To-day I see a handbill upon the street stating that those families whose names are entered for public assistance will receive each two francs by applying at the mayoralty of the ward.

This festival occurs on Sunday, June 30th. The next evening I leave the Lyons station for the south. In order to preserve the connection I will postpone the description of my visit to a farming family, within seventy miles of that city, and will finish the Parisian narrative. It is four o'clock on Sunday morning, July 14th, when I arrive in Paris from the south. This day Paris fêtes the taking of the Bastile, but it does not appear to be a great national festival like our Fourth of July.

CHAPTER XV.

July 15th.-One evening before I left Paris, at about eight o'clock, there was good instrumental music in the garden of the Jesuit college, before spoken of; the music seemed to proceed from a brass band, with a drum, and it was applauded by clapping hands. We know nothing of the occasion. I suggest that it is a serenade to some distinguished visitor,-Mr. Dupanloup, for instance; but Victor thinks it more probable that it is the festival of their superior or director.

To-day, when I am out, I observe men at work upon a wall, which makes a long stretch on the Rue d'—, and I find that this enclosure belongs to the Jesuits. At a distance within is a handsome new building, and there are a number of boys and an ecclesiastic. I suppose this

ground to be a part of the same gift made by a woman to the Jesuits. I walk around to try and see how much property they have here; and in going around a block, I observe in the back of a court-yard a building, and on the gate in front I read Bureau de Contributions. Contribution office, is it? And do the Jesuits thus, in this insidious manner, ask for contributions, too? I enter the courtyard upon a voyage of discovery, and inquire at a low building on the left, "What are these contributions for ?" "They are contributions," says a young woman; “ask there on the right." At the building on the right is a big woman: "For what are these contributions?" With Parisian rapidity she replies, "Contributions for an apartment; for a dog. Do you want to pay?" No, indeed; and it dawns upon my mind that this is an office where you pay taxes.

Soon after my return I call at Mr. Carpentier's, and meet there a gentleman who tells me something about the patois of France. He gives me a specimen of the langue d'Oc, or dialect of Provence, in the south, and says that those who understand it do not understand the patois of Lyons. Among the peasants of France he estimates. that there are from six to ten different dialects. Even in the environs of Paris he says that the peasants speak an idiom, probably containing Latin, Gallic, and Frank roots.

The following, which I have abridged, was handed to me upon the street to-day; although I flatter myself that I do not resemble the patrons of the entertainment:

"NOTICE. Thursday, July 18th. From nine in the evening until four in the morning. Great Night Festival

in honor of the foreigners met at Paris on the occasion of the Universal Exposition. Ball, infernal quadrille, fairy illuminations, fireworks, flags of all nations, American bars, sails on the lake, pigeon-shooting, wooden horses, Russian mountains in the park and gardens of prizes and medals for hog races. Free entrance to every lady with an escort. Tickets can be procured at all the coffeehouses and restaurants."

I afterwards speak to Mr. and Mrs. Leblanc about this, and they say that these night-balls are the ruin of the youth. I myself can imagine the condition of a young man employed as salesman in one of these great retail stores, where now there is often such a press, if he spend nights at places like this one just brought to my notice. I speak to Mrs. Leblanc about the Jardin Mabille, for which I heard a man in our American department at the Exposition inquiring in a loud tone. Mrs. Leblanc replies that she does not know in what quarter it is; that respectable people know such places by name, but do not know where they are.

After my return I again meet Madame Simon, the dressmaker. In speaking of herself or of her family, she asks whether it seems fair that if they fall sick they should have no refuge but a hospital. I ask an acquaintance what her husband's habits are,-whether he is an industrious workman, and whether the two cannot lay by money! He replies that nineteen-twentieths of the people in Paris cannot lay by money, or three-fourths, if I like that better. One in ten can put by money is, I think, the estimate of another, a quiet Protestant.

Madame Simon came to bring something she had made. She says that the problem of labor is one that we shall

have to meet in America; that if their sufferings are too great, we shall have to feel the consequences. As regards the Communists, I understand her to say that they determined, as they could not conquer the Versailles army, to destroy Paris and perish with it. But she claims that they could not have destroyed the Hôtel de Ville, or some building where were the records of the Empire, and of the money then expended, for that would be so manifestly against their interests. She speaks of the clubs of that time, which were frequented by men and women, but says that she herself did not care to participate in denouncing private individuals because they would not join the Commune.

I hear from Madame Leblanc that one of the women sent to New Caledonia was a teacher, and had instructed Mrs. Leblanc herself. This teacher was mounted upon a barricade with a gun in hand, like one of the national guards, and was fighting. She wore short hair, was peculiar in dress, and was an extreme republican. Further, she was suspected of being fit to disturb the peace of families. Perhaps she will be happier in New Caledonia; but can a Parisian think that possible?

Friday, July 19th.-One great charm of Paris streets is their variety, the soldiers and men in uniform; the schoolboys, often with marked dress; the ecclesiastics in their robes; nuns in different costumes; ladies of fashion; and plain working-women in their caps. Lately I met an ecclesiastic walking with a lady,—not elegant, but well enough. He had a full, florid face, and wore his black robe and the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor. On one of the boulevards to-day I overtake a brown woman in a plaid dress, in which blue predominates; in her plaid neckerchief rose-red

is conspicuous, and in her plaid silk head-handkerchief, yellow. She wears ear-rings and head-pins of filigree,-apparently gold. From previous experience, I know that I must not suppose all the colored people here to be from my own country; and I venture to ask her whether madame is an American. She answers that she is from Guadeloupe (a West Indian isle belonging to the French).

Lately I breakfasted with a French friend, in company with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Gounod-Tessin. These seem to be quite a model pair. I have never seen madame in public without her husband; and I have noticed how helpful he is in domestic matters. We have a nice visit at the house of our mutual friend; and in conversation I tell them of what an Italian gentleman has said here,— that married women in Italy have all liberty. To which I had replied, "Is it possible that an Italian says so?" When I tell this, Mr. Gounod-Tessin seems to feel it a duty to propagate his Fourierite opinions, and he remarks that the patriarchs among the Jews had children by their handmaidens; adding that when society is arranged on a new basis, we shall be able to see a happier state of things than at present exists, or words of like effect. "I prefer your example," I answered, "to your teaching." "We are old people," said madame; "we are friends." In noting this conversation, I ask whether, if there were more lovemarriages here, and if divorce existed as among us, whether this would not be enough to satisfy such quiet people as Mr. and Mrs. Gounod-Tessin. But he is the ardent Fourierite of whom I have before spoken. How little he seems like a sensual man, the slave of his appetites!

I suspect him of having suffered in some of his dealings