intensely Roman Catholic character of Austria. As in most Catholic countries, outward and visible signs at every step remind you of the national faith. The churches, as a rule, are neither beautiful nor well-kept. We can recall only two really fine ones in Vienna: the old "Dom" or "Stephen's Kirche" (which has been called the work of a poet-architect, just as the Cologne Cathedral has been described as that of a mathematician), and the Votiv Kirche, a lovely imi tation of the Milan Cathedral. The churches in country villages are generally poor whitewashed buildings with no pretence to architectural beauty. More striking to the foreigner are the numberless crosses, images, and chapels in secluded valleys, on lonely hill-tops, and on the dusty high road. The effect of a huge cross standing out in bold relief against the sky is often very fine; and the rough wooden" prie Dieu," often sheltered by a large tree, is a picturesque and suggestive feature of the landscape. The eye will sometimes be caught by an inscription, beneath the crucifix, or the saint's image. You may read, for example: -, aged was struck by lightning on the of the year ye who pass by pray for his soul." This simple appeal to the wayfarer to give prayerful thought to an utter stranger is a touching recognition of the fact of human brotherhood.

Processions are very general. On the 5th of June, the "Fête Dieu" comes off every year in Vienna. The Emperor, and sometimes the Empress, the whole Court, many Government officials, and the entire body of the clergy follow the Host through the streets, halting at different" stations." The curious sight carries your thought back to medieval times. A smaller procession is held in Passion Week in the inner courts of the " Hofburg." Then, on Holy Thursday, the Emperor and Empress, aided by archdukes and archduchesses, perform the "Fuszwaschung (washing of feet) on twelve poor old men and women, in imitation of our Saviour's example. Those who know Austria will see no reason to doubt that those customs will continue to be observed, for the country is intensely conservative. The gorThe gorgeous town processions are very unlike the humble country ones formed by "wallfahrer" (pilgrims), poor men, women, and

sometimes children, on their way to some famous shrine, repeating prayers, singing a hymn or chanting a litany, and, unlike the majority in the Vienna procession, looking thoroughly in earnest.

The reader may ask how far those ceremonies are an expression of real faith in the Church and an index of the religious state of the country. That is an exceedingly difficult question. I believe, however, that the majority of the Austrian people are sincerely attached to the Roman Catholic Church. The Reformed Church, which embraces a very small minority of the people, is in a not very flourishing state.

It not unfrequently happens that people become Protestants, and are married by Protestant rite with a view to divorce should the marriage turn out badly, meanwhile returning to the Roman Church! A minister in Vienna who positively refused to accept such converts" was looked upon as a bigot by his fellowProtestants; but we believe his example has created a healthier public opinion on the subject. Piety and zeal, however, have not deserted the Protestant Church, which is, perhaps, seen at its best in the scattered communities of Upper Austria and of Styria, the direct offspring of the Reformation of the sixteenth century. Crushed by severe persecution, Protestantism seemed well-nigh dead; but it had been kept alive by means of family tradition, or through the agency of carefully-hidden Bibles; and on the publication of Joseph II.'s Act of Toleration, in 1782, it sprang into life again. Of later years Protestant churches have been remarkably active in philanthropic work. There is quite a cluster of charitable institutions at Gallneukirchen, near Linz, partly kept up by touching gifts, in money and in kind, from a very poor peasantry. The hospital is under the care of deaconesses, some of whom have been trained at Stuttgard; and it sends out sorely needed Protestant nurses to Vienna, to Meran, and to other towns. The Home for orphans and neglected or deserted children receives "cases" from the great towns where the pressing needs of the poorer Protestants are poorly supplied. If a tourist should feel disposed to leave some token of goodwill to a kindly people, he cannot do better than send a gift to "Pfarrer L. Schwarz, Gallneukirchen,

Ober-Oestreich.” The money will be well used, for the institutions are managed with the strict economy of which Germans have the secret. The growth of charitable work is observable among all creeds and classes in Austria. It is accompanied by a certain sense of the obligation of voluntary work in the service of the poor. But it must be confessed that charity often takes the unpleasant disguise of pure and simple amusement. The balls, theatrical performances, concerts, and open-air fêtes, which are the consequence of extraordinary disasters, such as floods, fires, and earthquakes, or of ordinary poverty and misfortune, are astonishingly numerous.

It is hardly possible to think of Austria without thinking of music. You seem to hear music everywhere; and whether it is the peasant's "jodel" on the Styrian Alps, or the zither" in the way side inn, or one of the excellent "männersingverline' in some public garden, or Strauss's famous band in the Vienna" Volksgarten" (we name these together as typically Austrian styles of music), you will detect the same excellent ear for time and tune, the same verve, the same variety and delicacy of expression. The lover of music will find unceasing enjoyment of the highest kind in the unrivalled musical performances in Vienna in the winter season.

The drawback of living among such a musical people is that if you happen to live under the same roof with a singer or the player of an instrument you often hear more music than you care for. Few, indeed, are the privileged mortals who live in "self-contained" houses. The large majority have to content themselves with a flat," or with part of one. However, a paternal municipal government mercifully forbids music after eleven

P.M.

zer."

This reminds us of a similar regulation, that of the so-called "SperrkreuIn the daytime the houses are open; and, except in the great mansions where hall-porters are kept standing at the entrance, the staircase is as public as the street. They have to be closed at ten P.M. the gas is put out, and the hausmeister (house-porter) has the right of exacting ten kreuzer (about twopence) from each inmate returning after that hour. This will account to the stranger for the sudden emptying of places of public entertainment toward that hour. Houserent being very high in Vienna, the usual

run of apartments leave much to be desired in the way of accommodation for children and servants. The front rooms may be bright and pleasant; but the back ones often look on small courts. We knew a poor lady's-maid who had to sew all day by gaslight, and a footman who slept behind a fine peace of tapestry in a niche on the front staircase. Stables are sometimes built partly underground; but, if well-ventilated, they are not bad.

The want of room, especially in the dwellings of the middle classes, is perhaps one reason why people live very much outside their houses. The number of cafés is quite astonishing; and we knew of one childless young couple who kept no cook, and dined at a restaurant or at a friend's house every evening. A Viennese who is not kept forcibly at home by age, or by ill health, or by smallness of means, seldom thinks of spending an evening by his or her own fireside. That, by the way, is scarcely a suitable expression. The cheerful fire on the open hearth-so dear to English people-is very rare indeed. Instead, there are the huge china stoves, fixtures in every house, which have the advantage of keeping up an equal temperature and not needing to be constantly fed.

With perhaps a few exceptions among the very great people, the standard of comfort is not nearly so high as in England; but, even with the great, there is not that attention to detail which is carried to such a length in England. Of course, life is easier and smoother, in many ways, where people's tastes are simple. This is seen every year in the remarkable migration to the country in May or in June. In summer Vienna is well-nigh unbearable from the heat, dust, and smells; and every one who possibly can do so seeks some "Sommerfrische." Hence the deserted appearance which the beautiful Austrian capital offers to those travellers who are so unwise as to visit it in summer or in autumn. The neighborhood of Vienna, especially the small towns and villages on the "Westbahn" and "Sudbahn," abound in villas of various pretensions; and all of them, according to Eng ish ideas, are scantily furnished. There are yet more modest establishments where apartinents are let. However, the simplicity we have noticed enables the Viennese to put up with many incon

veniences, and makes the yearly exodus possible. Those whose business does not oblige them to remain in the neighborhood of Vienna have a glorious choice of charming summer resorts all over Austria. Most members of the "Adel" go to their castles and country houses, or to those of their relations. They generally leave Vienna in May or in June, and do not return till December or January. There is not as much visiting at one another's houses as there is in England; and it is maliciously said that, in order to be able to spend three or four gay months every year in Vienna, many people live very economically in the country. Still, while there are fewer house parties" of mere acquaintances than in England, there are many large family gatherings, especially in old châteaux belonging to the heads of the great families. When a certain fam ily meet in autumn at an uncle's "schloss" in Bohemia, there are about a hundred people in the house. There is still something patriarchal in such establishments,

and an almost feudal connection between the landlord and his tenants. The family servants, who are generally recruited from the latter class, are as a rule faithful to their masters, who are kind to them, and provide for them in old age. Even where this traditional bond does not exist, Austrian servants are singularly willing, obliging, and industrious. They are seldom equal to the best English servants; but they are more pleasant to get on with. They are still so free from thoughts of Democracy that they positively seem to enjoy serving their superiors, and the higher the rank of their "herrschaft" the better they are pleased. There is much eye-service" among them; but on leaving Austria one quite misses their pleasant manners, their respectful "küss die hand," their quick obedience and unfailing obligingness, and their wonderful gratitude for small kindnesses which in other countries are taken as matters of course or regarded as rights.-National Review.

mere

Ir is not my intention to criticise Mr. Hamerton's work, a work not only of deepest interest, but permanent value, and which, we may safely affirm, no other living writer could have given us. Side by side with the experiences covering the span of an average lifetime, may not unprofitably be placed the conclusions of the author's country woman, one to whom France, if not her adopted country, has long been a second home. There is one point, that of the first importance, to which no writer has done justice when comparing the two nations. The separation-one may say, in matters spiritual and intellectual, the isolation-cf the sexes in France is so complete that at first sight home life and fireside happiness would seem out of the question. As a natural consequence, nothing can be duller than social intercourse in country places. The men congregate together, or, in a separate room, smoke, play cards and discuss poli

* French and English, Macmillan & Co.

tics; the ladies are of no more account than the veiled beauties shut up in a harem. Not merely a brick wall-a hundred years may be said to divide the speakers. To the ardent dévote, the believer in miracles, the Republic is but another name for canaille, and a feminine plébiscite on the occasion of the last election would have brought Boulanger into, power, restored the temporal power of the Church, induced civil war, and perhaps a European conflagration. Charles Nodier relates how on the morrow of Marat's assassination and Charlotte Corday's death, Frenchwomen fell on their knees, crying, "Sainte Charlotte Corday, priez pour nous !" We may be sure there was a time when in every country town and village Boulanger's name was invoked over beads oftener than that of the Virgin herself. The vast majority of Frenchwomen being convent bred are still wedded to dogma and the reactionary principle; their fathers, husbands, brothers, to a spirit of inquiry and the democratic idea.

On the most momentous questions that can occupy the human mind, men and women bound to each other by the closest ties have not a thought in cominon. That unions should prove satisfactory, and mariage, in spite of drawbacks so formidable, should be regarded as the anchor of a Frenchinan's career, may require elucidation.

In no other country is so high a premium set upon the married state. A prudent alliance is regarded by our neighbors as nothing short of worldly salvation. Honor, dignities, social advancement wait upon the wedding ring. Wedlock is a bribe.

Yet, as statistics show us, marriage is growing more and more unpopular in France. Marriage, to quote Mr. Hamerton, is a lifelong conversation, and, under existing circunstances, educated Frenchmen find it a trifle dull. Domestic peace certainly is often attained at the price of mutual concessions. Good manners, amiable temper, worldly interests, and the tie of children bring about a good understanding, but from the marriage day till final separation husband and wife too often remain entire strangers to each other, their standards of life and conduct, their ideals, hopes, and connections being diametrically opposed. The result of this state of things is threefold. Men of sterling worth are thrown back upon friendship, women find refuge in maternal affection, the lawless of both sexes in illicit amours. Let us take the exhilarating subject of friendship first. The intellectual and spiritual stimulus wedlock cannot bring is found here. A delightful feature of French life is the close, brotherly intimacy of men lasting from early boyhood throughout life. The thee" and "thou" of schoolboy days are resumed after years of absence. A Frenchman will make sacrifices for his friend as alertly as an Englishman for his betrothed. One comrade may have succeeded in the race of life, the other may have failed. The fraternal bonds remain unbroken. Heart still speaks to heart as in that careless time when the pair sat side by side in the class room. The closeness of the marriage tie among ourselves interferes with this kind of friendship. In France it frequently happens that to his friend, and his friend only, a man can freely unburden himself. From the second point of

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view, namely, the intensification of maternal affection, a necessary result of the mariage de convenance, I have ever regarded Daudet's novel, L'Immortel, as the French novel of the day, as much of a roman nécessaire' as Madame Bovary. No other pen has so well depicted the consequences of marriage for marriage' sake, that blind idolatry of the one child of the house, of which the product is too often a Paul Astier.

Madame Astier, to whom her husband was something less than a beast of burden, who could stint the conjugal board of bare necessaries, lie, plot, and deceive, even stoop to immorality--this is hinted at for the sake of ministering to her son's vices-Madame Astier is living flesh and blood, no less so than the atrocious Emma of Gustave Flaubert. She has something, too, in common with most French mothers. A Frenchwoman nakes it her boast that as soon as a child is born to her, the wife is merged in the mother, she ceases to become épouse, and is only mère. Daudet's masterly touch-"the first thrill of real passion in Madame Astier's soul was awakened by her sense of maternity"-comes home with painful force to all who know French life intimately.*

L'Immortel is merciless: so is the maternal instinct of the Madame Astiers in France. You will even hear women belonging to good society, themselves devout Catholics, models of correct behavior, jest concerning the intrigues of their beardless sons. Mothers will welcome confidences from mere lads which to other ears sound simply appalling. Of course, neither Madame Astier nor her vile son should le taken as average specimens-sad for the future of France were it so! But how different is the view held of wifely and motherly duty on opposite sides of the Channel the following instances will show.

That English wives of officers on foreign service remain with them, as a matter of course, their children being sent home for education, is regarded by Frenchwomen with sentiments they hardly like to put into words. The child is a fetich; the husband and father holds a second place in his own house. A woman who

* Balzac's heroine, in Le Lys de la Vallée. describes herself as "enivrée de maternitë”intoxicated with the sense of motherhood.

considers her first duty owed to her husband appears to Frenchwomen little short of a monster.

Again, take the case of the educated Parisian lady who a few years ago deliberately shot a wretched man because he had libelled her. The offender died after suffering horrible agonies, but his assassin was allowed to go unpunished, even unblamed. As this woman was a mother, and alleged as a motive for murder affection for her child, Frenchwomen condone the deed; I have never yet found one who did not entirely approve of her conduct. On similar grounds, Ohnet's heroine, the bakeress in Serge Panine, is acquitted of all criminality although, as deliberately, she shoots her worthless son-in-law, dead.

As I have said before, the French child is a fetich; fathers, husbands, and brothers mere terre-à terre humanity. In middle class families, whose pedigree is a generation or two removed from peasant stock only, the infant son is called "Monsieur Jean," or "Monsieur Charles," as the case may be. Even his wet-nurse is not allowed to call her charge in swaddling clothes by the endearing term of “ Bébé.” I have seen a household turned topsy-turvy because a baby had to dine at five instead of seven o'clock with its parents. The one maid-of-all-work was compelled to leave her work, formally lay the cloth, prepare soup, fish, beefsteak, vegetables, cheese, and dessert for a mite of two and a half! Many and many a time have I blushed for my sex on fast days and Fridays, when hard worked heads of the house have been compelled to breakfast and dine off eggs and potatoes, while the most Catholic of Catholic mothers, under some pretext or other, was providing a choice beefsteak or ragout for the pampered gourmand of eight or nine. With us the discipline of life begins in the nursery with our neighbors, in the lycée, or during the enforced military service. Is it to be wondered at that suicide increases enormously in France? A child whose whims have been systematically humored from the cradle upward, naturally brooks no restraint upon his wishes. A girl refuses him; he is disappointed in his career; he has ill-luck at cards; he straightway purchases a pistol, and there is an end of the matter. The chronicle of the daily newspapers is sufficiently appalling; statistics still more so. In Paris one out

of twenty deaths of adult males is selfsought.*

Of course, other causes contribute to this mania of self-destruction. I am convinced that artificial bringing up is one of the most potent. A French child is a hothouse plant, on a sudden transplanted to a cold, out-of door world, an exotic exposed to chilling frost.

If maternal affection, in the cases inentioned above, obscures the discernment of right from wrong, no less does conventual bringing up impede the judgment in dealing with cause and effect. As we have seen, the vast majority of Frenchwomen persistently set their faces against the first Government that has taken in hand their social and intellectual advancement. The words of Gambetta-"Let our youths and maidens be united by the understanding before they are joined by the heart"-are, indeed, now acted upon, and enormous strides are yearly made in female education. No more gifted creature lives than our sister on the other side of La Manche. Only solid instruction, a sense of moral responsibility and wider interests, are necessary to develop her rare endowments of heart and brain. Fortunately, in the first lady of France the sex is now admirably represented. The wife of the honored President of the Republic, by her public spirit, her dignified initiative, her unsparing devotion to duty, will do more for the advancement of her country women than all that has yet been effected in the way of practical reform.

:

A thorough revision of the Civil Code is sorely needed. A Frenchwoman cannot witness a deed, act as trustee, or fulfil the office of executrix the law still classes her with idiots and minors. Like the Roman ladies of old, she remains throughout life under male tutelage. A newlymade widow becomes a stranger in her husband's house from the moment he ceases to breathe. The second wife of any man who dies intestate, no matter if he possesses millions, does not receive a centime from the law. Her position is often so intolerable that many would doubtless prefer the suttee, and have done with it. Napoleon and his legists, when drawing up the Civil Code, seemed to think that the privilege of bearing chil

* See La France Economique, by A. de Foville, Chef du Bureau de Statistique du Ministère de Finance, Paris, 1890.