Brown and her Smith. He writes himself Brown-Smith, but she writes herself Brownsmith. There is in Paris Madame Marie Pape-Carpentier, author of a little work which I saw at the infant school. I thought of calling upon her, and was told to look for the name Pape. Afterwards, in the north of France, I found this joining of names extremely common; but I do not remember it where I was located in the centre. It will now appear why the deputy inquired for Mrs. Ward when speaking of Julia Ward Howe.

This evening Mr. Carpentier is speaking again about the hasty marriages made in France, and mentions that a lady of his acquaintance met a gentleman who desired to marry her, and to whose suit she listened; but when the preliminaries had been discussed, the gentleman declared that he desired to marry in a month. She, however, said, "If this gentleman is in such a hurry, it will be better for me not to go on with the matter.”

When we separate this evening, at about a quarter before twelve, Madame Vibert-Fontaine has no one to wait upon her home. She is very pretty, with dark eyes and a good deal of color, and is showily dressed. She does not seem troubled at going alone, but says that her home is close by. I tell them of a gentleman from New York who had told me that there is no danger for a woman of a certain age in going alone to Paris, but that the case is different with Madame Vibert-Fontaine. Mr. Carpentier inquires how it would have been with me when I was young. I reply that some one upon the street might have asked to wait upon me home. "And what would you have done?" "I should have been frightened." "When I was twenty

two," said Mr. Carpentier, "I saw a lady in the omnibus,— a young lady almost as pretty as madame here. The pavement was slippery, and I asked if I might escort her to her house. She did not refuse; and when we got there she invited me to walk in, saying that her husband would like to make my acquaintance."

During my stay in Paris I was not unfrequently out in the evening. Three persons at different times escorted me home,-one was the young Swiss before mentioned, one a German gentleman long resident in America, and one a young countryman of my own. Once I say to Victor and madame that Mr. G., the young Swiss, has been more polite in waiting upon me home in the evening than any one else. One or both reply that if gentlemen wait upon ladies home here it causes remark; and if a young gentleman is seen walking with a young lady, Paris is going to be destroyed. But Victor adds that it is not so in Switzerland, for there young people can walk out together.

CHAPTER VII.

May 19th, Sunday.-Madame Leblanc and I, looking out into the court-yard, see a man-servant shake a mat out of the fifth story of the large house which fronts upon the street and has its back windows on this cour. I ask her whether these servants are not often idle. "Oh, yes," she says, "they loaf about,-ils flanent. It is not so with the poor workmen, who are obliged to work all the time for fear of not earning their living; while these people are lodged and fed, and have their clothes washed while idling.”

(But of the workingmen I shall speak hereafter.) Near us is a great school, under charge of one of the religious orders, and about ten o'clock this morning the boys are making great noise at their play. The bell rings, and they are silent, but they begin again about half-past twelve. A black-frocked and black-capped ecclesiastic walks forth. I suppose that he is on guard while they play in the pleasant garden.

At the concierge's window sits a young woman this morning with her sewing; the concierge polishes the brass handle of the hydrant or fountain, and that of the door within which the harness is kept. A young gentleman has come back from riding, and a groom in wooden shoes clatters around the stone pavement and brushes down the horse; then he takes water and a brush and washes the horse's ankles and hoofs, then brings more water and a cloth to rinse the horse's legs, and at length takes him into the stable. I wonder if he himself is as well cleaned as the brute? A person who lives in the same house as we comes into the court-yard, carelessly carrying a hat wrapped in blue paper, as if a little ashamed of it. I listen this morning to Madame Leblanc, who tells me what she thinks of the women-servants, the bonnes who accompany young ladies in their daily walks. "It is a real punishment," she says, " to have those bonnes behind one,—a real punishment! That looks as if parents had not confidence in their children." She adds that it is the custom here for young ladies to be accompanied by their mother or by a bonne when walking out in the day. It is only poverty that prevents this attendance; but she adds that the poor are not likely to be insulted upon that account. She says that it is a false idea that these servants protect you.

I am so kind as to endeavor to explain to her our Penn

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sylvania laws on marriage and divorce, and how no ceremony of marriage is necessary to permit the children to inherit, if the parents have acknowledged a contract; also how divorce may be obtained by the one party when the other has absented himself or herself for two years. I probably succeed in making her feel that we are loose people.

In the afternoon I go to St. Augustine's church. How funny seems the inscription (somewhat rough) upon the outside, "Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité"! This large church was built by Louis Napoleon, and here masses are said for the repose of his soul; but he never saw this inscription upon the outside: it was added after he left! I see a crowd at a side-door, and, inquiring what it is, I am told that they are coming out from the catechism, the retreat for children. At home we might say coming out of Sundayschool, but then they are catechised on other days, as I have lately stated. I enter the basement-room, called Chapel of the Catéchisme, a great room with an immense number of benches and chairs. I suppose that the boys and girls are catechised together, if not allowed to attend public school in common. The great room now is nearly emptied. It has not much ornament. While I am in there enters a young man, of nice appearance, and kneels for a few moments. I enter the church above and find a notice, of which I copy a part: "Parish St. Augustine, Month of Mary. The faithful are invited to contribute offerings of shrubs, flowers, candles, or money for the solemnity of the exercises of the month consecrated to the Queen of Heaven." It is between five and six in the afternoon, and there is not much display, but several persons are scattered around at their devotions. Beginning at the right, I count the confessional boxes; each has the name of an ecclesiastic, with

his hours for confessions. The seventh says, "Mr. the abbé Escalle confesses all day on Wednesday: On Saturday, and the eve of festivals, from four to six in the evening. Every day from seven to nine in the morning. Confesses also in English or in Italian." There are twelve confessionals altogether. People are coming and going. The devout are not all women: two young men come in; afterwards a gentleman and lady and children; a rather nicelooking, elderly ecclesiastic, in robe and big shoes and spectacles, goes about, after dipping in holy water and bending a knee to the altar. He is corpulent, and he looks like a rural ecclesiastic; doubtless many are in Paris now. I infer that you may always know Catholics by their dipping in holy water. One lady dips the tip of one or two gloved fingers, and then holds them to the young lady with her, who touches one and begins to make the sign of the cross. She looks at my note-book. While going around and counting the confessionals, I do not observe a statement that any priest confesses on Sunday; but in one of the railed divisions-called, I believe, chapels-two women are sitting. The confessional in the centre is a sort of closet, with a little glass door or window in front, shaded by a muslin curtain. In this part sits the priest, and on each side is a recess, in which one person can kneel, a curtain hanging to conceal the person. I walk up to the box to read the inscription, which states that Mr.

will confess at certain times, one being Sunday after vespers. And while I am reading I hear light whispering, and suddenly become aware that some one is within confessing, and that probably the priest has seen me through the muslin curtain. I am shocked at having come so near the confessional, and am sorry to have shocked them, as I may have done. When at home I ask Victor what I should