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prove his material position, since those who are his chief advisers believe that he has no possession beyond the grave.

V. POLITICALLY AND RELIGIOUSLY.

I place together these aspects of the character of the Paris ouvrier because in him they are essentially one: what he is politically he is religiously.

which all the religious instincts of the ouvrier gathers. What it established, or what naturally flows out of its principles, is for him a true decalogue. He admits no other ideas, or, if they exist, they are simply wrecks, débris of an older world.

If we want to sum up the creed of the Paris ouvrier, we might do it in this formula: "The French Revolution is great, and the Paris ouvrier is its prophet."

Every religion has its hypocrites and its martyrs, its drivellers and its heroes. M. Poulot has sufficiently exposed the violent or drivelling drunkards who form so large a percentage of the pharisees and hypocrites of the revolutionary creed; it will be interesting to see what that creed can make of the ouvrier when there are in him the elements of a hero; and I give the following story with the more confidence because I believe there is no population more prone to develop such characteristics.

As a matter of fact the world before the Revolution has no interest for him, he cares little for it, good or bad. All French history, To feel the truth of this one should be at even the story of Jeanne Darc, is for him as Paris during the Fête of the Republic, July the pagan world was to the Christian. But the 14th, the anniversary of the taking of the for the Revolution, the men of the RevoBastile by the people of Paris in 1789. In lution, the results of the Revolution, for the leaving the streets, which authority and fashion | very word Revolution, he feels the devotion have combined to decorate, for the quarters that a true Mussulman feels for the city of inhabited by the working classes, one gets a Mecca and the tomb of the Prophet. glimpse of the intense devotion with which the Paris ouvrier regards the Revolution. Still more impressive is the contrast between the narrow side streets and lanes and the main avenues of Paris. A horticultural show in the gallery of a coal-mine could hardly produce a more striking effect than one of these dark clefts festooned with wreaths and Chinese lanterns, and draped from end to end with the beautiful tri-colour. But when the narrow street is the central artery of a populous neighbourhood, Eastern romance could not produce words or images adequate to convey the impression. All that banners, floral wreaths, and lanterns can effect in the hands of the most artistic population in the world is accomplished. The further you penetrate the more fairy-like the scene. Ten thousand lamps of all sizes and all hues hang over your head and from the walls of the houses; Unity, Peace, Work-such is the motto of the banner on the arch draped and crowned by an effigy of the Republic which forms the entrance to the street. Halfway down, the figure of the Republic again appears, bringing, like another Moses, a new code of laws. The people, who form two lines, walk in family groups, arm in arm, up and down the narrow road, stop and gaze with reverence at this emblematic painting, over which is written the words, Espérance, Défiance. No one pushes, no one laughs, the only break in the solemn satisfaction is the hurried movement of some young man who passes rapidly through the crowd carrying a flag and crying, Vive la Révolution sociale. The fourteenth of July commemorates to the Paris ouvrier a deliverance not unlike that of Israel when he went out of the House of Bondage. It is a National Fête if ever there was one.*

The great Revolution is the subject around

*The above description refers specially to the Fête of 1882.

During the siege of the Commune, there was a regiment of defenders which contained three mechanics: one, the grandfather, sixtyseven years of age; another, the father, forty years old; the third, the son, who was scarcely sixteen. The three were evidently of the same brood, they all had the eagle look, the proud aquiline profile of the born warrior; all had the same blue eye, dreamy, unfathomable. Silent, sober, impassive, they had won an authority of which they had no idea. Their battalion remained three weeks outside Paris during weather in which the thermometer showed twenty degrees of frost. In the end the father fell, during a barricade fight, into the hands of the soldiers. To cover the fire of the insurgents, the Versailles troops took the prisoner, bound his wrists, and placed him in the middle of the street. The defenders of the barricade stopped firing, though the soldiers sent in their shot like hail. The old man turned to his grandson and said, "Thy father will be shot anyhow, for they kill all the prisoners. Better for him to die at once. Fire straight." The boy trembled and turned pale. "Listen," said the grandfather: "this is the end

for all who fight to the end. All is over now. Draw and die here. I swear to thee they shall never take us alive." Then turning to the insurgents he cried, "Fire, no agony for him!" They drew and the prisoner fell. For an hour more the struggle continued, but at last the barricade was taken, and there was nothing for it but precipitate flight. Only two remained, the grandfather and the boy. Taking a revolver from the waist of one of the dead, he wrung his grandson's hand and then blew out his brains; the moment after he had killed himself. It is a terrible story, but one has an inward consciousness of its truth. It is the spirit of the Revolution, especially in France, intense, uncompromising, never to cease except in victory or

death.

But its objects are no longer political. Paris ouvriers appear indifferent to all political change, except an attempt to reverse the Revolution itself. Even in regard to such questions as getting rid of the priests, and of the magistrates nominated under the Empire, they exhibit little interest. All the enthusiasm apparent is directed towards social change.

It would be very difficult to say how far the mass of working men really go. It may be taken for granted that the great majority, as everywhere, do not trouble themselves supremely about anything. If they can get easily through the day, and extract a little enjoyment out of life, they are satisfied. But the strong social sentiment and sense of fraternity existing among Paris ouvriers render them like a ball of gun-cotton. It is important, then, to discover what is the direction of thought among the intelligent, and especially what are the watchwords of those whose opinions are intense enough to lead them to form societies.

It must have been clear from the details I have already given that there has been for many years past a growing tendency among a great number of Paris ouvriers to regulate their lives by what, for want of a better term, I may call the principles of Benjamin Franklin. The ideal Dr. Franklin gave in his life and works is, as far as I can see, the ideal of those who are moulding the character of the third Republic.

This influence is, undoubtedly, very powerful in the present day, and may possibly be successful, because it is singularly in harmony with the superficial parts of the French character. If so, we shall have a society of individuals great in all the small economies of life, provident and saving to excess, be

lieving in education, science, organization, covering, under much bonhomie, thoroughly selfish hearts.

But people who believe that the pursuit of wealth or material well-being is the chief end of man, or of societies of men, will, I trust, always find a good deal to disconcert their theories in the Paris ouvrier.

"Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven," is a word that, perhaps, might find its true interpretation in a study of this kind; for it is a singular fact that it is among those who possess no wealth, and have no wish to possess any, that the highest patriotism, the loftiest sentiments of public duty prevail, that it is such persons who will be found to desire above all things the establishment of justice, righteousness, and truth on the earth. It is they who can most sincerely utter the prayer, "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as in heaven;" and it is this consideration which explains to me the puzzling fact that while the Republic is established, and appears in all material matters most prosperous-that while so many things are being done to render the material condition of the working man as easy, as prosperous, and as agreeable as possible-while education up to the highest point is offered him, almost entirely at the public expense-he is profoundly discontented. Let any one go to their political meetings or read their newspapers, and the thing that will most surprise and puzzle him will be the bitter contempt always expressed for the Government and for every one in authority.

But if he reflects that the only class in which pure idealism prevails is that which lives careless of its material interests, unconsciously obedient to the doctrine of the Sermon on the Mount, "Take no thought for the morrow"-if he further reflects that that class in Paris is better acquainted with their own contemporary history than with almost anything else, except their particular crafts, and that therefore they are intensely alive to the fact that history is almost completely made up of attempts on the part of their successive Governments to thwart or turn back the tide of that Revolution which is their idea of the kingdom of heaven-then he will begin to understand, if he does not sympathize with it, the bitter and unrelenting contempt the Paris ouvriers have for their rulers.

The ouvrier is taught to believe that this continual effort to thwart the Revolution is due to the unprincipled character of bourgeoisie politics to prefer their own material

interests to every other consideration. He accordingly regards them with the same contempt as the Government, and if the present Republic is in danger, it is on the ground that it is bourgeoise.

What the Paris ouvrier really means, let him phrase it how he may, is that the principles of absolute justice and truth should rule in the political and social order of France, and in the relations of all the states of Europe. This may be called Utopist, but all religious ideas worth anything at all are Utopist.

The Christianity of Europe as represented by its churches and religious societies have confessedly lost their hold on the working classes. May not this study of the Paris ouvrier show the reason? They have lost the

only idea that will touch the heart and conscience of the people-the doctrine of the Kingdom of Heaven. In exchange they offer what they are pleased to call "practical Christianity." This practical Christianity the working man finds is the accommodation of Christian dogma to every kind of worldly principle. It has therefore no attraction for him. If a Francis of Assisi or a De Lamennais were to appear again, preaching some nineteenth-century version of the Kingdom of Heaven, then and then only should we see a religious revival conterminous with the populations of the great cities of France then might we expect indeed to see a realisation of the prophecy "a nation shall be born in a day."

HIS COLD.

"Who can abide His cold?"
"Pray that your flight be not in the winter."

S it not hard to live one day,

Is

When God His face has turned away,
When prayer is wingless, or her wing
Droops earthward like some weary thing?

Yet did no bent and broken light
Pierce the dark vault of utter night,
Of hope or memory no ray,
Who could abide His cold one day?

Summer and winter, sun and rain,
The soul needs for her golden grain—
Warm sun, warm rain, the ear to fill,
His cold, love's selfishness to kill.
Come, winter, come, to kill dull pelf,
Love of His sweetness not Himself;
Till we can kiss His frowning face,
Unmeet our soul for summer grace.

But when the harvest-tide is nigh,
God grant His summer fill the sky,
God grant His harvest-rays be shed,
God grant His harvest-moon rise red.

Cold is the shore, and dark the tide,
Through which to His warm arms we glide
But if He then His face withhold,
Who can that day abide His cold?

Not in the winter be our flight!
Then need we most His summer light,
His presence felt, His angels near,
His bride to bless, His bread to cheer.

From strength to strength, from Thee to Thee,
Grant, Lord, our summer flight may be;
From veiled form and mystic grace
To splendours of Thine unveiled face.

FOLLIOTT SANDFORD PIERPOINT.

PEARLA:

Or, the Torld after an Esland. ·

BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS, AUTHOR OF "KITTY," "A WINTER WITH THE SWALLOWS," ETC. CHAP. XXXIX.-THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY.

IT was not likely that things should go ill with a splendid young creature like Georgie, nor was it likely that matters should prosper in a household of which Geoff was the head. The young master of the house was indeed not at all fitted for the responsi

es of his position. The event seemed

indeed so sudden, so unexpected when it

came, that no proper preparations had been made, and Geoff lacked the good gift of promptitude and organization. Every wellintentioned step of his but made matters worse. He had no experience either of illness or domestic management, and yet he imagined that everything should go smoothly,

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"No canting, if you please," Geoff said, determined to have his way. Your wages shall be sent after you and your boxes too, only be off, every one of you."

"And please, sir," added the small housemaid pertly, dropping a curtsey, "Mistress promised us each a new gown for the christ

"And thank you kindly for the wine, sir," put in the suitor, catching his cue.

There was something preposterous in the whole situation-the imperiousness of the boyish head of the house, the mildness of the offence compared with the severity of the sentence, the absurd and uncomfortable position into which Geoff was forcing himself. Each present was secretly predicting a meek recall in the course of the day. But Geoff was of quite another mood. Georgie might wake up at any moment. Immediate steps must be taken to replace this disorderly crew. He dragged out his purse, paid the proffered claims to the full and once more opened the door. Not ill pleased at the turn affairs had taken, the four obeyed without a word, leaving Geoff master of the field.

that is to say in accordance with his own
wishes, whereas a compromise between what
we would have and what we can succeed in
obtaining, is in reality the utmost to be ex-
pected in most worldly affairs. Geoff, more-
over, was somewhat overbearing under his
new conditions of husband and father, and
felt bound to command. And having some-ening."
what roughly handled the reins of domestic
government it came about that he suddenly
found himself left in sole charge of the
young mother and her two-weeks old baby.
His household had not been composed with
much judgment in the first instance, and it was
little wonder that at such a crisis no member
of it should prove equal to the occasion.
Georgie being asleep one afternoon, and
everything going on as smoothly as possible,
the nurse had slipped down-stairs and pro-
posed a toast in honour of the young son and
heir. The world, especially the world whose
habitation is the kitchen, is sure to find out
whether you are rich or no, and Geoff's ser-
vants had discovered long ago that he was
the runaway heir to a fine property. Ac-
cordingly, more from indifference and self-
indulgence than from any wilful neglect, they
made an inroad on the cellar and were sur-
prised by the young master unbecomingly
exhilarated over two bottles of wine. Now,
not one of the party, consisting of nurse,
cook, housemaid, and housemaid's hanger-
on, was in a state of more than exhilaration
when surprised by their young master. They
were jocose and noisy, that was all; and,
under the circumstances, there was no doubt
that a mild remonstrance would have been
the wisest course to pursue.

But their peals of laughter and flushed faces roused him to such a pitch of indignation that he was no longer within his own control. Opening the door wide, and simulating even more wrath than he felt, he made a sign to them to go.

"Be off my premises," he said, "and that without loss of time. I will have no drunkards here."

"Wages first and warnings afterwards, young sir," cried the job cook, a vulgar but not vicious woman, not indisposed to go, as she had a month's wages due and plenty of work in prospect.

"Come, sir," said the nurse in a mollifying tone, thinking of her character and the presents she was sure to have from Georgie at the month's end, "we are only drinking the health of the son and heir, and a beautiful boy he is, and may he grow up like his father is my prayer-▬

Embarrassed, yet triumphant, he sat down and penned a telegram to his friend, the kindly washerwoman at Stoke Newington, bidding her come to his aid immediately. Next he wrote a note to the doctor, apprising him of his dilemma, and having confided both missives to an aged crossing-sweeper in whom he had great confidence, he went up-stairs smiling and self-satisfied.

"Are you asleep?" he whispered, having unclosed Georgie's door in the gentlest manner.

"No, Geoff dear," uttered a feeble voice. from the alcove. "Please ring for nurse. I am hungry."

"What would you like to have?" Geoff asked, not intending to let her know of the little scene that had just been enacted in the kitchen.

66

Anything. Nurse will know what to give me. Only bid her make haste," was the feeble but impatient answer.

"A little arrowroot?" Geoff asked timidly. He thought that the making of a cup of arrowroot was within his capacities, an overwhelming sense of his responsibilities as nurse and cook suddenly coming upon him.

"That will do," was Georgie's faint reply. Her head sank back on the pillow, for indeed she ought to have had nourishment some time before. Geoff, glancing at his young wife and the tiny pink head nestled to her

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