des Débats has excellent book notices; but if I rightly understand Mr. Carpentier, he believes the Swiss statement more correct. At Mr. C.'s I inquire concerning an expression I have read somewhere about taking the little God to a sick man, meaning the mass. A person present replies that there is a saying, "He is such a good man (or serious man) that he can receive the good God without confession."

May 9th.—I should have been almost isolated in Paris but for the American lady just spoken of. She has been several years in Europe, and now, with her son, has a nice suite of rooms here. She has kindly assisted me in that feminine occupation, shopping; and at one of the great stores she says quietly, "Do not speak English," for fear they will charge more.

I have lately dined with her; and even at the risk of being thought to talk too much upon such subjects, I will mention how tender was the fowl, and how delightfully roasted in the tin-kitchen before the charcoal fire. At the pastry cook's she probably obtained the goutets,-little pies or tarts made of mushrooms, and the Charlotte Russe. Her asparagus is served with white sauce or melted butter, and in eating it is customary to lift it with the fingers by the coarse end, dipping the other into the sauce. Having been so long resident here, my friend can explain to me some things that I do not understand. We speak of the public midwives, or sage-femmes, and she tells me that her servant's sister was lately confined at one of the lying-in houses. The woman was a cook in one family, and her husband a servant in another. She adds that such women work almost to the moment of their confinement, and then

go right to one of these surgical boarding-houses, kept by women who, having passed an examination, have received a diploma from a medical school. Here the patient receives board and medical treatment usually for ten days, the customary pay being from five to eight francs a day. The charge in hospitals is less; some indeed are free, and in every one there are free beds. All the babies, Protestant and Catholic, are generally baptized within twenty-four hours, and about the third day are commonly sent away to nurse. My friend adds that her own servant's husband is a valet in another house, and is an excellent man. Adèle, the wife, is expecting to be confined in a few months, and hopes to be able to put her child with her sister in Paris, whose husband is a sergent de ville, or policeman, and consequently a person of importance in the eyes of Adèle. Adèle's wages are fifty francs a month and an allowance of ten francs for wine, and five for her washing. Besides, my friend furnishes her with four good white aprons and four colored ones, which are included in the family wash, -this washing being done by a blanchisseuse, or laundrywoman in one of the shops down-stairs, who sends the heavy part of her washing into the country, but irons in the shop. It must not be inferred because my friend gives her servant an allowance for wine that it is not used upon own table.

Upon the Boulevard Haussman I get a bonnet from Madame G.; and she also consents, she or her assistant, to make me a dress. They are both nice-looking women. Once the assistant sends away a bonnet by a little girl dressed in dark-blue flannel or water-proof. She tells me that the child will make her first communion to-morrow,

and that she is well pleased. She is eleven years old. "Are these children yours?" I inquire. "Oh, no; they are the nieces of Madame G." On another occasion she returns to the subject of the first communion, and shows me a little colored picture of children with a bird-nest, telling me. that it is customary for children, at their first communion, to make presents to their little friends. The girl has a number of pictures. Before I leave Paris, when the children (there are two girls and a boy) come on an errand to my lodgings, I understand them to say that they are Madame G.'s children.

I see upon the streets, at this present season, young girls wearing white muslin dresses, white caps, and white veils falling back, and they look quite interesting, adding another variety to these varied streets. I understand that they are making their first communion.

To-day a man tells me not to be crushed, and the greatest danger that I find here is that of being run over. The streets are wide, and come into others often at acute angles, so that you may start to cross a place, or opening, seeing no danger, but before you are over something will come thundering up, so that you feel you must run. One American lady tells me that she walks, but I can hardly attain to so much composure. The little cry of warning that the coachman sometimes gives is no great thing. Besides the hackney-coaches, there are a great many private carriages. Once, while in Paris, I speak to Madame Leblanc, with whom I board, of the pretty private carriages that I see on the Place de l'Europe. She answers that she does not like to see them, —she is afraid of being crushed by those insolent servants who crawl before their masters and can slander them too.

I have before spoken of a door which was covered with wall-paper, and which looked as if cut out of the partition. My American friend tells me that all doors are taxed, and that these frames are put up and covered with paper to avoid the tax. Windows too are taxed, and, as my hostess says, furniture and food. She adds that this last falls with especial weight upon the poor, who only buy in small quantities. At one time her husband speaks of the tax upon handbills, which of course I desire to hear about, and which he afterwards explains. (Their coins, weights, and measures are at first very troublesome, although their decimal or metric system is scientific.) He says that the stamp upon a handbill of twenty-five centimetres is six centimes, or about a cent. On a handbill twice the size, or about one foot six inches by one foot three, the stamp is about two cents. Over three cents is charged on a handbill over three-fourths of a yard in length; and, if I do not misunderstand him, sixteen sous on a handbill over a metre in length, or about a yard and four inches. On one occasion I buy several things at a store, and not having enough money with me, order them sent home with a bill. When they arrive I find that I have to pay for a stamp of two sous upon the bill or receipt, because the amount exceeds ten francs. This tax has been put on since the war. I also see in a baker's window a written notice of rooms to let, furnished; down in one corner is a blue stamp, "France, ten centimes,"

two sous.

A Parisian lady afterwards tells me that carriages, pianos, and expensive furniture are not taxed, and that coffee, sugar, matches, and places in third-class cars are. She says that Thiers was the man of the bourgeoise, and feared that the rich would not support him if they were

taxed. She adds that on real estate the tax has not been increased since the war.

Sometimes I speak of Red Republicans, so often mentioned at home. Madame Leblanc says that Red Republicans are those who love to shed blood, which her husband does not like. Nevertheless, she says that he is a very advanced Republican. Victor himself does not like the former epithet.

I have before described a suite of rooms; and now I can speak of the cellar, as Madame Leblanc has allowed me to accompany her in her journey below ground. We descend our three flights of stairs, go out our door into the court-yard, enter a side-door, and go down three short flights of broad stone steps, twenty in all. Now we are in the cave. Here are different passages and a good many numbered doors. Mrs. L. unlocks number 17, and shows a little cellar of irregular form. Here are three winecasks of different sizes, two of them containing new wine, which has to settle before being opened. Here, too, are wine-bottles lying upon their sides in rows, with plastering-laths between their necks. The cellar does not seem to be used for any other purpose than this. It is damp and cool, as if one might take rheumatism. Desiring to see all that I can, I take the light and look into other passages. In one part, madame tells me, there are casks of zinc to receive the contents of the water-closets,-new houses being thus built. Once a week these casks are taken away and replaced by empty ones. She says that in the old houses there are in the court-yards deep pits, into which the closets empty, and she thinks it is about once in three or four years that men come round