or otherwise provided for. Besides the necessary amount of servants and nurses, there are thirty-four Sœurs de la Charité, three Priests (frères), and one "Instituteur." The total expense of the institution amounted, in 1848, to 1,378,213 francs.

My attendant now led me to what, instead of the last, ought to have been the first letter of her alphabet, namely, the "tour," or turn-about, in which babies, as soon as the lamps are lighted, are received. At first I saw nothing but a small piece of dismal-looking dark wood, but, on turning it round, there gradually opened to view a little cushion of straw, covered with faded green stuff; and yet, simple as it was, I felt it impossible to look at it without being deeply impressed with the political fallacy that, with good intentions, offers to the women of France in general, and of Paris in particular, a description of relief and assistance which, strange and dreadful to say, of all the animals in creation, no other living mother but a woman would accept!

On inserting an infant into this tiny receptacle,—which not only severs it for ever from maternal care, but which I have no doubt has produced, on the hard pavement of the dark street in which the act has been so repeatedly

committed, unutterable feelings and raving attitudes of misery, altogether beyond the power of the poet or the painter to describe,—a bell is either rung by the depositor, or, on the child squalling, it is turned round by the guardian in waiting, lifted out, numbered, and on the following day baptised with a name.

I was now at the door at which I had entered; but as I had been thinking of a few statistics I wished to obtain, after remunerating my attendant, I walked by myself across the interior hollow square into the department headed "Bureaux."

The superintendent was out, and, seated in the office, I was awaiting his return, when, looking into an interior room, I saw several of the clerks engaged in kindly trying to pacify a gentleman who, for some reason or other, appeared considerably excited, and who, after various gesticulations, such as placing his two elbows almost together in front of his chest, opening and clenching the fingers of both hands, and lifting up one foot after another, as if the floor was unpleasantly hot, at last, in a very squeaking tone, and with tearful eyes and cheeks, expressive of the most bitter grief, cried exactly like a child. The picture under any circumstances would have attracted a moment's attention; but

what rendered it to my mind more than ordinarily amusing was, that the fellow had a very long, well-combed, black beard, which, as he shook it in crying, kept tapping the buttons of his waistcoat!

(95)

LEFAYE ET LAFITTE.

MY purse, when I left London, had contained but little money, and as that little, for a variety of very small reasons, no one of which could I recollect, had every day grown rather less, unlocking my writing-box, I opened my letter of credit, which, I felt quite proud to read, was addressed to what appeared to me to be the California of Paris--namely, "Lafitte and Co., Maison Dorée,' Rue Lafitte." Carefully putting it into my pocket, I descended my staircase into my street; and while everything, influenced probably by my letter, was appearing to me “en couleur de rose," I saw approaching me a 'bus, driven by a coachman in a beautiful glazed, bright yellow hat, a crimson waistcoat, a nice chocolate coat with crimson facings, and fine blue trousers, perched high above two white very little punchy horses, carrying their heads low, and at perfect ease.

The picture exactly corresponded with my 1 The gilt house.

mind, and accordingly, holding up my stick, I soon found myself in the interior rumbling sideways along the Rue de la Paix. Unfortunately, however, alike unknown to myself and to her, I had sat on the cowl of a young Sœur de la Charité. I had never seen her face, and probably never should, had it not been that, as I sat in silence by her side, I felt a very little twitch, and, looking round, to my deep regret found that, in turning her head, her cowl had twisted itself, or rather I had twisted it, so that what ought to have been exactly under her chin was on her cheek. I looked very sorry; she looked very kind; as quickly as I could I jumped up; she gently shook her feathers, and then everything appeared as delightful as before.

After proceeding a short way along the Boulevart des Italiens, the conductor stopped the carriage, and, moving his hand at me, I walked along the 'bus, descended the steps, and at the corner of the street before me read the cheering words "Rue de Lafitte." On inquiring in a shop for the house of Monsieur Lafitte, I was desired to go nearly to the end of the street to No. 24. As, however, I approached my goal, I began to feel that either I or the numbers of the houses were a little tipsy, for above my head I read 15 and 21, then 17 and 23, and then 25. At last,