--

and the occupation extremely unwhole- rel, a lady and a lay-woman, have been some, owing to the smell of the oil and the seconded by those of a Protestant deaconperpetual noise of machinery. The pay is ess in another direction, the latter devotlow, beginning at three francs and reach- ing herself to nursing and the teaching of ing to four or four and a half a day. We hygiene and sanitary science. In the matmay blame the artisan class for improvi- ter of cleanliness, therefore, these good dence, insobriety, and many other failings; people are not left in the dark as in bebut none who calmly compare the life of a nighted Brittany, where dirt is not preached clockmaker, for instance, condemned to against as it ought to be in the pulpit. spend twelve hours of the twenty-four in Mlle. Morel's free laundries in other this laborious, unwholesome, and ill-remu- words, a scheme set on foot for the purnerated labor, with that of the better class-pose of teaching the poorest classes what es, can wonder at his discontent. If he clean linen should be have doubtless seeks to better his position by means of effected much good, and on the whole strikes, socialistic schemes, or other violent cleanliness is the rule here, and the public means, at least we must grant that it is only hot and cold baths much frequented by all. natural, till some other should offer themIn spite, however, of the animation and selves. It is to be hoped that the hours bonhomie of this little town, there is a dark of labor will soon be shortened in a de- side to social life, and in the train of inpartment of France so advanced in other temperance and unthrift among the manu respects; and meantime, in some ways, facturing population we find squalor and artisans here are better off than elsewhere. immorality. After several weeks' sojourn All round the town you find so-called cités in that Utopia of all socialistic dreamers ouvrières built on the model of those of a land without a beggar - I found my Mulhouse; little streets of cheerful cot- self here once more in the domains of tages, each with its bit of flower and veg- mendicity, though it is not to be found to etable garden, where at least the workman any great extent. The custom of putting has something to call a home after his out infants to nurse is fortunately unfreday's labor. These artisan quarters are quent in these parts, and, as a natural conwell or ill kept, of course, according to the sequence, infant mortality is not above the thrift or slovenliness of the tenants: some average. The cités ouvrières are doubtare charming, but at their worst they are less to be thanked for this, as the nearness a vast improvement upon the close, ill- of the home to the factory enables the baby ventilated quarters to be found in towns. to be brought to its mother for nourish. They are also much cheaper, about 57. a ment; and in one visit to the clock-manuyear being charged for both house and factory before spoken of, we saw mothers garden, whereas even in a little town like nursing their infants on the spot. Nearer Montbéliard, accommodation is dear and Paris you constantly encounter infants of difficult to be had. In fact, the question three days old being despatched with their of house room is as much of a problem foster-mother into some country place, bere for the workman as among our own there to be brought up by hand, most rural population; and though without likely, in other words, to die; but here it doubt the heads of firms who have built is not so. We find at Montbéliard that these cheerful and ornamental little rows contrast between wealth and poverty seen of English-like cottages for their work- in England, but wholly absent from the people were actuated chiefly by philan-rural districts of France. The aristocracy thropic motives, they found it absolutely of the place here is composed of the necessary to take some steps in the matter. Various efforts are being made to raise the status of the mechanic by means of lectures, reading-rooms, and recreation, but whilst the hours of labor remain what we find them, little good can be effected. A devoted Montbéliardais, who has spent her whole life in her native town, has done much for the female part of the manufacturing population by means of free night schools, free library, chiefly for the young, Sunday afternoon classes for the teaching of cutting out and needle-work, gratuitous laundries, and other philanthropic schemes. These good efforts of Mlle. Rosalie Mo

wealthy manufacturing class, and by little
and little Parisian luxuries are finding their
way into this remote region. Until within
quite recent date, for instance, there was
no such thing as a stand for hackney car-
riages here; now it has become the fashion
to take drives in fine weather, whilst in our
walks and drives in the neighborhood we
encounter handsome waggonettes and open
carriages with a pair of horses rarely seen
in the purely agricultural districts.
every way habits of life have become mod-
ified by the rapid rise of a commercial
aristocracy; and, as a natural consequence,
we find much more social distinction than

In

town. The first, though not a model farm, is considered a good specimen of farming on a large scale, the size being a hundred hectares, about two hundred and fifty acres, hired at a rental of fifty francs per hectare, less than a pound per acre. The premises were large, handsome, and cleanly, according to a French standard, though, as usual, with a large heap of manure drying up in the sun. Here we found thirty-five splendid Normandy and other cows, entirely kept for milking, the milk being all sent into Montbéliard; with a small number of bullocks, horses, and pigs. The land looks poor, and gives no evidence of scientific farming, though every year improvements are made, new agricultural methods and implements introduced, and thus the resources of the land developed. The farmer's wife and young daughters were all hard at work, and the farmer busy with his men in the fields. Close to the farmhouse, which we find spacious and comfortable, is the handsome villa of the owner, who has thus an opportunity of seeing for himself how things go. If tenant farming does not pay in England, it certainly can only do so in France by means of a laboriousness and economy of which we have hardly an idea. Work indeed means one thing with us, and quite another with our French neighbors.

in those parts of France where no such there being nothing particularly striking class exists. Yet a stranger who should about the two tenant farms I visited with here study French manners and customs friends in the immediate proximity of the for the first time, would find the principle of equality existing in a degree unknown in England. Can anything be more absurd than the imagined differences of rank that divide the population of our provincial towns? The same thing is seen in the country, where the clergyman holds aloof from the village doctor, the farmer from the shopkeeper, both these from the village schoolmaster, and where, indeed, everybody thinks himself better than his neighbor. We have in England schools for the professional classes, schools for the children of farmers, of wholesale shopkeepers, of small retail tradesmen, lastly, School Board schools for the "people;" yet you no more expect to find a milliner's children attending the latter than a chimneysweep's son at the grammar school. In French country towns all this is simplified by the école communale, at which boys and girls respectively, no matter their parents' calling and means, receive precisely the same education. After the école communale comes the college, where a liberal education is afforded, and pupils study for the examination of bachelier ès lettres et sciences, but are not prepared as at the lycées for the faculté du droit, or doctorate in law. There is no other school here for primary instruction of both sexes but these communal schools, Protestant and Catholic, and thither all the children go, rich and poor, patrician and prolétaire, as a matter of course. The politeness of the French working classes may be partly accounted for by this association of all ranks in early life. Convent and other schools for young ladies do not exist at Montbéliard, and those who study for the first and second diploma are generally prepared at Belfort and Besançon, where the examinations are held.

It is on market-day that the country folks and their wares are to be seen to best advantage, and the provident housekeeper supplies herself with butter, fruit, and vegetables, all being, according to our notions, extraordinarily cheap-peaches sixpence a pound, melons a few pence each, a small ripe melon costing sometimes only a penny, and so on in proportion. There is also a slightly acid, delicious fruit here, that of the fruit-bearing cornel-tree, which, with its rich scarlet berries, is just now a handsome ornament in gardens. In spite, however, of the extremely low prices of garden and orchard produce, housekeepers complain of the higher cost of living since the war, meat and poultry fetching very nearly the same prices as in Paris.

In former days the costume of the peasant woman in these parts was exceedingly picturesque, short gay skirt, black bodice, short full white linen sleeves, leaving the arms bare, and a coquettish little closefitting cap, made of black velvet, embroidered in silk or beads, and fastened to the head with white ribbon bows hanging be

hind. All this has disappeared except the | from the Swiss route to visit the quieter coiffe, and that is only to be seen on fair- beauties of Le Doubs, and residents here days and fêtes, and more rarely every day. regret the absence of travellers, which, of We saw several of these fanciful caps on course, tells upon the hotels. No one has the occasion of the annual fair, some richly a word to say in favor of anything in the embroidered with tastefully assorted silks way of hotels we are likely to meet with and gold braid; but here, alas! as every- on our journey throughout the length and where else, costume is already a thing of breadth of Franche-Comté. The new line the past, and the all-omnipotent bonnet of railway now in course of construction and chimney-pot are superseding the far from Besançon to Morteau, through the more picturesque and becoming head heart of the country, will effect great adornments of other days. At the fête in changes. This will be a new line into question we witnessed the out-of-door Switzerland. The only way to see these dancing so popular in these parts, even regions to perfection is to hire a carriage grey-haired Darbies and Joans paying their by the day, and retain it as long as you two sous for the sake of enjoying a waltz please. The railway does not penetrate or mazurka in the charmed circle. Rich into the most picturesque regions, and the and poor, young and old, learned and sim- diligence is slow and inconvenient. Acple, of course turned out to see what was cordingly, having had an itinerary written going on, and take part in the popular out for us by friends who had gone over amusements. Every minute we had to every inch of the ground, mostly on foot, stop and shake hands with an acquaint- I set off with an enterprising lady, a native of these parts, for a few days' drive in the most romantic scenery of the Doubs, southward of Montbéliard and in the direction of Switzerland. So well is the road marked out for us, that we want neither Joanne nor Murray, and we have, moreover, procured the services of a coachman who has been familiarized with the country by thirty years' experience. Thus far, therefore, we have nothing to desire but fine weather, which has been very rare since my arrival, tempests, showers, and downpours being the order of the day. However, choosing one morning of unu sual promise, we start off at seven o'clock, prepared for the best or the worst, a description of the pine forests, mountain gorges, and romantic valleys of Le Doubs being reserved for the next paper.

ance.

And now before turning to "fresh woods and pastures new," a word must be said about the illustrious name that will ever be linked with that of Montbéliard. Many a hasty traveller alights at the little railway station for the purpose of seeing the noble monument by David d'Angers and the antiquated house bearing the inscription:

ICI NAQUIT G. CUVIER.

The bronze statue of the great anatomist stands out in bold relief before the Hôtel de Ville, the profile being turned towards the humble dwelling in which he first saw the light, the full face fronting the large Protestant church, built in 1602, a century and a half before his birth. The proximity is a happy one, since was it not by virtue of Protestantism, no matter how imperfect its manifestations, that Cuvier was enabled to pursue his inquiries with such magnificent results? Two centuries before, he might, like Galileo, have had to choose between martyrdom and scientific apostasy. The great Montbéliardais is represented with a pen in one hand, a scroll in the other, on which is drawn the anatomy of the human frame. He wears the long, full frock coat of the period, its ample folds having the effect of drapery. David d'Angers has achieved no nobler work than this statue.

The flourishing college of Montbéliard, called after its greatest citizen, was founded a few years ago, and is one of the first objects seen in quitting the railway station of the Rue Cuvier.

English tourists do not often turn aside

M. B.-E.

From Blackwood's Magazine. "FRED:" A TALE FROM JAPAN. BY R L—.

FRED was a stray dog whose origin and whose name even were shrouded in mystery. In 1861 he had landed in Yokohama from an English tea-clipper, in the company of a melancholy traveller. Nobody, of course, took any notice of the dog at the time, and he, on his part, avoided all familiarity with strangers, having, apparently, eyes and ears only for his master, whom he followed everywhere.

This master, Mr. Alexander Young, was a rather mysterious character. Nobody knew whence he came or whither he was

bound. The captain of the "Georgina" | no bully or street-fighter. Confident in had made his acquaintance in Java, and had his own strength, he looked with contempt given him a passage to Japan on very on the small curs who barked and yelped moderate terms. During the voyage, Al- at him. But if a large dog, a worthy adexander Young or Sandy, as he was versary, attacked him, he fought with mute, commonly called spoke very little, but merciless fury. He neither barked nor drank a good deal. The captain, who, growled on such occasions, but the quick, when at sea, made it a rule never to take deep breathing under which his broad chest anything stronger than water, was not at heaved, betrayed his inward fury. His all disinclined, when ashore, to indulge in green eyes shone like emeralds, and he an extra bottle or so. In consequence, he fastened his fangs into his enemy with such treated the weakness of his companion mad violence that it was a matter of great with compassionate fellow-feeling, and even difficulty to make him loose his hold. felt, on that very account, a sort of sympa thy for him, which showed itself in many little kindnesses. Sandy was very grateful; and in his sad, dreamy, blue eyes there was a tender and friendly expression whenever they rested on the rugged, weather-beaten features of the captain.

"Why won't you stay?" continued Webster, who felt a curious interest in the sad, quiet man. "The place I offered you the other day is still there."

discover some indication that he was going | him with some surprise; and as he looked, to exchange the impassable street for the it seemed to him that there was moisture comfortable shelter of his lodgings. If in Sandy Young's eyes. Young stayed too long, Fred would push him gently with his nose as if to wake him out of his day-dream. Sandy would then move on again; but he never went home till the storm had abated or night had set in. This strange, aimless walking up and down gave him the appearance of a man who has missed his railway-train, and who, at some strange, uninteresting station, seeks to while away the time till the next departure.

Young must have brought some money with him to Yokohama, for he lived on for several weeks without seeking employment. At the end of that time, however, he advertised in the Japan Times to the effect that he had set up in business as public accountant. In this capacity he soon got some employment. He was a steady, conscientious worker, rather slow at his work, and evidently not caring to earn more than was required for his wants. In this way he became acquainted with Mr. James Webster, the head of an important American firm, who, after employing Young on several occasions, at last offered him an excellent situation as assistant bookkeeper in his house. This offer Sandy declined with thanks.

"I do not know how long I may remain out here," he said. "I expect letters from home which may oblige me to leave at once."

ster.

Young remained silent for a few moments. Then he shook his head, and said gently, "No, thanks. You are very kind, but I had better go. . . . What should I do here? Japan is a fine country; but it is so very small — always the same blue sea, the same white Fusyyama, and the same people riding the same horses and followed by the same dogs. I am tired of it all. . . . You must admit, Mr. Webster, that life is not highly amusing out here."

There was a short pause, after which Sandy resumed, but speaking more slowly and in still lower tones, "I think there must be a typhoon in the air; I feel so weary. ..I do not think, Mr. Webster, that you can ever have felt as tired as I do. I thought we were going to have a storm this morning. It would perhaps have done me good. This has been a very close, heavy day. . . . Well, good-night, I did not like to leave Yokohama without bidding you good-bye, and thanking you for all your friendliness."

He moved away with hesitating steps; and when he had gone a few paces he turned round and waved his hand to Webster, who was following him with his eye. Those letters never came, and Sandy "I thank you again, Mr. Webster," he grew paler and sadder every day. One repeated, with almost pathetic earnestevening he went to call on James Web-ness. "I wish you a very good night." A visit from Sandy Young was such And so he disappeared into the darkness. an unusual occurrence that Webster, who, as a rule, did not liked to be disturbed, came forward to greet his visitor. But Sandy would not come in; he remained at the entrance, leaning against the open door. His speech and manner were calm and even careless; and Webster was consequently somewhat surprised to hear that he had come to take leave.

Sit down, man," said Webster, "and take a soda-and-brandy and a cheroot."

No, thank you," replied Young. "I leave early to-morrow morning; and I have only just time to get my things ready."

That night a terrific storm burst over Yokohama, but it came too late to revive poor, weary Sandy. He was found dead in his bedroom the next morning, having hanged himself during the night. On the table lay a large sheet of paper with the following words written in a bold hand, "Please take care of Fred."

Nothing was found in Sandy's trunk but some shabby clothes and a bundle of old letters which had evidently been read over and over again. They were without envelopes, dated from Limerick, 1855 and 1856, and merely signed, "Louisa." They were examined carefully in the hope that they So you are really going away?" said might furnish some clue to Sandy's parentWebster. "Well, I am sorry you would age and connections; but they were lovenot stay with us. As it is, I can only letters mere love-letters and conwish you good luck and a prosperous voy-tained nothing that could interest any one age. but poor Sandy himself. There was a frequent mention of a father and a mother in these letters, and it was clear that they had

He held out his hand, which Young pressed so warmly that Webster looked at