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are very near disagreeing upon the subject of ice. We have wine twice a day with eau de seltz, but madame especially opposes ice-water: "That must make the character cold, that must chill the heart." However, the expression refroidit le cœur is a euphemism, the heart being used for the stomach. Perhaps the additional expense of ice is an objection. The next day, however, when I get a little at the creamery, they are willing to partake, and seem to enjoy it. Victor said lately that after the 1st of July it will be much cheaper, on account of the removal of the duty. At the restaurants I see struck bottles-carafes frappées-so filled with ice that it must necessarily have been formed in them; and at the Exposition I visit a building where ice is being formed by a chemical process.

I make a short call upon Madame Simon, the dressmaker; but we have little opportunity to talk. In reply to a question, she says that the prefect of the Seine and the prefect of police are pachas. The municipal councils of Paris have not the right to say we will, they can only say we desire. The Commune wanted to establish the same independence for Paris that the other communes have. She states that the cannon from Versailles set fire to buildings at Paris; but Victor afterwards says that it is no use to deny that the Communists destroyed things. "Sometimes," he adds, "there were private hatreds, as when a man had been turned out by his landlord, and these private hatreds were then revenged." One of Victor's aunts was killed during the Commune. She saw some of the destruction that was going on, and said, "I will denounce you when the Versaillists come in." "We won't wait for that," was the answer, and she was shot at once.

What

Madame Simon spoke of the other communes. we call the Commune at Paris, the French often call the civil war. The commune in France may be said to correspond with our township. Beginning with the commune, they have one more division than we: first, the commune; second, the canton; third, the arrondissement; fourth, the department; and, fifth, France. We have, first, the township; second, the county; third, the state; fourth, the United States; but our system of federated republics is very different from theirs. Madame the dressmaker added that the party called the Commune wished to prevent the overthrow of the republic.

In my walks I visit another laundry, the Lavoir Sainte Marie, being permitted to enter and see it for myself. The woman-cashier, whose business seems to be general superintendence, kindly gives me permission. She tells me that the clothes received are made up into bundles and ticketed, and I see the round metallic tickets hanging. They are then put into an immense tub or boiler made of wood and lined with copper: put into cold water with potash. (I understand that eau de Javel is also used here.) Steam is introduced, and they are boiled or steamed during the night, and in the morning are ready to be taken out. At this laundry they do not use one great vessel for rinsing, but have separate tubs. I go up-stairs, and see how the drying space is divided into separate small rooms (with sides made of slats), in which the clothes are hung, each door being furnished with a lock. One of the women at work below says that they receive three francs a day, working from seven in the morning until seven in the evening. I observe that some of them are eating; doubtless they

furnish their own meals. This method of washing we can understand to be an economical and well-arranged one for a country where fuel is so scarce, and in a city where space is so desirable. But it seems to me that our housekeepers would not incline to put their family wash into a bundle and send it to be steamed with similar bundles from other families, all steamed together during the night as the wash; at least, such are not our habits now. beware in our different surroundings of too closely imitating the Parisians. Why should our children be brought up in flats, and not have a bit of mother-earth under their feet?

sent to Let us

In speaking lately to an American friend about the volume of compositions and exercises brought from the Philadelphia Exposition and published here, she tells me that some of them have appeared in the Journal des Débats. She likes this paper, but calls it too republican. I ask Victor about it, and about its republicanism; he replies that it is rose-water, and finishes by saying that it is not republican at all. So opinions differ.

One of my Parisian friends will have the tea handed to him on one occasion, made paler; and will have some spirits put into it. Afterwards, when I call at his house, he offers me coffee and rum; perhaps he is in jest.

Riding in the omnibus, I copy the following from a bill put up therein: "For sale, every morning, The People, a daily political journal. It publishes a great popular romance, by Emile Richebourg, author of The Accursed

Daughter and The Two Cradles, having for title The Parisian Lovers,-Les Amoureuses de Paris. Five centimes the number," being nearly one cent. Profitable, cheap literature! It will be observed that I have not exactly translated the title of the "great popular romance."

CHAPTER XIV.

Friday, June 28th.-Going down our street this morning, I overtake a woman without a bonnet, in the sun, with a large load in her outside blue apron, held up by having the long corners tied up over her shoulder. In her hands she carries three extremely long loaves, like thick poles, measuring about two yards in length. To rest herself, she occasionally sets the ends of the loaves upon the pavement, or rests them against the wall. Such loaves are cut into bits for customers at restaurants. When I was first at Paris, it seemed strange to see people carrying loaves of bread without a basket or any covering.

Wishing to speak to Mr. Carpentier, I lately called upon him, and found him busily engaged with his friends Mr. B. and Mrs. K. in preparing matter to send by mail,—an article which he has written and published upon an important political subject. The windows of the room were closed, which seemed strange to me in such fine weather. Mr. Carpentier accompanied me into the next room to hear what I had to say, and when we came out I remarked that at home (in America) we should have the doors and win

dows open, Mr. B. wore a cloth coat, and must have been warm enough, but I perceived that Mr. Carpentier was not pleased with my remark. The sojourner at Paris can scarcely fail to observe how much is said about currents of air. Victor was lately at the furnace in our little kitchen, and the kitchen door was open. For some purpose I also opened the window, when he made a great outery: "Oh, madame, you make a current of air! I detest currents of air!"

Although it seems close at Mr. Carpentier's, I offer to help direct pamphlets; one is to go to a deputy or an editor, and I ask whether I shall say Monsieur. Mr. Carpentier answers that they do not trouble themselves about that. "But when you were with me that Sunday," I rejoin, “you said, 'Thank you, madame!' to the charcoal-woman." "And why not, if I say it to the queen ?" says Mr. C. Mr. B., who is assisting, is a native of Alsace or Germany, and I ask him why the French do not advertise in the papers; I might have said, advertise generally, as we do. Mr. B. replies that he has often asked the question, but it is not the custom to do so. I speak of the amount of money which our papers make by advertisements; and Mr. Carpentier, being perhaps somewhat vexed, asks a question which it is a little difficult to translate for these pages: "Est ce qu'on donne chez vous des rendezvous galants dans les journaux ?" or, "In your country, do lovers make appointments in the papers?" I answer lamely, "The personals in the New York Herald."

Perhaps Mr. Carpentier considers this an overwhelming argument.

Saturday, June 29th.—On this delightful, cool morning, fresh and breezy, at about half-past eight, I meet young Paris going to the public schools.

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