and she graciously bowed to me. Governess of the female beggars of the Department of the Seine! It would fare better with us, it seemed to me, if the honest, deserving poor in many an English workhouse could come in contact with such light, cheerful, intelligent domination as hers. She bore in mind the mot d'ordre-" You must take the humane view in these things."

The oldest, dirtiest, dismallest part of the depôt is given to the men. The galleries or passages are dark. Rusty swing-lamps jut from the walls; a deep open ditch runs by some of the corridors, diffusing pestilential vapours in the hot months, looking, when I ventured to peep over the railing at it, very like slab, sorrel soup. The men sleep in large dormitories holding eighty beds, kept scrupulously sweet and clean, and they work in shops of various sizes, according to the numbers following the various trades which are carried on, under contractors who pay a contract price for the beggars' labour, under conditions similar to those which are enforced in the adjudication of prisonlabour in France, and on which I shall dwell in reviewing the cahiers of the prison kitchen and the prison workshop, to which I have already referred. The range of trades in the St. Denis depôt includes rope-making, sack and band weaving, brush-making, tailoring, brass-working, shoemaking, hemp-spinning, box-making, that disruption of old material

which prepares it for an appearance as shoddycloth, and lint-making for the hospitals. The beggar workers are all in a gray suit, cobweb tint. But there are marks of honour even here. Those with red badges are chefs de dortoir, who govern the linen distribution, &c., of their sections. The sick beggars in the infirmary wear the pyramidal cotton nightcaps, which were generally worn a couple of generations back in our own country, and look for the most part as dark as Bengalese by con

trast.

In each workshop the contractor's deputy presides; watches and directs the work, and sees that his master has his proper proportion of labour. The work begins at seven in the morning, and lasts in the summer till seven, and in the winter till dark. The average labour is ten hours a day. Some of the workshops are commodious; others (the tailors', for instance) contain an atmosphere stifling to the intruder from the open air; but in all there is good order, without that air of severity which is so painful to witness in our penal discipline. The sacking weavers-old rascals they looked, every one of them-wore the most sullen look of all; and one with heavy spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose, threw the shuttle with a gesture that expressed decidedly a repressed threat. The internal economy of the St. Denis depôt appeared to me to be excellently administered

throughout. All the labour that can be used is used. The old women clean the pans and pots, and carry the light domestic offices through. A strong beggar is put to chop the firewood. All are taught to work, are made to work; and their work is turned to the utmost advantage to make their cost to the State as light as possible.

The director-a most courteous, kindly gentleman-bade me mark his place as an old one beyond repair; and he recommended me to the model depôt of the department of the Aisne.

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CHAPTER XII.

ENGLISH AND FRENCH VAGRANTS.

THE sentiment which leads the French to make even the beggar partake of the enjoyments of a national fête, and to give him free place along the public walks where the holiday-makers may rain sous into his cap or hat, may be in this particular instance injudicious in its expression and repugnant to our inspirations of beadledom; but the sentiment is part of that ready kindness of heart and chivalry towards the weak which pervade the "Public Assistance" of the country. In my last chapter I touched upon the humane view in the treatment of beggars on which a Mendicity Depôt official insisted. I was standing a few days ago by the barrack-gates, on the Boulevard Malesherbes, wondering why a score of the most miserable-looking creatures I had ever seen, in the poorest nooks and corners of Paris, should be waiting under the noses of the sentries of the proud Imperial Guard.

Imagine the lofty air a British Grenadier would put on from his sentry-box if a squad of our tatterdemalion races were to close about him. The French guardsmen put on no airs; and presently five or six soldiers came forth from the barrackyard, carrying large baskets piled with the broken food of the regimental mess! Never did gentle nurse touch the pillow of a sick child with lighter and more reverent care than these soldiers handled the strange, broken utensils which the hungry host held forth. You see there is a scrap for the poor possible from the gamelle; that the hazard de la fourchette extends a chance to the hungry boy without the barrack-gates! This is the spirit which presides over the Public Assistance, and which wells from the heart of the people. By its guiding light the whole system, both public and private, of help to the sick and poor and old must be studied if the social student would get any useful truth out of it. The officials, paid and unpaid, who administer to the French poor do their work with gentleness. The manner with which an English policeman addresses hungry, ragged children, and drives them before him, would create a tumult if it were exhibited on the Boulevards.

While considering this part of my subject, my attention fell on the report of a meeting of the Oswestry poor-law guardians, at which there was a discussion as to whether the girls in the