seer, when he hopes that, through Napoleon the
Third's and Baron Haussmann's educational
measures, coupled with the influence of the
Montyon prizes, "at no very distant day, the
words penitentiary, prison, &c., will exist only
in the state of souvenirs— painful as regards the
past, but consolatory for the future."

To give the details of such a multitude of
virtuous acts is simply impossible. M. Demay
can only rapidly group those which present the
most striking features, and which have appeared
still more extraordinary—for that is the proper
word—than the others, conferring on their
honoured actors surnames recognised throughout
whole districts. It is the Table of Honour
of Virtuous Poverty, crowned by the verdict
of popular opinion. Among these latter are
(the parentheses contain the name of their
department): the Mussets, husband and wife,
salt manufacturers, at Château Salins (Meurthe),
surnamed the Second Providence of the Poor;
Suzanne Géral, wife of the keeper of the lock-
up house, at Florac (Lozère), surnamed the
Prison Angel; David Lacroix, fisherman,
at Dieppe (Seine-Inférieure), surnamed the
Sauveur, the Saviour, instead of the Sauveteur,
the Rescuer, after having pulled one hundred
and seventeen people out of fire and water—he
has the Cross of the Legion of Honour; Marie
Philippe; Widow Gambon, vine-dresser, at
Nanterre (Seine), surnamed la Mère de bon
Secours, or Goody Helpful; Madame Langier,
at Orgon (Bouche-du-Rhône), surnamed la
Quêteuse, the Collector of Alms.

In the spring of 1839 almost the whole
canton of Ax (Ariège) was visited by the yellow
fever, which raged for ten months, and carried
off a sixth of the population. It was especially
malignant at Prades. Terror was at its height;
those whom the scourge had spared were
prevented by their fears from assisting their sick
neighbours, menaced with almost certain death.
Nevertheless, a young girl, Madeleine Fort, who
had been brought up in the practice of good
works, exerted herselt to the utmost in all directions.
During the course of those ten disastrous
months she visited, consoled, and nursed more
than five hundred unfortunates; and if she
could not save them from the grave, she
followed them, alone, to their final resting-place.
Two Sisters of Charity were sent to help her;
one was soon carried off, and the second fell
ill. The curé died, and was replaced by
another. The latter, finding himself smitten,
sent for Madeleine. One of the flock had to
tend the pastor. Those disastrous days have
long since disappeared; but if the traveller,
halting at Prades, asks for Madeleine Fort's
dwelling, he will be answered, "Ah! you mean
our Sister of Charity?"

Suzanne Bichon is only a servant. Her master
and mistress were completely ruined by the
negro insurrection in St. Domingo; but the
worthy woman would not desert them—she
worked for them all, and took care of the
children. On being offered a better place, that
is, a more lucrative engagement, she refused it
with the words, "You will easily find another
person, but can my master and mistress get
another servant?" The Academy gave their
recompense for fifteen years of this devoted
service. Her mistress wanted to go and take
a place herself; she would not hear of it,
making them believe that she had means at her
command, and expectations. But all her means
lay in her capacity for work, while her expectations
were—Providence. It is not to be
wondered at that she was known as Good Suzette.

Such attachments as these on the part of
servants are a delightful contrast to what we
commonly see in the course of our household
experience. They can hardly be looked for
under the combined régime of register-offices, a
month's wages or a month's warning, no
followers, Sundays out, and crinoline.

We look for virtue amongst the clergy.
The devotion, self-denial, and resignation
often witnessed amongst them are matters of
notoriety. Nevertheless, it is right that one of
its members should find a place on a list like the
present. In 1834, the Abbé Bertran was
appointed curé of Peyriac (Aude). He was
obliged, so to speak, to conquer the country of
which he was soon to be the benefactor. For
two years he had to struggle with the obstinate
resistance which his parishioners opposed to him.
His evangelical gentleness succeeded in
vanquishing every obstacle; henceforth he was
master of the ground, and could march onwards
with a firm step. At once he consecrated his
patrimony to the restoration of the church and
the presbytery. He bought a field, turned
architect, and soon there arose a vast building
which united the two extremes of life—old age
and infancy. He then opened simultaneously
a girls' school, an infant school, and a foundling
hospital. He sought out the orphans belonging
to the canton, and supplied a home to old
people of either sex. To effect these objects
the good pastor expended seventy thousand
francs (nearly three thousand pounds), the
whole of his property: he left himself without
a sou. But he had sown his seed in
good ground, and it promised to produce a
hundred-fold. Rich in his poverty, his place is
marked beside Vincent de Paul and Charles
Borromeo.

Goodness may even indulge in its caprices
and still remain good. Marguerite Monnier,
surnamed la Mayon (a popular term of affection
in Lorraine), seems to have selected a curious
speciality for the indulgence of her charitable
propensities. It is requisite to be infirm or
idiotic to be entitled to receive her benevolent
attentions. When quite a child, she selects as
her friend a poor blind beggar, whom she visits
every day in her wretched hovel. She makes
her bed, lights her fire, and cooks her food.
While going to school, she remarks a poor old
woman scarcely able to drag herself along, but,
nevertheless, crawling to the neighbouring wood
to pick up a few dry sticks. She follows her
thither, helps her to gather them, and brings
back the load on her own shoulders. Grown to