sleeves, and dig away, and spread manure,
and plant cabbages and potatoes. But what
would half-a-dozen of the fair sex, thus
employed, say to men who should attempt to
interfere, more than by giving them an
occasional hand's-turn ? They would turn
them out of the garden as degenerate citizens,
and tell them to go and sinoke their pipes
like men.

Digging is only light work. What are
those women doing yonder by the side of the
canal? They are taking the place of Darwin's
"unconquered steam," and dragging afar " the
slow barge," if not " the rapid car," as fast as
they can. With a hempen strap across their
chest, and a rope at their backs, they are
tugging and towing like yoked buffaloes — and
no doubt their pull is nearly as effectual as
that of the men behind them; but they do
not look conscious of doing anything
extraordinary or improper. They would refuse to
be released from the laborious partnership,
and sit on deck in idleness. Any such
proposal would be thus received: " We are much
obliged to you, but please mind your own
business. What do you mean by separating
men and women ? We eat, drink, laugh,
travel, and sleep with our husbands; and
shall we not work with them ? Take yourself
off for a foolish busy-body." Further
south, female energies are even more
strenuously exerted.

I must think that those who say that all
this is merely the result of the men having
been drawn off by continual warfare, are very
superficial observers. It is not so. French
women have achieved for themselves a
standing, an independent position, which is
unequalled among civilised nations. They
have caused themselves to be made the
companions and the friends of the men, as well as
their sweethearts and wives; they are not to
be put down, or kept in the back-ground.
The Dames de la Halle are a Power; and
Louis Napoleon was wise to acknowledge
them as such. What is the most endearing
term by which a Frenchman addresses his
wife ? Ma bonne amie! " My good female
friend!" In return — Mon ami! " My friend!"
is the title by which the lady expresses her
affection, and her alrnost-equality. She will
love, and she will cherish; but it is
questionable how far she will obey. She will
take her share, and do her part in
everything, — and there is an end of it.

On a bright sunshiny morning I took my
place in one of those unpretending but
comfortable one-horse vehicles which ply between
the small French towns. Covered carts we
should call them in England. I settled
myself in the back part — le fond — a nice snug
corner, the wind being north-east, and behind
us.

"Egh! — Ugh! — Arrrrh! " said the driver.
The sober grey knew what was meant, and
started off at a cow's trot of, perhaps, three
and a half miles an hour.

Before we quite got clear of the streets, a
shop-door flew open, and a stout, strong man
hailed us, with " Have you room for an
infant! " Plenty, of course, even had there
been none. The shop was a grocer's: the
name I forget, but it was somebody's,
Marchand Epicier. I should rather say nobody's,
according to his own description. For he
soon returned in a smartly braided cloak
backed by a hood like an extinguisher, and
with a fat, rosy-cheeked child in his arms.
His wife dismissed him with a nod, and
returned into the spicery. He mounted, and
took his seat by my side. The room inquired
after was for baby and self.

The child looked to be one of those
desirable infants that never can cry, unless
soundly whipped. Its cheeks were like a ripe
Orleans plum, full of juice, which the slightest
pinching of the skin would cause to squirt
out. Instead of a doll, it held in its hands a
two-sous roll of light bread, which it hardly
knew how to manage to dandle.

"That child will be starved one of these
days," said I.

"Not yet, Monsieur," answered the
Merchant Spicer. " Plenty of bread is good for
the health."

"And how long has she worn ear-rings ? "
I asked, taking the liberty at the same time
to handle the copper-coloured pendants.

"Well, I don't know: a long time. She is
nearly two years old, and her ears were
pierced before her third month. To pierce
them early is good for the health." I could
not reply that it had been unhealthy in this
instance.

Here the cow's-trot suddenly flagged; and
weathering the butt-end of a cottage, we
perceived, by a black profile portrait of a can of
beer and a tumbler, which ornamented the
upper part of the door-way, that " Here one
sells to eat and to drink." A smiling dame
appeared, talked unintelligible tutoier-ing
nonsense to the be-jewelled infant, and took papa's
order for a glass of gin.

"Not good for the health," said I, as he
took the bright thimble-full in hand. " Not
good for the health, at eleven o'clock in the
forenoon," shaking my head, referring to my
watch, and putting as much gravity into my
looks as if I had never tasted anything
stronger than milk-and-water all the days
of my life.

"But yes, Monsieur! but yes, yes, yes! It
is very, very, very good for the health."

"Egh! ugh! arrrrh!" again.

The whip made a score of flashes and cracks
in mid-air, as if waging war with an invisible
swarm of horse-flies, but never once touched
our rapid grey. We say the French know
nothing about horses; they certainly know
very little about treating them cruelly. Off
we dashed with an increased velocity, of not
less than three miles and three quarters per
hour. The country was pretty; and, though
in the fond, there was a small square bit of