be, perhaps, best explained by the following extract from a work of travels written some years ago. The place described is an annexe of the great industrial and agricultural reformatory of Mettray, near Tours: "M. Demetz's pet institution is his 'maison paternelle,' a refined sort of prison for the refractory sons of gentlemen. The building is attractive enough outwardly and looks like a pretty Swiss châlet, but in spite of carpets and curtains the interior is gloomy. Unruly boys are sent here, under the charge of a tutor, for terms of one or more months. They are kept hard at work, and during the hours of study the keys of their cells are turned upon them, and they are watched through a pane of glass let in at the door. As a reward of good conduct more cheerful cells are given, looking on to the garden, and adorned with pictures, but the peephole and key are never wanting. ""It is an admirable institution,' I said, a little doubtfully, ‘and must relieve parents and guardians of a good deal of responsibility; but it would never do to lock up English boys and watch them at their lessons through a peephole.' 66 'We had an English boy once,' said the superintendent, then stopped short. "And how did the experiment an'swer?' ""Very ill, I assure you. He burst open the lock, defied his tutor—in fine, all but created a mutiny, and heartily glad were we to get rid of him.'"" In quite another part of France, and many years after, I was again reminded of the prodigue and the provision made for him in the Code Civil. I quote a short account written at the time2: "One curious feature of Citeaux (the great reformatory in the Côte d'Or) is the reception of incorrigible youths belonging to the middle and upper ranks. There are nine hundred boys in all here, and about one hundred are neither young criminals nor street vagabonds but boys with whom their parents or guardians can do nothing. At Citeaux Through Spain to the Sahara, London, 1868. 2 Fraser's Magazine, September, 1880. this class of inmates is paid for at the rate of twenty pounds a year, and is put on precisely the same footing as the rest, except that the boys are not set to field work. Even with such reservation the probation is a hard one in the extreme. My driver to Citeaux informed me that he had recently conducted thither a widow lady with her son aged seventeen; also another widow with an incorrigible lad somewhat younger. The former declared it her intention to keep her son at the reformatory till he should be of age, unless he turned over a new leaf." Without doubt the most important function of the family council is the choice of guardians, the "tutelle dative" as opposed to the "tutelle légale," the former being accorded by this body, the latter being the natural guardianship of parents. The "tutelle légale” is obligatory, no father being at liberty to reject the duty. So also is the "tutelle dative;" no individual selected by a family council as guardian and being related to the family of the minor is at liberty to refuse the charge; it is as much incumbent upon any French citizen as military service or the payment of taxes. This is a most important point to note. A few exemptions are specified in the code. Thus, the father of five legitimate children is exempt, also persons having attained the age of sixty-five, or being able to prove incompetency from illness. The following also may refuse: ministers and members of the legislative body, admirals, generals, and officers in active service, preféts and other public functionaries at a distance from the minor's home. her interests, in fact, filling the place of a second father. Whilst entrusted with the management of affairs as a whole, certain transactions lie outside his control. Thus he is not at liberty to accept a legacy for his ward without the consent of the conseil de famille. This precautionary measure requires explanation. Sometimes the reversion of property may mean very heavy legal expenses and an enjoyment of the same, a prospect too remote to be counted upon. An instance of this has come under my own observation. A boy, son of French friends of mine, was left the reversion of an estate, the life interest being bequeathed to another. His parents, somewhat reluctantly accepted the charge,. paying a little fortune in legal fees and duties for property most likely to come to a grandson. No family council would have authorized such a course in the case of a minor. Again, the guardian cannot purchase any part of his ward's estate or belongings. Nor can he re-invest stocks and shares without authorization. On the expiry of his charge, that is to say, on the marriage or coming of age of the minor, the property in trust has to be surrendered intact, all deficits made up from his own. On this subject a French lawyer writes to me: "It is extremely rare that any ward has occasion to complain of his or her guardian. During a legal experience of twenty-five years, no serious matters of the kind have come under my notice. Nevertheless, my practice lay in a part of France where folks are very fond of going to law. It will occasionally happen that some elderly trustee persuades his young ward to marry him; these gentlemen have not perhaps been over pleased with their success in the long run. They are too much of a laughing stock." Legal coming of age, "l'émancipation," brings the guardian's task to a close. According to French law there are two kinds of emancipation, the formal and the tacit; these matters, however, lie beyond the scope of my paper. The functions of the family council are fully set forth in the Code Civil; to understand its scope and spirit we must study the commentators. Readers in search of more copious and detailed information are referred to the great work of the brothers Dalloz, in forty-four volumes, only of course accessible in the British Museum and public libraries of France. "Le Répertoire de jurisprudence général," compiled by Victor and Armand Dalloz, was first published in 1836, but remains the standard work of reference on legal questions. A handy and admirable digest of the Conseil de Famille is to be found in the "Traité," by J.-L. Jay, Bureau des Annales des Juges de Paix, Paris, 1854. Unfortunately, this book is out of print, and only to be picked up on the quays or at bookstalls. Among commentaries may be named Duranton's "Cours de Droit Français," in twenty-seven volumes, Toullier's "Droit civil Français," in four volumes. The works of Delvincourt, Proudhon, Demolombe, Zacheriara, Rolland de Villaguers, may be mentioned inter alia. Manuals of "Droit Usuel," giving a brief outline of the family council, are too numerous to mention, and may be had from twenty-five centimes (see Ecole Mutuelle) upwards. Thoroughly to appreciate this domestic court of equity we must understand French life, fully realize the extraordinary closeness of kinship, the tenacity of blood and name. The family council brings out the good side of such patriarchal feeling, familiarity with French society will ofttimes disclose the evil. For better, for worse, indeed, our neighbors may be said to inherit not only patronymic, patrimony, and paternal honor, but the entire family alike on father's and mother's side. Hence the apparent worldliness displayed in contracting marriage. Not only are material prospects but moral antecedents religiously gone into. A blot on the family escutcheon, a shadow of disreputableness will prevent alliances, however approved of in other respects. In spite of certain drawbacks there seems no reason why a modified Conseil de Famille might not prove bene ficial in England. The simplicity, the uncompromising economy of the system are highly commendable; the absolute impossibility of risking uncertain charges is a feature that contrasts favorably with our own legal procedure. But the self-incurred responsibility, that enforcement of guardianship obligatory on French citizens as military service itself - here we meet obstacles that might prove not easy to overcome. In conclusion, I cite the words of an experienced French lawyer, no learned commentator, but an ordinary hard-working practitioner: "The excellence of such a system is proved by one fact, namely, the very small percentage of law-suits arising therefrom. Very rarely it happens that a ward has any reason to complain of his trustees." We must bear in mind that inadmissibility for the charge of trusteeship is really a disgrace, on a footing, indeed, with forfeiture of civil rights. Hence, doubtless, the high character of French trestees in general. It would be interesting to collect sketches of the family council from novelists. This subject, however, we must leave. M. BETHAM-EDWARDS, Officier de l'Instruction Publique de France. From The Gentleman's Magazine. BY MARY 8. HANCOCK. "I am the Resurrection and the Life." A voice broke into the pathetic silence of the churchyard with the words of eternal hope and triumph; a lark carolled somewhere out of sight in the summer sky; the glory of revivified nature was everywhere in the budding flowers and in the leafy trees. Long grasses began to wave; the branches cast pleasant shadows all around; and in the quiet walk a small procession followed Eleanor Deerhurst to her last lone resting place. Poor Eleanor Deerhurst! In the very moment of starting, when with thrilling distinctness the words of endless hope fell on the air, another voice broke in with infelicitous haste: "When you've done, sir," it said, half aloud, "the corpse's brother wishes to speak to you." Eleanor Deerhurst had already merged her identity in that of a mere "corpse" to the undertaker, while to her brother she had become, in a wonderfully short space of time, simply "the remains." "Alas, poor humanity! To the man who read the service of solemn committal-"dust to dust"-to the girl who listened, the scene was almost heart-rending. To him who followed it was indescribably perplexing. He had seen so little of Nell since she married Robert Deerhurst and went away with him into another sphere and "beat" of life. He was only a man of the hod in those days. Robert Deerhurst was a clerk, who wore a black coat all day long, and talked with infinite littleness of "laborers." Yet how curiously cases reverse themselves in this world! Thomas Farrant was now a man of wealth and substance, ample in person, glossy and brilliant as to raiment. The world, life, and his own endeavors, had made him abundantly blessed and superabundantly successful. The world, the flesh, and the devil had played falsely to Robert Deerhurst. He was dust long ago; and as for Nell-poor Nell!-she had become "the remains." Thomas Farrant thought of these things as he followed, by virtue of being the "corpse's brother," side by side with the quiet and sorrowful chief mourner. It was this chief mourner that troubled Thomas now. "She's nobbut a slip of a gurl," he told himself, "but what am I ter do wi' 'er? What'll she do along wi' the likes o' we?" Mr. Farrant spoke in the plural, as a rule-after the fashion of royaltybut, as a matter of fact, his household began and ended with himself. "Ma hat covers ma fam'ly," he would say, with a smile of intense breadth and still more intense shrewdness. "An' what is us ter do wi' th' lass?" The "lass" was so unlike Thomas that he might well ponder over her destiny. She was so dainty and so lovely, even in her simple mourning apparel, that she looked a strange contrast to the prosperous man at her side. Nell had been this sort of a girl, Thomas remembered; but Irene was even more spirituelle than her mother, and Thomas was half afraid of her. He was rich, but he lived in a queer way of his own; it suited him but what about Irene? He hardly listened to the service, or noted the pathos thrown into the beautiful words by the fine tenor voice of the parson. Parsons-like girls-were not much in his way; and he did not care for them. Irene was desperately poor-a "pau. per" he would have called her if she had not been Nell's child. The parson was in the same condition as a church mouse. Thomas Farrant had not a soul above riches. They warmed him, fed him, clothed him, comforted him; for what said he in his heart? "A fat sorrow is better than a lean one, any day. Nell's legacy is nobbut skin an' bone grief, 'at can help по one." He wondered why he coupled the parson and the girl together in thought-probably because both were poor alike. He knew the man loved the girl, but and great words. In common with men of his kind, the more incomprehensible the words, the better he enjoyed them. But now they were only too comprehensible. They made him think. What had he ever done to help Nell in all those weariful years? What had he ever done for anybody but himself? "Us'll tak' th' lass hame th' neet," he said, pulling his coat over his substantial figure, and raising his eyes heavenward, as if in an attempt at self-justification. "Thet's what us is goin' ter do noo." He glanced again at the girl; but with those words ringing in his ear he felt impelled towards the right. "Us'll tak' her hame; we've said sae. Noo what's amiss?" No one spoke, but still his conscience was not quite clear. "Us'll ha' it oot wi' 'im, by'm-bye," he muttered. "If us tak's th' gurl, she'll ha' ter do better for hersel' than Nell did, for she's nought but th' remains noo, an' she moight ha' bin wha she pleased. Eh, it's a wearifu' warld, an' no mistake." The "warld" at that moment was radiantly, gloriously beautiful-earth, air, sea, sky-as if the promise of that eternal "change" were already coming to pass. But Thomas knew not yet that we color our worlds with the hues of our own natural sentiments. Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Then the last "Amen" was uttered, the gravediggers descended into poor Nell's narrow bed, and began hastily to shovel in the earth. A small funeral was not very imposing to these creatures of habit. They felt sorry for Irene but they saw mourners every day; they knew that life ended here. At their feet the dead lay by scores; they spoke of comfortable and unconfortable graves, and talked with unconcealed delight of a "beautiful corpse;" moreover, they had quickly taken the measure of Thomas Farrant, and recognized that he was not one of "the quality." No sooner had they ascertained this than they leaped down upon Nell, and shovelled away with a will. There would be other burials requiring their aid presently; they must make haste. Nor did Thomas stay to watch their proceedings. "Us is goin' noo," he said, taking the parson aside for an instant. "Theer's nowt heer ter kape us." He glared defiantly at the parson, and the younger man raised his head, and looked straight before him. "I shall never lose sight of her," he said, in brave firmness. "Irene knows that well enough." The girl had lingered for a moment, but at the sound of her name she came forward. "Yes, I know," she answered quietly, but quite as firmly. "I am waiting." "Ye're nowt but a lass," replied Mr. Farrant, with a touch of anger, for which he had the grace-afterwardsto feel ashamed. "Ye're not o' age. An' us is rich. Us isn't loike yer mither, or yer faither's folk naythor. They're a puir lot, w'en a's sed an' dune." "They are of gentle birth," said the parson, with a stiffened back and heightened color, for he had heard the whole story from poor Eleanor Deerhurst; but his words displeased the old 'man. "Ay, thet's what ye think maist aboot; but what'll they do fur ye, d'ye think? Wull they tak' Ireen, an' feed 'er, an' dress 'er? Hoots! mon, they dinna ken 'at she's 'een alive!" "We cannot talk of these things here and now," said the parson hurriedly. "It's very inopportune, sir." "It's gangin' ter cost me a purty toon," responded Thomas, still more angrily; and then he, too, stopped. In his ears there rose the echo of those words, "In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, we shall be changed." In the parson's ears his own voice was repeating other words. "Almighty God," he said to himself, "with whom do live the spirits of them that depart hence in the Lord, and with whom the souls of the faithful, after they are delivered from the burden of "We've put th' remains comf'bly awa', an' we've paid oop liberally, so we'll saay good-day ter ye, sir, an' thank ye fur the wurrds ye spoke ter 'er." A backward glance at poor Nell's grave showed that he meant the dead mother, and by no means the living daughter. "Us is lossin' monney whiles us staays heer," he added, as he took hold of his niece's hand. "Look arter th' coin, parson; fill ye'r pockets; siller is th' best freen' ye kin hev!" And in the parson's ear every leafbud on the swaying trees, every cowslip hidden in the murmuring grass, every lark that trilled its gladness in the face of heaven, kept repeating in undying stanzas, "This corruptible must put on incorruption. tal must put on immortality." This mor The souls of the faithful waiting in the stillness for the trumpet-call to reconsciousness seemed to answer back the words, "This mortal must put on immortality." When he turned his head, Thomas and his niece had gone. Another man would have said, "That dream is over." The parson straightened himself, and looked manfully upward. "I can wait," he said quietly. "I am going to wait." CHAPTER II. That summer passed away. |