of the marquis. Here upon the court-yard are the stable and coach-house, and this building, of which we occupy a portion, may be that of his principal retainer, or retainers, lodged out of the house.

A young man I know, lately received a letter in an official envelope, postage unpaid. When he opened it, it contained the notice of his child's birth returned to him, with additional remarks. He is an ardent republican, and thus his notices were worded:

"FRENCH REPUBLIC!

"LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY!

"Mr. and Mrs. have the honor of informing you of the birth of their daughter, Anita Elisa Liberta.

The following is added by the anonymous writer in a kind of mock Italian, Anita being the name of the wife of Garibaldi: "The poor little one, is she baptized like her papa? Oh, la, la! Long live the Church!" Then there is a line crossed out which, my acquaintance says, is "and the priests." Was it not adding injury to insult to make him pay the postage on this missive? As to the official envelope, it is out of date.

CHAPTER XIII.

Sunday morning, June 23d.-Madame Leblanc runs out this morning in her water-proof cloak, and without a bonnet, to do some errands, and accompanies her husband to the omnibus. "It was full!" she says. "But if we go to Asnières ?" I ask. "We can take the railway," she replies. "At this hour," she adds, (it is about nine), "there are no omnibuses nor hired carriages to be had! Without the railway it is impossible to travel on Sundays at this time; it is desolating!"

A friend has lent to me a volume of Galignani, of the year 1873. It says that the whole number of births in Paris by the latest return (1869) was 54,397; of these, 15,366 were illegitimate, of which 3509 were recognized by their parents. More than one-fourth of the births in this great city illegitimate; only about one-fourth of these illegitimate children recognized by their parents! Of deaths there were 45,872, of whom 12,170 died in hospitals, almshouses, and prisons; more than one-fourth! Galignani also says, "It has been remarked that families constantly residing in Paris soon become extinct." In another part of this volume will be found statistics on one of the above points, obtained at the Exposition.

Monday, June 26th.-May I be allowed to say that I have not had the pleasure of seeing a fire here, nor any fire

apparatus tearing through the streets? I do see down our street, in the pavement, an iron plate, labelled "Mouth for fire." Also, at a great barrack, I have seen the words Sapeurs, Pompiers; and I am told that the sapeurs are to cut away the burning wood with their hatchets, and the pompiers to pump water. Madame Leblanc says that more fires occur in winter, and also in factories where there are steam-engines, and in saw-mills. She adds that sometimes houses take fire from the chimneys not being cleaned. That the chimneys in new houses are so small that children cannot climb them she considers an advantage, for she says that it was barbarity. Victor afterwards tells me that they have large fires here, that burn four or five houses! The small amount of fuel used, the excellence of a great part of the buildings, constructed of stone, and the great care of the French, doubtless help to protect them from devastating fires.

I have another dressmaker,-a democratic one. She calls to see me about some sewing I want done; and to narrate her conversation will help to portray the Parisian mind. I mention one of my friends who was Protestant, but has become Catholic. To my surprise, she replies, "She has left the truest religion to take up the most false." It is a strange question after what she has said, but I ask, "Are you a Catholic?" "I am a free-thinker," she replies; "I accept no dogmas that cannot be proved; what I desire is truth." She tells us that on Sunday, which was Fête-Dieu, or the festival of the holy sacrament, there was a procession around the square at Batignolles, and mothers came with their children, bringing nosegays to touch the holy sacrament, to have the nosegays blessed. "And there has been a remonstrance got up," she adds, "and I signed

it, for what we want is justice; and if it is not permitted to have a procession, and carry a red flag with the words 'Long live the Commune!' neither should there be a blue banner with 'Long live the Sacred Heart!'" If the women who spoke in the times of the Commune were like her, they were fluent. She speaks also of some lecture that had been forbidden; and while on these topics, she says, "And we are in the nineteenth century, at Paris, in the most enlightened city of France; what, then, must it be in the provinces ?" What follows rests on her authority. "One of my daughters went to the communal laic school in the Rue and Mademoiselle, the principal, said to the child that her mother must come and bring her certificate of baptism, because she was old enough to prepare for the first communion. I answer that my daughter will not commune, and that I don't think a mistress ought to concern herself with the conscience of the children. Then the mistress made the child suffer every species of vexation, deprived her of rewards for her studies, such as are usually given, medals, and so forth, and even prevented her going to the cabinet. I took her away from the school, and put her to a Protestant one. Now she says the prayer with the other children, and once a week learns the sacred history, but is not obliged to go to church. In the communal school, conducted by the Sisters, Rue, the girls are obliged to sew two hours a day; sewing is taken in from The Spring" (a great store), "and the Sisters receive the money." If Madame Simon, as I will call the dressmaker, is correct, what is the remedy for these things? Is not one preventive to invite the public to visit these communal or public schools?

Madame Leblanc inquires of Madame Simon concerning another daughter, and she replies that she put her to work

with a stranger, because she was not sufficiently diligent at home, adding, "I do not like idlers,-Je n'aime pas les flaneuses."

I have called Paris the great hotel of the world; but the passenger, the traveller, who stays over-night, or even for a week, in the parlor and handsome bedroom of a well-kept hotel, what does he know of the contentions, the heart-burnings, the debts, the trials, the jealousies, of the landlord's family? Nay, how much does he care for them, so long as the meals and the rooms are in good order?

I go to see the shoemaker about my shoes, and he tells me that the men do not work on Monday (or not regularly), that they would rather work on Sunday,―rather than go to church. They spend Monday at the wine-shop, and wives and children must sometimes suffer. As usual, his wife is" in the store, and one of them speaks of the men's getting good wages and spending them. They tell me of the excellent traits of their little boy, who has become reconciled to leaving the country, and who is now with his grandparents near the Luxembourg. He is gentil, or sweet; he is tractable. The shoemaker and his wife are quite handsome young people; but she does not dress much. I suppose that such persons, shut up in close quarters, go out of the house for amusement.

This evening one of our acquaintances, Madame comes to see us, but will not dine; however, she accepts a biscuit or little sponge-cake and some wine. Victor expresses his delight in certain wines. We speak of women's drinking too much, and Madame says that