no merry fife known; and a few soldiers behind, looking dull enough; leaving home, and the pure air of their mountains, to sink under the vices of a military life; pressing onwards to a moral and an earthly grave; the new recruits, after being drilled, getting orders generally to proceed to Algiers, where the climate soon delivers the regiment from the charge of the weakly. Why this thinning of the ranks should be more desirable than the more humane method of embodying a lesser number, I could never hear explained. Some of these young soldiers were decently clothed, and carried on their backs a knapsack containing their few valuables; others, of inferior appearance, had only a small parcel of the merest necessaries tied up in a coloured handkerchief, swinging from the hand. They are generally encouraged to sing as they march away. On this occasion they were silent, stepping wearily on up the steep street from the bridge, cheered only by the roll of the drum. It takes place now but once a year this sad procession. In the Emperor's day it was much more frequent, and the numbers were greater, and the ages less, and death before them certainly. How much misery then must have been caused far and wide! Algiers terrifies no one. Strange to say, both men and officers like the idea of service in Africa. Nor do their families grieve when they are ordered upon this duty. The commandant of the garrison got his promotion this spring, and was ordered with his regiment to Algiers. His delight was perfect; his countenance was radiant when receiving the congratulations of his friends, who all flocked to wish him joy of his good fortune. The two bands of the two regiments stationed themselves beneath his windows, and played alternately for a couple of hours, surrounded by a crowd in high spirits; the company thus honoured showing themselves in joyful mood upon the balcony. After this the two colonels mounted their chargers, and headed the troops, who all marched out in beautiful order; drums, little women, little boys, and all, for a four-hours' tramp over the country.

After parting with the conscripts, we met a much more diverting group on the edge of an adjoining common: a herd of swine, such as might have been led by Gurth, the born thrall of Cedric, grubbing away under the leafless chestnut-trees, in charge of a boyherd, whose business it was to attend them, to watch them in the plains, to lead them up the valleys, to take them to the woods, to bring them home at night, and keep his temper with them ever. One of these daintilynurtured animals, handed over at a fit age to the tenderhearted lady in the lane, was either coaxed into the excellent pork for which this locality is famous, or else still further elevated into the much-prized hams, which are certainly excellent, even as it is the country fashion to dress them; but are first-rate when cooked in our way. The Bearnais mode is to stew them slowly, with vegetables and wine or beer as we do, but for eight or ten hours. They are then boned, and pressed into the shape of a Twelfth-day cake, and cut up when cold in slices, on little stalls in the streets. They eat short, like potted meat, and lose much of their flavour. Our hot ham, with fowl accompaniment, was much admired by the favoured few invited to partake of it; and I am quite persuaded that, were the meat and poultry really good, much less disguise would be used in the dressing of them lean stringy beef and tasteless chickens require some condiment.

Another very pretty procession was the return to the mountain valleys of all the flocks and herds which had been pasturing on the Landes during the winter. We met them every evening, about the end of April and the beginning of May, slowly moving over the plain; a lagging few in every drove lingering among the sweet grass by the wayside; a tired lamb often nestled in the shepherd's bosom. At this season, too, the streets became noisy with the stir made by the porters wheeling luggage from almost every door to the roulage, where it was weighed and despatched; for the society was all dispersing. Pau is quite deserted during

the hot months, more out of fashion than necessity; although it certainly is very agreeable to exchange the still languid air of the plains for the pure breezes among the mountains. We had resumed all the gaieties of the place as soon as Lent was over; but as the season advanced, the style of amusement was very pleasantly varied. Pic-nic parties to the many interesting scenes around us, riding excursions to a greater distance, or dejeûners in some of the nearer country-houses, kept us almost continually out of doors during the fine weather. When these entertainments were impromptu, we sent our provisions out before us, in a basket of pretty large proportions, on a female porter's head; and I remember once when an over-liberal supply of wine had been provided, there was no small difficulty in getting back the remainder through the octroi free of duty. The more formal parties in the French country-houses were on a grander scale. The ladies dressed after a rural fashion, the rooms were prepared with some care for company, and the luncheon or early dinner was a great affair. Salmon dressed with oil, every sort of entremet, game, poultry; beef-steaks soaked in oiled butter, and plumpludding for the English; fruit, confectionary, a variety of wines, black coffee, and brandy; tea, and a quantity of aniseed water, kirschwasser, and other warming liqueurs afterwards. The amusement was to walk up and down a gravel path, bordered with China roses, till it was time to set out the card-tables, unless there were young Britons enough in the company to get up a Polka.

I must not forget a visit we paid to the old castle, or rather many visits, for there was an irresistible attraction about its time-coloured walls,' independent of the beauty of part of the building and its picturesque situation. It dates from three eras: a very old tower and dangerous-looking bit of steep-roofed house is supposed to have been built either by the Moors, or for protection against them. The principal part of the remainder only goes back to Gaston de Foix, whose arms are still attached to the corners of the cornices, and the ends of the groined ceilings of the royal apartment. Louis-Philippe added a little at one end, and repaired, and improved, and considerably altered the whole at his own expense. It contains many more rooms, and they are much more magnificent, both as to size and decorations, than the defaced appearance of part of the outside would lead any one to suppose. A newlyarranged dining-room, contrived out of many small chambers, and hung with old tapestry discovered in old chests, is quite kingly in its proportions and its furniture. A drawing-room of large size would have been cheerful but for its emptiness. The many windows reach the ground, and open on a new stone balcony, admirably adapted to the style of building; and they look upon the beautiful river, the plain, the mountains, on which the sun almost ever shines. There were pictures, and vases, and marble tables, and handsome chandeliers, all for one only seat-the king's; so we passed on to the family drawing-room, where I could with pleasure have seated myself, drawn in my chair among the royal family, and arranged my wools beside the queen; it all looked so very comfortable, like my own sitting-room at home. Louis-Philippe had sent here from the Louvre all the furniture that could be certified to have once belonged to the castle of Pau; and some of nearly equal antiquity, which well suits the sort of old-age air belonging to the suite of staterooms. A great deal of marble from the neighbouring quarries is worked up into ornamental furniture, and two vases of Swedish marble-a present from its French sovereign-we thought beautiful. The modern antique is perfectly preserved throughout all the alterations. The curiosities pointed out are mostly connected with the adored of all Bearnais hearts-their Henri IV. His mother's bed, and chest, and pric-dieu-they do not say much about his father-his own cradle; a large turtle-shell; his statue, that of a little man, sturdily made, and handsome; his spear; all sorts of things, in

fact, which may or which may not have belonged to him. The four celebrated pictures of Gobeline's tapestry represent some of his pastimes: they quite deceived even my practised eye, framed as they are, and hung up on the walls of a small closet; I took them for old paintings faded. There was a pretty little old chapel, and a painted glass window in it, much valued; the table on which Bonaparte signed his abdication, next to a worm-eaten coffer mounted in silver, which carried the wardrobe of St Louis on his African crusade; with many more such relics of the past; and more ancient than all, rolled the river through that plain of beauty, as if smiling in its ever-renewing youth at these vestiges of decay.

No account of Pau would convey a correct idea of the comfort of a residence in it without some serious allusion to the climate, the variations of which from heat to cold, from wet to dry, are so sudden, so extreme, and yet so little dangerous. The near neighbourhood of the Pyrenees probably causes these unceasing changes, which were so remarkable, particularly during the spring months, that I made regular entries of them up to May, as a meteorological curiosity. Immediately after Christmas came a fog so thick, that we were reminded of London. It lasted some days, during which time cattle strayed, people mistook their way, a man and horse were near being drowned, and the diligences were overturned. Then came some very wet weather, which rendered the roads impassable for foot travellers. We had to confine our walks to the castle terrace and the parc, where the gravel was always sufficiently dry to allow of our getting hurried airings between the showers. At this time fevers much prevailed, and influenza, and they continued till a cold week set in, with fresh snow on the Pyrenees, so deep in all the valleys, that the wolves wandered in search of food as low down as a spot four miles only from the river. The fog had been very cold, the rain was mild; it ended in a hurricane-a rare occurrence, as wind is not common in this sheltered town: when it does blow, it is in earnest, scattering tiles, carrying off Venetians, levelling trees, and so on. Torrents of rain accompanied this tempest-rain which turned the steep streets into rivulets the quantity that fell in a few minutes was surprising. We had a fine week or two after this, quite settled weather, and warm again till towards the end of February, when we had a faint repetition of the January outbreak, followed by a longer lull. Then there came a chill: the bise blew a sharp dreadful wind from the north-east, almost as blighting as our own easterly scourge: it blew fiercest in the mornings, which yet we found the only time for taking exercise, as the afternoons generally turned to rain. The spring was backward: no such early 'delicacies of the season' to be had here as are to be obtained at home: a few flowers towards the end of March, but no young vegetables, no precocious lamb or poultry. Provisions became dearer, Lent even failing to influence the market in this respect. Summer broke on us by surprise upon the 2d of April; fires became insupportable; walks under the burning sun oppressive: we had to return to our hot-weather hours-go out early in the mornings and late in the evenings, and occupy ourselves quietly in the house during the middle of the day; the mountains all the while well covered with snow; the trees still leafless. In a fortnight after, we were glad to sit by the fire again; but only for a few days while it rained. Another waterspout then poured down, which made more noise than the former one. Then came the May of the poets-open windows, green trees and fields, bright flowers, and carpets discarded; with one chilly week, just to verify an old proverb, which promises an abundant harvest any year that old women and horses have shivered during May. It was so hot during the greater part of May, that I feared my son might lose some of the strength he had gained, so we resolved to wind up all our Pau affairs, and set out without delay for the mountains. We had our servants to

part with, our apartment to give up, and a carriage to hire for our journey.

We began with the apartment. The two leases and the two inventories were produced with due formality, and conned over with punctilious deliberation, for we found our civil landlord most remarkably particular in going over his items. The furniture had suffered no damage, but all the glass and china, and a good deal of the kitchen buttery, had to be renewed, the servants invariably breaking everything breakable, and nothing ever so trifling escaping the sharp eyes of monsieur. It was all very right; we could not complain; but I had a little pleasure in accurately replacing all missing articles, and myself repairing all ill-used locks, and bolts, and hinges, that we might leave as few dégradations as possible to lighten the purse of our successors; for certainly, had we made as careful a survey as we underwent, we would have had better order established before entering on possession of premises by no means faultless. The search after an equipage was a long one; we had to make a tour among all the voituriers in Pau before we could quite suit ourselves with a sufficiently good pair of horses, and safe carriage, and comparatively honest driver. We were in stables, and in kitchens and bedrooms attached to stables, all comfortably furnished, and occupied by industrious families. We chose a sharp-looking little man, who lived within the ruins of the old cathedral, and having made our bargain, we wrote it down. The love of money-making is so strong with all these people, that they are sadly unscrupulous about the ways and means of getting it: the constant watchfulness necessary to guard against being extravagantly imposed upon is one of the greatest drawbacks to a residence in their country. It was well we had a written testimony of our contract, for at the moment of starting, M. Pierre announced that, on minute calculation, he found the price agreed on was too low. In the beginning of our travels we should have been angry; we had now become used to the customs of the land, and merely ordered the trunks to be carried back into the house. M. Pierre scratched his head, abated about half of his new demand; madame shook hers, and smiled: it was quite a pantomime. A trifling addition?' suggested M. Pierre. The old bargain, or none,' said madame. As madame pleases,' said M. Pierre; and the trunks were very good-humouredly corded on to the carriage. He knew his trade this little voiturier; for though he cheated us in the matter of a third horse, which had been hired for the hilly stage, and which he swore had gone on to be in readiness-and is going on yet, I suppose, for we never came up with it-he was so civil, so attentive, so useful, that we never parted company while we remained among the mountains, and felt ourselves bound to add a grateful gift at the close of the bargain.

On parting with the maids, we were made acquainted with the peculiar ceremonies in use on occasion of the dismissal of servants. They brought me the keys of their boxes, and very prettily informed me their effects were ready for inspection. It seems this is regularly done by all masters; and that, after the scrutiny, the boxes are locked and corded, and despatched with their owners at once; a useless trouble, we should suppose: a dishonest servant could dispose of stolen property much more securely than by placing it in a trunk. We were really sorry to take leave of our two attendants: they had done their utmost to serve us agreeably, and we had grown quite attached to their well-bred manners. Provided people are reasonable enough not to expect the inhabitants of other countries to possess all the customs of their own, masters and servants can live very happily together in France. Housekeeping is an easy business there, always supposing no Dutch neatness be expected. One thing which much contributes to the lightening of the burden of these little domestic arrangements, is the simplicity with which ac counts are kept: the francs and centimes all divided or multiplied by ten with the most delightful rapidity;

JOURNAL

No. 260. NEW SERIES.

DILEMMAS OF HUMANITY. SELFISH people feel a wicked pleasure in pointing out the bad effects which arise from inconsiderate beneficence, and in twitting their kind-hearted neighbours with the disappointments which so often befall their well-meant efforts. The most familiar case is that put into a proverbial form, I lent my money to my friend,' &c. We may deplore the triumph which facts often give to those who are so wise for themselves; but we cannot deny that there are some perverse tendencies about human nature which do make it difficult to be beneficent and liberal without injury to those whom we design to benefit. It assuredly is a truth that a friend is in danger of being lost after he has become a borrower; all experience attests it. Still more imperilled is the friendship of those who receive gifts. It seems as if not only were the inequalities of fortune, by which so many suffer, a determined part of nature, but as if every special effort to remedy them, by an imparting from the prosperous to the unfortunate, were fated only to make matters worse.

If there is one amiable feeling in human nature, it is that from which alms-giving springs. The act has been in a sort of doubt for some years among political economists. We sometimes see very wise heads shaken at it. In spite of everything, it is a heavenly act, well worthy of being placed among religious virtues. There cannot, however, be a doubt that, as matters stand, while it is an elevating act for the giver, it is a deterioration for the receiver. Relieving, as it may be, from the pressure of immediate pains, and justifiable as it may thus be, it also, as we well know, saps still further the moral state of the party relieved. The condition of mendicants everywhere attests the certainty of this effect, so that it fully appears as if that which is a virtue in its motive, were really something like a vice in its consequences. It is a strange dilemma, seeming to imply that heaven itself commands the desertion of the stricken deer. Such, we may be well assured, cannot be the case; but yet, as far as we can readily see, such a thing as unmixed good from beneficence is not in the world.

Some years ago, a poor, but reputedly honest tinsmith, living in a country town in Berkshire, was burnt out, and utterly ruined. It was suggested that he should go about amongst the townsfolk with a subscription paper, in order that he might be re-established in his little business. A gentleman conspicuous in the management of public charities gave him a certificate for this purpose. So furnished, the tinsmith commenced his rounds, and in one week collected five pounds, being probably about the amount of his losses. Surprised, however, at the facility with which money was thus to be obtained, he persevered till he had com

PRICE 11d.

pleted the round of the town, which he effected in about a month. Being now reimbursed four times over, it might have been expected that he would contentedly settle to his business, and beg no more. He was by this time, however, completely fascinated by the new profession he had adopted; so he went with his wife into the country to prosecute his subscription, out of which he is supposed to have made about two hundred a year ever since. The gentleman who gave the certificate, telling us the story, said in conclusion, My writing that bit of paper was one of the worst actions I ever committed, because it has utterly corrupted two of my fellow-creatures.'

A state provision for the poor is, properly speaking, only a regulated mode of alms-giving, an effort towards equalising matters between the fortunate and unfortunate. We all know, however, how endangered, if not lost, is the moral state of those who accept of this succour. It is everywhere reported that, from the moment an independent labourer tastes of public charity, his self-respect is lost, and he is never after so good a man. It is the universally-confessed dilemma of the administrators how to relieve pressing and real want, without holding out an inducement to the independent labourer to relax in his industry and frugality, under the certainty of sharing at the worst in this public benefaction. The common saying of some is, that the poors' fund makes the poor; and the most generous must allow that there is too much truth in the remark. It is also true that the fund undergoes a continual siege on the part of worthless impostors, who ought to have no business with it. Novelists persist in describing the sufferings of genuine wretchedness at the hands of charity officials; they do not see that incessant deception makes men suspicious, and that nothing but supernatural wisdom could distinguish at a glance between solitary cases of virtuous poverty and the multitude of impostures. A gentleman of perfect humanity, who once took charge of a charitable establishment in a large city, told us that he had had occasion, while in that duty, to examine into ten thousand cases brought before hin, and there was not one free from deception! In Glasgow, at the present time, the annual expenditure for the poor is L.118,000, mostly in the form of out-door relief. Now, as we have heard much of the misery pent up in that city, this seems comfortable news; but stop till we hear a few facts. A single spirit-dealer relates that his receipts for whisky on the pay-day are always L.10 above the average. Shoals of the tickets establishing the right to a monthly aliment are pledged to pawnbrokers-how the results are bestowed may be imagined. It has become common for married couples to separate under a paction, that the apparently deserted wife may receive an allowance, part of which she gives to her husband. The mortifying fact is,' says a