accomplishes; and it is remarkable that in the country of which I am writing, and in which these institutions are plentiful, the crime of child murder, though not altogether unknown, is at all events infinitely less common than in England.

To sum up the whole, then, it becomes tolerably evident that, things being as they are, the establishment of a Crèche in a neighbourhood where female labour is in much demand, is an additional safeguard to the morality of society; and that any person who should originate one in such a neighbourhood,

would be doing a good work. He cannot expect, as I have shown, that there will be nothing said against it. It would be difficult to mention any one of the very soundest efforts of social science which is not attended by some drawbacks. But, if he be a Christian philanthropist, he will repose always in the conviction of one thing-that in his exertions for the protection of outcast infancy he is giving its practical fulfilment to the law of Him who reserved for the guilelessness of the child the most unqualified admiration that He ever expressed.

H. T. ARMFIELD.

IF you take a map of France you will see, towards the centre, just south of the forty-sixth parallel, a tract of high land. This is a remarkable feature in a country so uniformly level. To define it geographically (and it is wonderful what a help towards getting interested in any district is a little precision in one's ideas about its geography), we must note that it lies between the valley of the Allier and the wide rain-fall off to the Bay of Biscay, down which a whole army of affluents of the Loire (notably the Vienne) run north-west, while the Dordogne, the Lot, and other tributaries of the Garonne cross it in a westerly direction. Supposing you have a moderately good atlas, you will see on the district thus marked out, several strangely detached mountain masses. These, the Pay de Dôme, the Mont d'Or, the Puy de Cantal, &,-are extinct craters, the highest points of the elevated tract forming the old province of Auvergne. They are now divided into the departments of Dome and Cantal, not named from rivers (as is the case with by far the greater number of the eighty-six new divisions), but from the strange dome-shaped hills, which are the most striking features in their neighbourhoods. Geologically the whole province is very remarkable. It is all volcanic, and of the most recent formation. No one now-a-days, who knows anything of geological terms, is deceived when granite is spoken of as "the oldest of known rocks." We know that it is sometimes one of the youngest, and that its age can only be determined by noticing what are the rocks over which it has boiled out. In the very centre of England, the mass of Mount Sorrel (whence came the stones that pave London Bridge), and a good deal more of Charnwood Forest besides, are granite, or rather syenite, superposed on, i.e., shot up through and overlapping lias, and even more recent rocks. But the Auvergne rocks are not even granite: they are generally what is called tuff, the same basaltic formation as Etna and Vesuvius may pour out at any time. Sir Charles Lyell, in his "Antiquity of Man," remarks that "man may be presumed to have witnessed the volcanic eruptions of central France," even supposing the authenticity of a fossil man shown in the museum at Le Puy to be

doubtful. Long after the drift, in which the much-contested hatchets are found, had begun to be covered with peat in the valleys of the Somme and Oise, these volcanoes were burning, throwing out scoriæ, forming fields of lava, burying the Hyæna spelaa and the Elephas primigenius, perhaps occasionally entrapping some clansman of the Arverni who had gone out to hunt these "prehistoric" mammals.

Remarkable geologically, the district is no less remarkable historically. The reader of Cæsar will remember that it was the Arverni who headed the last grand effort of the Gauls to shake off the Roman yoke, to which, at the outset, they had so easily submitted. Vercingetorix was an Auvergnat. We know with what infinite pains he overcame the mutual jealousies of the tribes who were then, as ever, the great source of weakness to a Celtic nation. With consummate skill he held the great conqueror at bay; and, when the Gallic cavalry had been broken--not by the Romans, who were always poor creatures on horseback, but by Germans whom Cæsar had imported, how magnanimously he went out from amongst his blockaded countrymen, and gave himself up in the hope of obtaining better terms for them. Cæsar, to his eternal shame, kept him to "adorn his triumph"; and then, of course, when the grand procession was over, the chieftain was killed in cold blood. The whole course of the upper Allier is historic ground. We can still trace along its banks the marches and counter-marches of Gauls and Romans, the latter anxious for a battle, and the former striving to starve and weary out the invader. Vercingetorix soon saw the uselessness of general infantry engagements, in which the clausman, almost without defensive armour, and with huge claymores of soft metal, were matched against the legionaries armed with "pilum" and short cut-and-thrust sword.

As we can well believe, Auvergne was the stronghold of Druidism. All through Roman conquests, and the edicts of emperors, there were zealous pagans found, who, in outlying districts, kept up the early worship, the pagan being the man of the hamlet, as the heathen is the dweller on the heath. The councils of Clermont fulminated anathemas

against those "who worshipped stones," "who carried the eucharist to the graves,' "who ate meats offered to devils," &c.; but still the old rites went on. Even now, if we may take M. Morny's word for it, the worship of Hesus and Teutates has only been exchanged for that of the first Napoleon, "whom many a peasant supposes to be still alive." The Auvergnats are poor. Is it the want of capital or the lack of opportunities at home which drives them in swarms to seek the humblest occupations in the great French towns? or is there in mountaineers who belong to a subject province, a sense of inferiority leading them to accept work which is generally esteemed degrading? We know that the Swiss, the Norwegian, the man of the mountains who lives under his own government, is intensely high spirited, and will not submit to be in any way 'put upon." But it would seem as if the dependent tribes, though loving deeply their own rugged land, and secretly despising the man of the plain, yet feel abashed in the presence of his greater civilisation and material advantages and better training. We may call the Auvergne people French Highlanders, remembering, however, that there is really no difference of race. They are pure Gauls, which the men of the high and low Alps scarcely are, while those who live in the Vosges are not Gauls at all. And this term, French Highlandersfor one who knows anything about "sixty years siuce" is significant: using the words, however, not in the sense of the author of "Waverley," but as meaning sixty years from the present time. Such an one will remember the poor Highlander in Edinburgh, and almost all Scotch towns, filling the offices of sweep, scavenger, dustman, or common labourer; just, in fact, the work the low Irish do in London, and the Auvergnats do in Paris. The Highlander's perseverance and superior energy continually raised him indeed; but it is still the fact, that he generally began at the foot of the social ladder. There was little or no emigration then; the army could not find room for all, and the glens would only maintain a limited number of human creatures; and so the surplus had to go off and seek their fortune as best they could. Such too was, and is, the lot of the Auvergnat. Driven early to leave a land where there is no work to employ the hands and fill the mouths of any "additions to the population," he becomes water-carrier, porter at the halles, stone-masons' labourer, nightman, or oftenest sweep-nearly all the sweeps in Paris being from Auvergne. The chief difference between him and the Highlander is, that the Frenchman saves every penny in the hope of going back and buying a little plot of ground whereon to "settle" for life; while the Scotchman, who cannot dream of purchasing land where it is already laid out in large estates, pushes his fortune in the south, and, rising, becomes perhaps a master-builder in "Auld Reekie,' or overseer in the Glasgow warehouse he used to sweep out as a boy, or even a merchant prince in London or abroad.

In the French system there are fewer failures, but the prizes are far smaller. Their system fills the land with a race of very small farmers, who own their little farms, and live contented. They work hard, are very illiterate, and far too slow and unimproving. Our plan, amidst much anguish and heart-breaking, ensures 'progress" to all, and wealth and dignity to a few; but then it leaves us a residuum of "failures," in places like the Glasgow Wynds, such as it would be hard to match in any other part of Europe for wretchedness. With us, the Highlander has more than battled down the prejudices felt toward him as one of alien race. The author of "Waverley," himself a Lowlander to the backbone, was partly instrumental in getting up the Highland furore of some forty odd years ago. In this respect he stands out in honourable contrast to the great historian, who, Celtic by name, takes every opportunity of degrading the race in southern eyes. But the Auvergnat, though he never had any prejudices of race to contend against, has taken naturally to the same humble kind of work which we have named. You often find him figuring in the reports of the Paris "Police correctionnel;" for he is a hot-tempered little fellowin that again resembling the Highlandman. It needs all his sobriety, which is very great for a Frenchman, to keep him from getting into continual trouble. For indeed those who are always quoting Jean Crapaud, as giving such a lesson in temperance to Sawney and John Bull, cannot have lived in northern or central France, or they would have seen enough to make them alter their opinion. The Highlandman has plenty of perseverance, will live on a crust and a mouthful of salad, and will put by every farthing (sewing it up in his mattress, or adopting some such primitive kind of bank), that he may be able at last to "retire to his estate," have a house of his own, a couple of cows, and a pony to ride to market on.

But if his temper is hot and his habits penurious, his heart is warm and his feelings tender. To any one from his own country he is like a brother; to all who need help or claim pity he is kind and compassionate. His ambition is not high and his views are limited he wants the wide grasp of thought and far-reaching prudence which perhaps distinguish the Highlander amongst the other Celtic races; but he is a good, worthy fellow for all that.

:

I'll bet that young gentleman who lives under me has something to make his more palatable !"

"Oh! are you going up-stairs, Chassagne?" said the portress; "for, if you are, please to hand in this letter at No. 8; the postman has just left it." "Why can't he fetch it himself?" said the watercarrier.

"Why? poor fellow, be hasn't left his room these three days; and more than that, I'm sure he's not had a mouthful to eat since yesterday morning. If I had not been afraid he'd snap me up, as he did once before, I should have taken him some warm milk and a bit of bread to-day."

"Really now, do you think he is so clemmed? it almost makes me think of taking up to him mine. Ah! you should have tried him with the bread and milk, missus."

The Auvergnat carries up the letter, and finds the young student, very pale and thin, writing on the bed, amid a heap of books. The letter is from a rich cousin and guardian enclosing an order for a louis-d'or, and volunteering abundant advices and reflections on the youth's indiscretion in going up to Paris, and making himself a burden to his relations. The student is young Dupuytren, reduced for the time being to great want, owing to the break-up, in 1794, of all the public educational establishments. He had held a bursary at the College de la Marche in Paris. At such a time his cousin's treatment is heart-rending: he tells it all to the sympathising Auvergnat.

"Well, if I were you, young gentleman, I should just pack up the money again, and send it back, and say I neither wanted his money nor his advice." "Thank you, my lad; you've almost made me feel myself again. But, dear, dear! what shall I de? I'm starving."

Before he could look round, the Auvergnat had disappeared. He soon returned, however, with a bottle of wine, which, with his bread and cheese, he placed on the table. He cut off some slices, poured out a couple of mugs of wine, and began to eat quite cheerfully. Poor Dupuytren's heart was too full; he seemed more likely to faint than to eat.

"There, now! I warrant you won't drink with me, because you're a gentleman, and I'm only a poor water-carrier."

At last Chassagne's kindly tact succeeds: he makes Dupuytren share his breakfast, and promise to accept further help.

"You see, it's my turn to help a body now. The parson, who brought me up when I was left an orphan, said to me when he sent me off to make my way in Paris: Now be sure you do to others as you've been done by: if ever you find any one you can do a good turn to, mind you do it!'"

The student, who feels that he has something in him, says :

"I'll pay you a hundred fold when I'm head surgeon at the hospital."

"Ah! come now; that is too good. Why that's like my wishing, as I do, when I put my wishing

cap on, to have, instead of that pair of buckets, a barrel all to myself, -a fine new barrel painted red, with the hoops picked out with blue. What a proud day it'll be when first I put myself between the shafts and wheel my own barrel."

Dupuytren could not help smiling at the extent of his friend's ambition.

"How much does a barrel cost, then?"

"Why 260 francs, at least; but I'll tell you a secret, I've got 200 towards it safely stowed away in a stocking."

While the student is gone to post his answer to his cousin, the owner of the house comes to gather his rent. He turns the Auvergnat out, locks the door, and is walking away, when Chassagne says:"Where will he go, poor fellow?"

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"That's his business, not mine; he owes me for five months, that's enough for me.' "But his books and papers? You'll kill him, I tell you; he's not well."

The end is that the Auvergnat takes the landlord up-stairs, opens the stocking, and pays the rent.

But Dupuytren knows nothing of this till long after. He posts his letter, and before finally accepting the water-seller's help, determines to put his pride in his pocket, and call on a young fellow-student, Count Léon de - son of the Duke of The count is going to have a party, for it is his birthday.

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Come, stay, old fellow, and dine with us. What! you won't? Ah! it's those old college clothes that you've got on. Stop a bit: you and I are pretty much of a size; my man will put you into one of my suits in a few minutes."

"No, I can't stay; I wanted a word with you." "What? business, is it? Oh! do put it off till you call again. I can't and won't hear it to-day. But tell me, what have you been doing since all the collegers were scattered? By the way, Dupuytren, do you know I'm worried every day by classfellows, who come to me for help, because I'm a duke's son. They'd keep my purse empty enough if I listened to them all."

Despite this discouraging prelude, the poor lad unfolds his sorrows to the count, and begs the loan of ten pounds.

"You see, Léon, I only want it till the schools reopen, and that must be very soon. They cannot do without doctors and surgeons any more than bakers; and when once they open I can get a 'scholarship' immediately, you know. So all I want is to be kept going till then. Now I know you can lend it me, if you will."

Léon bursts into a loud laugh.

"Ten pounds! why that's a whole month's pocketmoney. You're coming it rather strong, my friend.” A cold sweat came out on Dupuytren's forehead; but still he forced himself to try once more.

"Well, then, do without pocket-money for one month, and you'll give me the means of living and studying for a whole quarter.”

"You are surely not serious, Dupuytren,-but there's the bell; that's some of my friends. Goodbye, if you won't stay."

So Dupuytren goes back hopeless to his room. There he finds Chassagne rubbing his hands before a tureen of smoking soup.

"Come, make haste, it's getting cold." "Why, you good creature, you'll be making a hole in the stocking."

"Well, you see," said the Auvergnat, who could scarcely restrain a sigh when he thought of what a big hole the landlord had made in it a short time ago, we must dine; and, besides, you'll make it all up to me, you know, when you are head man at the hospital."

"Ah, yes! you shall be sure to have your barrel then, and a pony into the bargain to draw it."

"Oh! a pony ! that's more than I ever dreamt of. No; I'll stick to the barrel, please, and draw it myself."

From that day forward Chassagne installed himself as purveyor and factotum to the young student. The other would protest from time to time, and say,-"Dear me, this won't do, you know--we're living on your barrel all this long while."-"Never mind," he would say; "I'd give a barrel, horse and all, this very minute, if I had them, for the pleasure of knowing you. Talk of obligation! I should like to know who's the obliged party. Why, look at me, now till I knew you, I had not had a soul to speak a kind word to me since our old parson died. I used to come in at night tired and cold, and there was no one to take me by the hand, as you do, and say 'How are you getting on, Chassagne?' To hear you speak is as good as a warm at the fire any day, Master William. Besides," he added, "I pray for you night and morning, do you know? So something's sure to come of that."

Early in 1795, the School of Medicine was established. Dupuytren was admitted as prosecteur; and his talent speedily brought him into notice. The house-surgeon, who knew his straitened means, was soon able to put something in his way, which brought him in five-and-twenty pounds. No sooner was the money in his pocket, than off he goes to buy a barrel and harness. This done, he puts himself into the shafts, and wheels it away to show it to Chassagne.

"Come, take me out, old fellow: I shall never get this harness off," he cries to the astonished water-seller.

"What! you don't mean to say you're headsurgeon yet, do you?"

"Not exactly; but I've earned a little, and so your barrel was the first thing. Come, put it under shelter, and let's have some supper."

By-and-by, Dupuytren goes to his old lodgings to pay his rent, and discovers the rest of Chassagne's

kindness.

"What, you impudent rogue! you actually venture to thank me for the barrel, when, but for me, you'd have had it more than six months ago."

"Do you think any barrel I could have bought would have been half as much to me as that one?" says the other.

“Well, Chassagne, shake hands; if you talk like that, there's nothing else for it. We must be sworn brothers, you and I, from henceforth."

"What! you, sir, a gentleman born, and I a water-carrier?"

"Yes. I know I'm a gentleman born, and I'm sure I shall be somebody, too, one of these days, and you're a water-carrier, as you say; but still we'll be brothers all the same. I mean it, you know."

'Well, then, if you do mean it, come and let's have some supper," says the Auvergnat. "I can't tell how it is that I always get so hungry when I feel uncommon happy."

They were like brothers from that time. Chassagne never sought to rise above his position of water-carrier. Unlike most of his countrymen, he did not care to return to Auvergne, for he had no relations there, and here was his "brother" in Paris.

Dupuytren was made Professor at the School of Medicine in 1811; in 1813 he was appointed second surgeon at the Hôtel-Dieu; in 1815 he became head-surgeon there, and up to his death in 1835 he continued to maintain and increase an European reputation. But he never forgot old times. The rich paid him large fees, and the poor he prescribed for gratuitously; all came to him, and every one was taken in in his turn, whatever his rank or other claims. One little instance, the subject of which is also an Auvergnat, will illustrate Dupuytren's thorough sympathy with the sick poor--a sympathy which is rarely found in full measure, except amongst those who have themselves known sorrow.

Poor Mathieu had fallen blind; and how his wife and eight children were to live was a problem. He determined he would not be a burden to them any longer: so, one night, when the children were supposed to be asleep, he said to his wife, “Wife, I've made up my mind; I'll turn out, and see what I can pick up along the road-give me one of the children, and I'll go."

"Oh, father, do take me," says little Peter, who was awake all the time; "take me, and we'll go to Paris. There's neighbour Richard, that was so ill, you know,-broke his arm at mason's work; why, he got nursed so beautifully, and such a wonderfully kind gentleman to cure him; and now he's come back quite strong, and with money into the bargain."