street-corner, where, at Lenoir's door, he sits looking so clean in his striped cotton trousers.

Then he takes his croche, or the little wooden thing that he puts upon his back, and putting the larger and smaller trunks upon it, carries them down, and, when at his journey's end, up three flights of stairs. The charge is a franc and a half, but I add a trifle. Poor little man! I understand him that he is from near Switzerland, " from that great lake which runs into the Rhone."

My new boarding-house pleases me, for I am placed in a French private family, at the moderate rate of forty francs a week. Victor Leblanc and his wife are young married people. He is lame, but very industrious in the house, keeping no servant. Their apartment is somewhat showy, with a piano and bronzes, but it is small, and they have put a bed for me into their little parlor or salon. Victor is a book-keeper. He seems, too, to have adaptability, savoir faire. He has tools, and if he wants a closet can run up a partition himself. I will take the liberty of adding what an elderly French gentleman told me,-that Victor wished to be sage; he married young; and that madame is pregnant; she is going to take her bed. After my arrival, or about seven in the evening, we dine on a ragout or stew of potatoes and meat, sardines, wine of two kinds, and, for dessert, a bit of cream cheese, quite delicate. They have, too, at this meal, houblon, a drink made of hops, but not fermented. It is said to be purgative, and good for the health, but I cannot praise its taste. My hosts tell me that their best meal is in the middle of the day,—the breakfast. Victor is the protégé of a gentleman to whom I brought a letter of introduction. Victor is a very ardent republican. In the dining-room is a bust of Voltaire, of whom he speaks as the forerunner of their Revolution. I laugh, and ask

"The John Baptist?" but I am not sure that he understands me. He says that they do not regard Mirabeau with the same veneration as Voltaire.

This Saturday evening, I am again at Mr. Carpentier's. The Swiss young gentleman, on entering, goes up to our host and kisses him on one cheek and then on the other. I am fresh from my call on the school-master, and we discuss the public schools. Our host, though a warm republican, does not consider it desirable for every one who wishes to be allowed to visit these schools. I speak about the catechism, the religious teaching, and some one says that the Senate would not listen to a proposition to abolish it. I thought, judging from my own country, that if there were three men sufficiently opposed to it, they could get up petitions and force the Chambers to discuss the subject. This education is allowed in the schools, while at the same time there is talk about the clericals being the enemies of republicanism, which seemed to me like building with one hand and tearing down with the other. They tell me that in the higher—the professional-schools there is no religious instruction. About nine-tenths of the people of this country are Catholic.

Among the guests present this evening is a distinguished gentleman from southeastern Europe who takes snuff. Another person present is Madame Latour, said to be living upon her rentes, or the interest of money, though doubtless the expression generally includes rent of houses and lands. This seems to be considered a desirable thing here, and is not despised in other countries. She is a widow, quiet and unpretending. This is the second anniversary of her husband's death, and on Sunday she will visit the cemetery.

Sunday, May 5th.-This morning Victor calls me to an early meal, served to myself alone. It is coffee with hot milk, and bread without butter.

To-day I meet again the learned professor upon whom I called last week, and again we speak of the journals and of the schools. Liberty of the press does not exist as with us even in republican France; and the professor tells me that a journal is not allowed to say "to-morrow we ought to have a new revolution," or 66 to-morrow we ought to reinstate the house of Bourbon," because the people are so little instructed, and so ready to be stirred up, that doing so might produce a serious difficulty, causing the death of many persons. On the subject of the schools, he says that if the public were admitted, idle persons, of whom there are many in France, might go in and disturb the exercises. He adds,—and is it not funny?—that members of the clerical party might visit them with the desire of picking flaws, as well as representatives of the press. Whereupon I tell him that we have a free press and do not fear it. The public schools of France are comparatively such humble things that it may be that gentlemen of standing do not generally interest themselves in their workings, and what is said about religious instruction does not seem to agree entirely with what I afterwards learn; but it is as follows: at a given hour the Catholic priest visits the schools to give religious. instruction; at another hour, the Lutheran minister; at another, the Reformed or Calvinistic; and at another, the Jewish (these being the four religious bodies paid by the State). The learned professor, who, as I hear is not Catholic, argued in favor of this instruction, saying that there are in Paris many families of mechanics or workingmen, in which both parents are busily occupied all day, earning their livelihood, and so have little or no time to give reli

gious instruction to their children. Again he says that very few of the workingmen go to church, and therefore their children would have no religious instruction at all, but for this in school. I reply that with us this instruction is given in churches and Sunday-schools, and tell him of the labors of a certain citizen of Philadelphia in establishing a mission Sunday-school. (But would a lay Catholic be allowed by the church to do such a thing?)

sexes.

While we are talking a gentleman enters, whom the professor introduces as a member of the House of Deputies. This gentleman kindly offers to let me have an order to enter the Chambers or their parliament at Versailles. He mentions an American woman who has been here, named Ward. She has spoken upon the co-education of the It occurs to me that he means Julia Ward Howe, and I tell him that she is a distinguished woman, a poet. The deputy tells the professor about our having schools for both sexes, not only for the young, but (with a smile) for those of fifteen and thereabout. He tells us that Mrs. Howe touched upon delicate subjects with purity. It has not been common for ladies to speak in public in France; and it was a Freemasons' hall that had been obtained for Mrs. Howe. The deputy spoke of having heard women address meetings during their civil war, by which he meant what we call the commune.

"And how did they speak?" I ask. The deputy makes little answer, but the professor is complimentary, saying, "On quite different subjects from those that Madame G― speaks about."

This Sunday we have a guest to the noontide-breakfast, and at dinner we have her husband also. Soon after my morning coffee, Victor begins to prepare for the déjeuner,

and makes quite a show with the table-cloth, the oranges and apples that he places upon it, and the red radishes in rays, ends in the middle of the plate, leaves on the outer edge. He says that he adores cooking. The guest is very neat. She is a pretty young woman with color in her cheeks. She has been married about a year, and has a baby at some distance from Paris, with a relative. For breakfast we have first the dear little radishes, with bread and very good butter. The next course is a piece of veal roasted in a tinkitchen, before the charcoal grate, before described; the veal, when dished, being partly buried in oseille or sorrel, which looks like spinach, but has an acid taste, and is good; the juice or gravy of the meat having been poured over it. The wine is opened, and white wine poured into small tumblers. After this course, there is a dish of haricots or string-beans. I do not think that I want any, but they tell me that they are haricots with butter, and induce me to eat. They are young, tender, and good. Then there is salad dressed with oil and vinegar, without sugar. Victor opens a bottle of red wine, which he calls Bordeaux, and it seems to be a treat, and glasses are touched all round, when healths are drunk to Garibaldi, to America, and to Mr. L., of Philadelphia: and our guest compliments Victor and Madame Leblanc by saying, "To the little one who is coming." After the salad we have the oranges and apples and black coffee with sugar. The sugar looks very nice. I am told that it is from beets, and costs fifteen sous a pound, the French pound being about one-tenth heavier than ours.*

In the afternoon I call upon the professor as before de

*The French pound is the same as the half-kilogramme, or, popularly, the half-kilo. The kilogramme is about two and two-tenths pounds avoirdupois.