out of their labour. It is the apprentice
who is sent out to take orders in the
town and to play the part of messenger.
In consequence of the looseness of the tie,
it often happens that a thoughtless parent,
when his son is able to earn wages, tells
the youth that his master is sucking him
and fattening upon his unpaid labour; that
he might earn money for the house at
home. The youth is glad to earn, and throws
up his apprenticeship for independent work.
It soon occurs to him that his parents are
sucking him, and that his earnings ought
to be for himself, and not for them. He
then throws up his home dependence, as
he had thrown up dependence on his master,
takes a lodging, falls into careless company,
and works on, a half-skilled labourer,
receiving all his life a less income than he could
have assured to himself by a few years of
early perseverance.

When I was apprentice, eight years ago,
I found that to be a good workman it was
needful to design and model. " Come with
me," said my comrade Gredinot, " I will show
you a good school." It was a winter evening;
our work was over; and, with leave of the
patron, we left our shop in the Rue Saint
Martin, and went by Saint Saviour to the
Rue Montorgueil. We bought as we went
about twelve pounds of modelling clay. At
the upper end of the street, my friend Gredinot
turned up a dark passage. I followed
him. A single lamp glimmered in the court to
which it led us. We went up a few steps to
the schoolroom. " Here we are," said Gredinot,
in opening the door. We entered, carrying
our caps. There was a low room lighted by
flaring oil lamps; but in it were busts and
statues of such beauty that it seemed to me
to be the most delightful chamber in the world.
Boys and youths and a few men, all in blouses
like ourselves, laboured there. We threw
our clay upon a public heap in a wood trough
near the door. There was only that mud to
pay, and there were our own tools to take.
Everything else was free. Gredinot
introduced me to the master, and I learnt to
model from that night. There are other
schools—the school of arts and trades in
the Rue St. Martin, the Special and Gratuitous
School of Design in the Rue du Tourraine,
in connexion, as I think, with the
School of Fine Arts. I might number the
museums and the libraries, and I may make
mention also of the prizes of the Academy of
Industry and the Society for the Encouragement
of National Industry.

The apprentice out of his time goes to the
prefecture of police. There he must obtain
a livret, which must have on the face of
it the seal of the prefecture, the full name
of the admitted workman, his age, his
place of birth, and a description of his person,
his trade, and the name of the master who
employs him. The French workman is taboo,
until he is registered by the pohce and
can produce his livret. The book costs
him twopence halfpenny. Its first entry is
a record of the completion of his
apprenticeship. Afterwards every fresh engagement
must be set down in it, with the dates of
its beginning and its end, each stamped by
the prefecture. The employer of a workman
holds his livret as a pledge. When he
receives money in advance the sum is written
in his book, and it is a debt there chargeable
as a deduction of not more than one-fifth
upon all future employment until it is paid.
The workman travelling must have his livret
viséd; for without that, says the law, "he is
a vagabond, and can be arrested and punished
as such."

The workman registered and livreted, how
does he live, work and sleep? He is not a
great traveller; for, unless forced into exile, the
utmost notion of travel that a French workman
has, is the removal—if he be a provincial
—from his native province to Paris. We pass
over the workman's chance of falling victim
to the conscription, if he has no friends rich
enough to buy for him a substitute, or if he
cannot subscribe for the same object to a
Conscription Mutual Assurance Company.
When Louis Blanc had his own way in
France the workmen did but ten hours'
labour in the day. Now, however, as before,
twelve or thirteen hours are regarded as a
fair day's work. I and Friponnet, who are
diamond jewellers, work ten hours only. My
friend Cornichon, who is a goldsmith, works as
long as a painter or a smith. Sunday labour
used to be very general in France; but
extended seldom beyond the half day; which was
paid for at a higher rate. In Paris seven in
eight of us used to earn money on the Sunday
morning. That necessity could not be pleaded
for the sin, is proved by the fact, that often
we did no work on Monday; but on that day
spent the Sunday's earnings. As for our
wages, calculated on an average of several years,
they are about as follows:—The average pay
for a day's labour is three shillings and
twopence. The lowest day's pay known is five
pence, and the highest thirty shillings. About
thirty thousand of us receive half-a-crown a
day; five or six times as many (the majority)
receive some sum between half-a-crown and
four and twopence. About ten thousand
receive higher wages. The best wages are earned
by men whose work is connected with print,
paper and engraving. The workers in jewels
and gold are the next best provided for; next
to them workers in metal and in fancy ware.
Workers on spun and woven fabrics get low
wages; the lowest is earned, as in London, by
slop-workers and all workers with the needle.
The average receipts of Paris needlewomen
have not, however, fallen below fourteenpence
a day; those of them who work with
fashionable dressmakers earn about one and
eightpence. While speaking of the ill-paid
class of women, I must mention that the most
sentimental of our occupations earns the least