TAYING here in a French family, I get glimpses of life for which I am not prepared by any previous reading of French romances, or even by former visits to Paris, when I remained in an hotel frequented by English, and close to the street which seems to belong almost exclusively to them. The prevalent English idea of French society is that it is very brilliant, thoughtless, and dissipated; that family life and domestic affections are almost unknown, and that the sense of religion is confined to mere formalities. Now I will give you two glimpses which I have had : one into the more serious side of Protestant, the other into the under current of Roman Catholic life. The friend with whom I am staying belongs to a 'Dizaine,' that is to say, she is one of ten Protestant ladies, who group themselves into this number in order to meet together at regular intervals of time, and bring before each other's consideration any cases of distress they may have met with. There are numbers of these' Dizaines' in Paris; and now as to what I saw of the working of this plan. One of their principles is to give as little money as possible in the shape of 'raw material,' but to husband their resources so as to provide employment by small outlays of capital in such cases as they find on inquiry to prove deserving. Thus women of very moderate incomes find it perfectly agreeable to belong to the same 'Dizaine' as the richest lady in the Faubourg St. Germain. But what all are expected to render is personal service of some kind; and in these services people of various degrees of health and strength can join the invalid who cannot walk far, or even she who is principally confined to the sofa, can think and plan and write letters; the strong can walk, and use bodily exertion. They try to raise the condition of one or two families at a time-to raise their condition into self-supporting independence. For in

Paris, March 2nd, 1863. stance, the 'Dizaine' I am acquainted with had brought before their notice the case of a sick shoemaker, and found him, upon inquiry, living in a room on the fifth floor of one of those high, dark, unclean houses which lie behind the eastern end of the Rue Jacob. Up the noisome, filthy staircase,-badly lighted and frequented by most disreputable people-to the close, squalid room in which the man lay bed-ridden, did the visitors from the Dizaine' toil. He was irritable and savage. I think the English poor are generally depressed and sullen under starvation and neglect; but the French are too apt to become fierce even to those who would fain help them; or it might be illness in the case of this man. His wife was a poor patient creature, whose spirit and intelligence seemed pressed out of her by extreme sorrow, and who had neither strength of mind nor body to enable her to make more of an effort than to let one of the 'Dizaine' know of the case. There were children, too, scrofulous from bad air and poor living. The medical men say, that the diseases arising from this insidious taint are much more common in Paris than in London. Well, this case was grave matter of consideration for the Dizainė ;' and the end of the deliberation was this:-One lady undertook to go and seek out a lodging in the same quarter as that in which the shoemaker lived at present, but with more air, more light, and a cleaner, sweeter approach. It was a bad neighbourhood; but it was that in which the family had taken root, and it would have occasioned too great a wrench from all their previous habits and few precious affections, to pull them up by force, and transplant them to an entirely different soil. Another lady undertook to seek out among her acquaintance for a subscriber to a certain sea-bathing charity at Dieppe, who could give an order to the poor little boy who was the worst victim to scrofula. An in

valid said that while awaiting this order she would see that some old clothes of her own prosperous child should be altered and arranged so that the little cripple should go to Dieppe decently provided. Some one knew a leather merchant, and spoke of getting a small stock of leather at wholesale prices; while all these ladies declared they would give some employment to the shoemaker himself; and I know that they-great ladies as one or two of them were-toiled up the noisome staircase, and put their delicate little feet up on to the bed where he lay, in order to give him the cheerful comfort of employment again. I suppose this was disturbing the regular course of labour; but I do not fancy that cases of this kind are so common as to greatly affect the more prosperous tradespeople. The last I heard of this shoemaker was, that he was in a (comparatively) healthy lodging; his wife more cheerful, he himself slightly sarcastic instead of positively fierce, and (still bed-ridden) managing to earn a tolerable livelihood by making shoes to be sold ready-made in the American market; a piece of permanent employment procured for him through the instrumentality of the Dizaine.' Of course these ladies, being human, have their foibles and faults. Their meetings are apt to become gossipy, and they require the firm handling of some superior woman to keep them to the subject and business in hand. Occasional bickerings as to the best way of managing a case, or as to the case most deserving of immediate assistance, will occur; and may be blamed or ridiculed by those who choose rather to see blemishes in execution than to feel righteousness of design. The worst that can be said is, that 'Dizaines' (like all ladies' committees I ever knew) are the better for having one or two men among them. And some of them at least are most happy and fortunate in being able to refer for counsel and advice to M. Jules Simon, whose deep study of the condition of the work woman (l'ouvrière) in France, and the best remedies to be applied to her besetting evils

whose general, wise, and loving knowledge of the life of the labouring classes, empower him to judge wisely on the various cases submitted to him.

Now as to my glimpse into Roman Catholic wisdom and goodness in Paris. Not long ago—it is probably still going on-there was a regular service held in the crypt under St. Sulpice for very poor workmen, immediately after the grand (high) mass. It was almost what we should call a ragged church.' They listened to no regular sermon on abstract virtues; but among them stood the priest, with his crucifix, speaking to them in their own homely daily language-speaking of brotherly love, of self-sacrifice, like that of which he held the symbol in his hands-of the temptations to which they were exposed in their various trades and daily lives, using even the technical words, so that every man felt as if his own individual soul was being entreated. And by-and-by there was a 'quête' for those still poorer, still more helpless and desolate than themselves; many of them of course could not give even the sous, or the five centime piece. But after that the priest went round, speaking low and softly to each individual, and asking each what effort, what sacrifice he could make 'in the name of the Lord.' One said he could sit up with a sick neighbour who needed watching in the night; another offered a day's wages for the keep of the family of the incapacitated man; the priest suggested to a third that he and his wife might take one of the noisy little children to play among their own children for the day; another offered to carry out the weekly burden of a poor widow. One could not hear all; it was better that such words should be spoken low; that the left hand should not know what the right hand did. But the priests seemed always ready with little suggestions which nothing but an intimate acquaintance with the lives of these poor men could have enabled them to give.

We are talking of leaving Paris, and going leisurely on to Rome..

M. de Montalembert was here last night, and wrote me down a little détour which he said we could easily make, rejoining the railroad at Dijon.

March 5th.

Avignon.-After all

we were not able to follow out M. de Montalembert's instructions, but I shall keep his paper (written in English), as the places he desired us to visit sound full of interest, and would make a very pleasant week's excursion from Paris at some future time.

'Provide yourself with Ed. Joanne's Guide du Voyageur. Estet-Mur.

'By the Lyons railway to Auxerre (a beautiful city with splendid churches).

'At Auxerre take the diligence (very bad) to Avallon, a very pretty place with fine churches. At Avallon hire a vehicle of some sort to Vezelay, only three leagues off; the most splendid Romance church in Europe; and to Chastellux, a fine old castle belonging to the family of that name from the Crusade of 1147. Returning to Avallon there is a very bad coach to Semur, another very pretty place, with a delightful church; seven or eight leagues off. From Semur by omnibus to Montbard, or Les Launes, which are both railroad stations. Stop at Dijon, a most interesting city, and be sure you see the Museum.'

When M. de Montalembert wrote out his little plan, I said something about the name 'Avallon,'' the Isle of Avallon' being in France, instead of Bretagne; but he reminded me of the fact that the fragments of the Arthurian romances were to be found in one shape or another all over the west of Europe; and claimed Avallon as the place

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns,

And bowery hollows crowned with summer

sea.

He said that there is also a Morvan, a Forêt de Morvan, in the same district. Speaking of the Crusades (apropos to the family of de Chastellux, alluded to in the sketch of a

possible journey which he had drawn out for us), the company present fell to talking about the rapid disappearance of old French families within the last twenty or thirty years; during which time the value for long pedigrees' has greatly increased after the fifty years of comparative indifference in which they were held. The five 'Salles des Croisades,' at Versailles, were appropriated to the commemoration of the events from which they take their names, by Louis Philippe, in 1837; previously to which the right of the hundred and ninety-three families that claim to be directly descended from the Crusaders who went on the three first crusades (from 1106 to 1191 A.D.) was thoroughly examined into, and scrutinized by heralds and savants and lawyers acquainted with the difficulty of establishing descent, before the proud hundred and ninety-three I could have their arms emblazoned in the first Salle des Croisades. Among them rank de Chastellux, de Biron, de Lamballe, de Guérin, (any ancestor of Eugénie de Guérin, I wonder?) de la Guéche, de Rohan, de la Rochefoucault, de Montalembert, &c. And now in 1864 not twothirds of these families exist in the direct male line! Yet such has become the value affixed to these old historical titles and names, that they are claimed by collateral relations, by descendants in the female line, nay, even by the purchasers of the lands from which the old Crusaders derived their appellations! and it has even become necessary to have an authorized court to judge of the rights of those who assume new titles and designations. The Montmorencies, indeed, to this day hold a kind of parliament' of their own, and pluck off the plumage of any jay who dares to assume their name and armorial bearings. There is apparently no power of becoming a Norfolk Howard' at will in France. They spoke as if our English nobility was a very modern race in comparison with the French; but assigned the palm of antiquity to the great old Belgian families, even in preference to the Austrians, so vain of their many quarterings.

We could not manage to go by Avallon and Dijon, and so we came straight on here, and are spending a few days in this charming inn; the mistral howling and whistling without, till we get the idea that the great leafless acacia close to the windows of our salon has been convulsed into its present twisted form by the agony it must have suffered in its youth from the cruel sharpness of this wind. But inside, we are in a lofty salon, looking into the picturesque inn yard, sheltered by a folding screen from the knife-like draught of the door; a fire heaped up with blazing logs, resting on brass andirons; skins of wild beasts making the floor soft and warm for our feet; old military plans, and bird's-eye views of Avignon as it was two hundred years ago, hanging upon the walls, which are covered with an Indian paper; Eugene de Guérin to read; and we do not care for the mistral, and are well content to be in our present quarters for a few days.

March 8th.-It was all very well to huddle ourselves up in in-doors comfort for a day or two; but after that we longed to go out in spite of the terrible mistral. We certainly found Avignon 'cum vento fastidiosa;' and began to wish that we had delayed our progress by stopping at Avallon, if that indeed was the place where never wind blows loudly.' So on the day but one after our arrival here, we happed and wrapped ourselves up tightly and well, and sallied out of the courtyard. We were taken and seized in a moment by the tyrant; all we could do was to shut our eyes, and keep our ground, and wonder where our petticoats were. Going across the bridge was impossible; even the passers by warned us against the attempt; but after we had caught our breath again, we turned and went slowly up the narrow streets, choosing those that offered us the most shelter, until we had reached the wide space in front of the Palace of the Popes. With slow perseverance we made our way from point to point, and at length came to a corner in the massive walls where we could rest and look about

us.. Up above our heads rose the enormous walls-the far-extending shadow of Rome; for never did the French build such a mighty structure; it seemed like a growth of the solid rock itself. The prettiness of the garden round the base of the Palace looked to us mean and out of place, with its tidy flowerbeds and low shrubs. All entrance to the Palace was forbidden; it is now a prison. We went into the cathedral, and the calm atmosphere was so soothing and delightful, that we were inclined to stop there till the mistral had ceased blowing; but as that might not be for a month or six weeks, on second thoughts we believed it would be better to return to our hotel. We stood for a few minutes on the cathedral steps, looking at the magnificent view before us, and only regretting the clouds of fine dust which from time to time were whirled over the landscape. Close to us rose the colossal walls of the Palace; before us, in the centre of the open space, there was a bronze statue of a man dressed in Eastern robes; and we asked who it represented-what saint? what martyr? It was that of the Persian Jean Althen, the Persian who first introduced the culture of madder into the South of France. His father had held high office under Thomas Koulikhan, but was involved in the fall of his master, and his son fled for protection to the French Consul at Smyrna. It was forbidden under penalty of death to carry the seed of the madder plant out of the district; but Althen managed to bring some of it to Marseilles, and thus originated the cultivation of madder in le Comtat; the profits of which to the inhabitants may be imagined from the fact that the revenue from this source in one department alone (Vaucluse) amounts annually to more than fifteen millions of francs. Althen and his daughter died in poverty; but of late years the statue which we saw in the Place Rocher des Doms, has been erected to the Persian unbeliever, right opposite to the cathedral, and the Palace of the Popes-where once John XXII. (that most infamous

believer) lived. I had often seen madder in England in the shape of a dirty brown powder--the roots ground down; it has a sweetish taste, and the workmen in print works will not unfrequently take a little in their hands as they pass the large bales, and put it into their mouths. Í had heard a young English philanthropist say that he had often entertained thoughts of buying a tract of land in Eastern Italy, and introducing the cultivation of madder there, as a means of raising the condition of the people; but I had never heard of Jean Althen before; and tempestuous as it was, I made my way up to the statue, so that I could look up at the calm, sad face of the poor Persian. I suppose the newly discovered Aniline dyes may uproot the commerce he established, at some future period; but he did a good work in his day, of which no man knew the value while he lived. Our kind landlady at the Hôtel de l'Europe was at the hall door to greet us on our return, and warned us with some anxiety against going out in the mistral; we were not acclimatized, she said; the English families resident in Avignon did not suffer because they had been there so long. Of course we asked questions as to these English families, and heard that some had resided in the city for two or three generations; all engaged in the commerce de la garance; so they too had cause to bless the memory of Jean Althen.

March 12th.-I suppose our landlady thought she would keep us prudent and patient in-doors, until we receive the telegram from Marseilles announcing that it is safe for the boats to Civita Vecchia to start, -hitherto they have been delayed by this horrid mistral,-for she has brought us in a good number of books-most of them topographical, but one or two relating to the legends or history of the district. We are very content to be in the house to-day; the wind is blowing worse than ever; Irene has a bad pain in her side, which we suppose must be a local complaint, for, after trying to cure it by mustard plaisters, she sent our maid out at last to get a

blister of a particular size, but without naming what part required the application; and the druggist immediately said, 'Ah, for the side! it will last while the mistral lasts; or till she leaves Avignon.' We are learning now to manage wood-fires; the man who waits upon us, and is chambermaid as well as footman, gave us a little lesson yesterday. Always rake the living ashes to the front, and lay on the fresh wood behind; those are his directions, and hitherto they have answered well. This old man is a Pole, and came, an exile, to be a servant in the hotel about thirty years ago. He likes talking to us; but his language is very difficult to understand, though we can quite make out the soft, satiny patois of the South of France, the Provençal dialect, in which our questions are answered in the streets. To-night he has brought in our lamp and cleared away our 'thé simple.' Mary is sitting by the fire, tempted sorely by the wood logs; for every stroke of the sharp, thin poker brings out springing fountains of lovely sparkles. I, having a frugal mind, exclaim at her; for we pay heavily for our basketful of wood; but she, in a pleading, coaxing way, calls my attention to the brilliant effect of her work, and I cannot help watching the bright little lives which one by one vanish, till at length a poor solitary spark runs about vainly to find its companions, and then dies out itself. It reminds me of a story I heard long ago in Ramsay, in the Isle of Man ;-and here I think of it at Avignon. We were questioning a fisherman's wife at Ramsay about the Manthe Doog of Peel Castle, in which she had a firm belief; and from this talk we passed on to fairies. 'Are there any in the island now?' I asked, gravely, of course, for it was a grave and serious subject with her. 'None now; none now,' she replied. 'My brother saw the last that ever was in the island. He was making a short cut in the hills above Kirk Manghold, and came down on a green hollow, such as there are on the hill-tops, just green all round, and the blue sky above, and as still as still can be, but for the larks. He