the unfinished Boulevards, we marshalled all
we could remember about these famed
Prudent Men, and their ancient origin. For
they trace themselves as far back as 1452, when
King René established his Prudent Men at
Marseilles; whose business it was to settle
disputes between fishermen and their masters and
captains. But Prudent Men have not risen to
consequence longer than half a century. Louis
the Eleventh authorised the citizens of Lyons
to appoint a Prudent Man to settle disputes
among the merchants who frequented the fairs of
Lyons.

But these Prudent Men of the olden time
were simply municipal magistrates appointed
to inspect factories and workshops, and to
enforce all the laws to which industries were
subjected. These magistrates disappeared in the
storm of the first Revolution, leaving the
Prudent Fishermen alone to perpetuate the race.
And the old magisterial sailors maintained their
rights, only because their decisions were spoken
and never written. There were no records of
Fishermen's justice to destroy—so the
Revolutionary tempest passed over the old seamen
without having touched their white heads.

That which is fraternal and conciliating, and
founded in a strong sense of justice between
master and man, in the Councils of Prudent
Men which are now established throughout
France, and to the most important of which we
were tending, was given to them in the year 1806.
Lyons—the turbulent—suggested these councils
to be the mediating power between employers
and employed. They were to be little parliaments
elected by journeymen and masters, in
which both journeymen and masters were to
have seats. And, on this wise principle, are the
four councils of Paris now administering
justice to master and man in the busy Rue de la
Douane.

The entrance to the Hall of Labour's Courts
of Justice is not imposing. It is a simple
gateway, like the entrance to a Paris boarding school,
with a black sign across, upon which "Conseils
de Prud'hommes" is written legibly. The
tricolor floating above is the only sign of the
Council's official character. Within, in a long
court-yard upon an attenuated line of benches
under a shed, workwomen, workmen, and
masters are talking rapidly; and, here and there,
angrily. Two or three are casting up accounts
upon the whitewashed wall, determined to make
their case as clear as daylight before they bow
to the Prudent Men within. Some seven or
eight blouses, shabby and mournful, sit apart.
They have evidently fared ill since they
quarrelled with their masters, or, rather, with
their "patrons." No French workman has a
master. But the wall of the court is worth
examination. It is covered with sums, wandering
as erratically as the slime-line of a snail, and
with the sarcasms (coarse, occasionally) of
offended labour: "M. is a man devoid of
probity: he would kill anybody for a centime.
Don't trust him more than you would trust a
bridge of straw."— "Wanted a young man of
eighty to do everything. Apply to Monsieur
Tojoursbête fils, Rue du Cherche-Midi."

There is a stir a few minutes before twelve
o'clock: the Prudent Men are about to take
their seats in the judgment-hall. We pass into
a spacious house. In a little conciergerie an
old woman is knitting stockings. At the foot
of the wide staircase stands the crier of the
court, in pale blue uniform enlivened by white
metal buttons. This is the house belonging to
the four councils of Paris, viz.: the council for
the metal trades, the council for the chemical
trades, the council for the textile fabric trades,
and, lastly, the council for miscellaneous industries.
And here, on the ground floor, are the
conciliation offices. To these conciliation offices
a summons (price threepence) brings master and
man who have quarrelled. The conciliation office
is a closed court, in which a selected master and a
workman sit, and before whom the quarrels of
master and man are explained. The large
proportion of cases are settled in this private
court, without expense and without publicity.
In 1857, no less than 49,137 cases were brought
to the seventy-six conciliation courts of the
Prud'hommes. Of these cases 29,431 were
settled by the rudest bench, consisting
of one workman and one master; the large
number of 10,913 cases were withdrawn; and
only 8793 cases were carried to the great or
general council, which is now sitting. These
pleasant facts make us look curiously at the
modest rooms; where master and man appeal
to master and man, and where justice is done for
nothing.

The grave official in sky blue uniform respectfully
invites us upstairs, whither blouses and
dapper foremen, and shiny-hatted masters,
together with troops of women—the employed in
snow-white caps, the employers in vast
circumferences of crinoline—are moving briskly,
chattering like monkeys in the midst of some great
common danger.

We are in the spacious court of the Prudent
Men. It is a chamber disposed somewhat on
the plan of a London police-court; a vast plain
room, at the further end of which is a horse-shoe
table. The president's chair is in the centre;
and, above it, is the bust of that Emperor whose
empire is peace. At the sides of the room are
two square tables, where the officials of the court
sit. Opposite the president is the bar, whereat
the complainant and the defendant plead—the
complainant on the president's right, the
defendant on his left. Behind the bar, and near
the door, are rows of backed seats, where
the public, and persons interested in cases,
watch or wait. Silence is proclaimed. The
president is in his chair, with six Prudent Men
—three masters and three workmen—on his left
and right. Each Prudent Man wears a silver
star attached to a broad, black, watered riband
round his neck, as a badge of dignity. They
are middle-aged men, and bear themselves
solemnly. The president (who is appointed by
the government) is an elderly person of severe
military appearance. About to be judged are