halls under Louis Napoleon were in Paris. Versailles is not beautiful after Paris; is any city? And at this time there is an immense amount of life in Paris.

Going to Versailles, I take my place in the waiting-room for second-class passengers, only separated from the firstclass by a low partition, so we can behold each other. Those gentlemen carrying papers and portfolios, I suppose, are deputies. As we go to the cars, one with gray hair is smoking, and public smoking, it seems to me, is much more common in Paris than in London. Arrived at Versailles, in walking from the station to the palace I see soldiers drawn up on a large open space. "What soldiers are those, madame?" I inquire. They are the génie," I understand her to say, "from those barracks." The génie

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are engineers. "But they do not wear red trousers like those I saw in Paris." "No, this is undress" (of brown linen); "they are being exercised." I wait a long time in the antechamber at Versailles, and have a plenty of time to observe how the floor is laid, and see the busts around the room. I send a note to the deputy of whom I have before spoken, and an attendant takes it; but still I wait. I note the bright uniform of the attendants, their blue coats, red waistcoats, and gay coat-collars. There are many chairs and other seats around the room, all clean and comfortable but not showy; becoming to a republic, a country that has lately lost so much. After waiting a long time for the deputy, I venture to send a note to another. There are many persons present now, and I must be attentive to hear when the man in uniform calls out, "The person who demands Mr. Monier." The gentleman to whom I have last written comes, and I am at length admitted to the Chamber of Deputies, the Senate not being in session to-day. I am not much more than seated, high

up in the amphitheatre, when the gentleman appears to whom I had first written, with an apology for not having come sooner. He had not seen my note, he had been on a committee; had I not received the tickets he sent me? am I alone? I find no pleasure in looking on at this great height, being unable to understand what is said. There are, indeed, ladies seated in the tier below me, but, of course, I cannot ask to be placed there. As I do not wish to remain, the deputy calls upon an attendant in plain clothes and desires him to show me around. I accompany him, and am shown pictures of the battles of Louis Napoleon, immense paintings about the Crimean war, the Mexican, the Italian, the Algerian. Does any one want to see them when there is so much more to see? The attendant also shows me the gorgeousness of the interior of the palace. The most interesting thing is the Senate-chamber, which the guide tells me was the theatre of Louis XIV., and here I imagine that great Frenchman, Molière, appearing in his own plays; but afterwards I learn that it was not such.

When I leave the guide and get out into the gardens, I find them very spacious and lonely; they want the life which makes the Luxembourg gardens so interesting. I think it was a Frenchman who said that what is wanting to make solitude charming is the presence of some one to whom you can say, How charming is solitude!

To-day the great fountains are not playing.

On a canal or artificial piece of water is a little steamboat, and a woman tells me that it was that of the empress. She had herself seen the empress several times. If she could be sure that I am a Bonapartist, probably she would say a good deal more.

Returning to the station, I inquire the way of a gentleman accompanied by a little girl. In the buttonhole of his

coat he wears a narrow red ribbon, such as I have often before noticed. At first I suppose it to be the badge of an exhibitor; to-day I have thought that it may indicate a deputy; and the little red button or cockade, a senator. I venture, however, to ask this gentleman, on the street, what the ribbon indicates. He says, "It is a decoration. I am a military man." Then I feel that I have been presuming: it is the badge of the Legion of Honor. I wonder whether he got that dark skin in Algiers, and whether the streets of Versailles, with his little girl, are not pleasanter than the sun of Africa. Some days after this I go into a great dry-goods store, and close by the entrance, as if to receive customers, stands a large man, wearing the little red ribbon; then I am a little amused.

Returning from Versailles in the car I meet another man who is decorated. He is jolly looking, and he has a little dull, tricolor ribbon at the breast of his coat. This was received for bravery, or good deeds done at a fire. A medal belongs with it, but on common occasions medals are not generally worn.

CHAPTER VI.

Tuesday, May 14th.-To-day I visit an asyle or infant school. It is congréganiste; it is kept by nuns, Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul. I have the pleasure of meeting here a lady who is a lay officer, an inspectress of several of these schools.

There are both boys and girls, for under the age of six they go to school together. The little ones are exercised upon reading-tablets; and they pronounce the syllables thus: The ap-ple is pret-ty; but they do not pronounce the

"The

words. They are seated upon a sort of graded platform or steps. They are reading in concert, but generally one or more pronounce the syllable and are immediately followed by the rest. Usually one near the top or on the back seats is the skilful one. Of course the exercises are not deeply interesting, and I am able to look around and observe the walls painted of a handsome light-blue, with sentences very neatly painted on them: thus, "Love God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." child Jesus was obedient to Mary and Joseph." On the walls are also painted the written letters of the alphabet, numerals, and other things. There is here an image of Mary, with the infant Jesus, the whole about eighteen inches high. The shelf upon which this image stands seems to be a sort of shrine, for there are plants and candles upon it; and once, during a religious exercise, the candles are lighted. In the outer room is a large, handsome picture of Christ receiving little children, with a plate telling by whom it was presented. The Sisters are in white sun-bonnets or caps, and white cravats doubled on the breast. They wear dark dresses with the sleeves turned up, showing thick white undersleeves, and cotton aprons of dark-blue, with a narrow stripe. Instead of a bell, a Sister has something resembling a snuff-box, or like two muscle-shells hinged together, and this she claps. The nuns are pleasant, especially the elder. They have a lay woman to assist them, a sort of servant. I have spoken of the children's reading; they have also a lesson in numeration. On a blackboard (quite small, about a yard square) she writes the numbers, and they appear to copy them upon their slates, going as high as tens of thousands. They have also a lesson in addition, and some general exercises in geography. At each end of the room are little

benches to receive the children when not seated on the recitation-steps. There are two gravelled yards for them to play in, not very large to be sure, one for the boys and one for the girls, separated by a low fence, furnished with seats and planted with trees. They have some little gymnastic exercise, but nothing of importance. They have two simple religious exercises. The inspectress comes in on a visit, she of whom I have spoken before,-Madame D., a well-dressed and agreeable person, who has charge of five infant schools. She says that there are here a directress, or head-teacher, and two assistants; and that, in these clerical schools, all these are paid equally. One of the assistants is sick to-day. In conversation, the inspectress admires the idea of co-education of the sexes. I tell her that I have seen a statement that one-fourth of the births in Paris are illegitimate. I understand her to reply that these births take place in certain quarters of the city, among ouvriers and ouvriéres, or working-people. She asks the principal how many such children there are here, and the Sister answers four: as the children are going out she makes some pretext to call upon these, and three stand up. The inspectress thinks that these are very few in so large a school. I am struck with the nun's knowing so much about them, but I imagine it to be natural for an unmarried, childless woman to interest herself in the children of others. As yet, I had not learned of the wonderful record which France keeps and uses concerning births.

To-day I pay for making a silk dress six dollars. It will be observed that in this thickly-settled country the price of labor is low; but, in Paris, the expenses of living are heavy. When wages are low and food dear, we see how