remarked, is reduced to the minimum. Nevertheless folks living on 3,000 or 4,000 francs a year will occasionally entertain their relations or friends, and, owing to two agencies, that of the hors d'œuvre and the rôtisseur, at very small cost and trouble.

Thrift, indeed, in France often wears an engaging aspect; the sightly becomes ancillary to the frugal, and of all elegant economies the hors d'œuvre, or side dish, served at luncheon, is the most attractive. Whether displayed on polished mahogany or snowy linen, how appetising, and at the same time how ornamental, are these little dishes, first-fruits of the most productive and most assiduously cultivated country in the world-tiny radishes from suburban gardens, olives from Petrarch's valley, sardines from the Breton coast, the far-famed rillettes or brawn of Tours, the still more famous pâtés of Périgueux, every region supplying its special yield, every town its special dainty, pats of fresh butter and glossy brown loaves completing the preparations!

Until lately I had regarded the hors d'œuvre on luncheon tables of modest households as a luxury, an extravagance of the first water. A French lady has just enlightened me on the subject.

'The hors d'œuvre an extravagance!' she exclaimed. It is the exact reverse. Take the case of myself and family, three or four persons in all. We have, say, a small roast joint or fowl on Sunday at midday, but always begin with a hors d'œuvre, a slice of ham, stuffed eggs, a few prawns, or something of the kind. As French folks are large bread-eaters, we eat so much bread with our eggs or prawns that by the time the roast joint is served, the edge of appetite is taken off, and enough meat is left for dinner. So you see the hors d'œuvre is a real saving.'

The rôtisseur, or purveyor of hot meat, soups, and vegetables, plays an important part in Parisian domestic economy. You are invited, for instance, to dine with friends who keep no servants. On arriving, your first impression is that you are mistaken in the day. No savoury whiffs accord gastronomic welcome. Through the half-open kitchen door you perceive the tiny flame of a spirit lamp only. Nothing announces dinner. But a quarter of an hour later, excellent and steaming hot soup is served by a femme de ménage or charwoman, the obligatory side dish, a vegetable and rôti follow; the rôtisseur in the adjoining street has enabled your hosts to entertain you at the smallest possible cost and to the exclusion of anything in the shape of worry. Quiet folks, also, who like to spend Sunday afternoons with friends or in the country,

and who prefer to dine at home, find the rôtisseur a great resource. They have only to order what they want, and precisely to the moment appears a gâte-sauce, or cook-boy, with the hot dishes piled pyramidally on his head.

We will now consider the budget of an artisan, skilled workman, or petty clerk (employé subalterne), whose weekly wages amount to 40 francs, i.e. 32s.; the average, I am assured, at the present time. A friend at Reims has made out the following tabulation:

Weekly income

Expenditure:

Food of four persons, two adults and two children aged

This little balance, my correspondent informs me, will be spent upon the various Sociétés de Prévoyance and Secours Mutuels, associations answering to our own working-men's clubs and to the system of the post office deferred annuities. The bread-winner's pocket money supplies his tobacco, occasional glass of beer or something of the kind, his daily newspapers, the monthly subscription of fivepence to a Bibliothèque populaire or reading-club, and the family extra de dimanche, an outing on Sundays by rail or tramway or tickets for the theatre. Presumably, also, although this item is not mentioned, the father of a family, as in England, provides himself out of this argent de poche with boots and best clothes.

At Reims, as elsewhere in the provinces, we must take into account that living is much cheaper than in Paris. Thus in the former city coals, all the year round, cost ls. 8d. the sack of 110 lbs. (50 kilos), vin ordinaire 5d. the litre or 1 pint, beer 24d. the litre. Garden and dairy produce is also cheaper. Lodgings which would cost 181. or 20l. a year in Paris can be had for 101. or 127. in provincial cities. Education is non-sectarian, gratuitous, and obligatory throughout France. Even the bulk of what is called fourniture scolaire, i.e. copybooks, pencils, &c., is supplied by the richer municipalities. But in the eyes of anxious and needy mothers the primary school is ever an onerous affair. Watch

a troop of youngsters emerging from an école communale, many belonging to well-to-do artisans and others, many to the very poor. From head to foot one and all will be equally tidy, black linen pinafores or blouses protecting tunics and trousers. With girls we see the same thing. A Frenchwoman, however poor, regards rags as a disgrace.

One highly characteristic fact pointed out by my Reims friend I must on no account omit. It seems that the working classes throughout France, from the well-paid mechanic to the poorest paid journeyman, invariably possess a decent mourning, or rather ceremonial, suit. Thus every man owns black trousers, frock coat, waistcoat, neck-tie and gloves and silk hat. He is ready at the shortest notice to attend a funeral, assist at a wedding, or take part in any public celebration. Every working-woman keeps by her a black robe, bonnet and mantle or shawl. When overtaken by family losses, therefore, even the very poor are not at a loss for decent black in which to attend the interment. The scrupulously cared for garments are ready in the family wardrobe.

My correspondent adds the following table of actual salaries and wages in this great industrial city ::

Head clerks (employés principaux) in the champagne and wine trade, from 1601. a year upwards, with a percentage on sales; in the woollen trade the same figures hold good-small clerks (petits employés) from 4l. to 81. per month; clerks and assistants in shops from 31. 4s. to 61. per month; workmen in manufactories 3s. 2d. to 4s. per day; masons and plasterers 4s. 9d. per day, or from 4d. to 8d. per hour; foremen in factories from 6s. 6d. to 7s. per day; women in factories 2s. to 2s. 6d., and boys 1s. 8d. to 2s. 6d.

The writer further informs me that, although the Benefit society, Prévoyant de l'Avenir, is very prosperous, the situation of the working-man, on the whole, is unsatisfactory. Too many are in debt for rent and other matters. The explanation doubtless lies in the tariff of cheap stimulants and intoxicants appended to these figures: absinthe, eau de vie de marc and apéritifs divers. The drink evil is now in France, as with us, the question of the hour.

The tabulated budgets of workmen, living respectively in Paris and Dijon, supplied by a friend, will show that even with much lower wages the Dijonnais is considerably better off.

Thus the yearly wages of the first at 17. 138. 7d. per week amount to

His expenses

Leaving a balance of .

£. s. d.

87 6 4

The Parisian's rent for one or two rooms will cost him 187. yearly; the food of himself, wife, and two children 471., clothes 121., and so on in proportion; whilst the provincial, similarly situated, will economise 61. on rent, 177. on food, 41. on clothes.

If three persons in Paris, having an income of as many pounds a week, can only afford meat once a day, how small must be the butcher's bill of the working classes! In most cases, alike in Paris and in the provinces, a man's wages are supplemented by earnings of his wife. An experienced lady writes to me on this subject:

The condition of the working-man's home depends absolutely on the wife. Generally speaking, a wife adds at least 121. a year to the family income, and she not only manages to maintain the household in comfort, but to lay by. Economy is the supreme talent of the French ménagère.'

The adroit Parisienne can turn her hand to anything. Ironing, charing, cooking, call a mother away from home. Indoor work is found for agile fingers.

The lounger in Paris, especially in old Paris, will unexpectedly light upon these home industries, the means by which workingwomen supplement their husband's earnings. I was lately visiting a doll's dressing warehouse near the Rue de Temple, when my companion, a French lady, called my attention to a certain window. The tenement was that of a humble concierge, door-keeper of an ancient house let out as business premises. On a small deal table immediately under the uncurtained and wide open casementfor the weather was hot-lay a heap of small circular objects in delicate mauve satin and swans-down. What they might be I could not conceive. See,' said my companion, taking up one of the articles, here is one of the home industries you were inquiring about just now. This good woman earns money in spare moments by making these envelopes for powder puffs; in all probability they will be wadded and finished off with a button by another hand, or maybe at the warehouse. Many women work in this way for toyshops and bazaars.

The marvel was that these little bags of pale mauve satin

and swans-down should, under the circumstances, remain spotless. Put together at odd times, heaped on a bare deal table which looked like the family dinner-table, not so much as a newspaper thrown over them, all yet remained immaculate, ready for great ladies' toilettes. The secret doubtless lay in the swiftness and dexterity of French fingers and the comparatively pure atmosphere. What would become of such materials exposed to the smuttiness of a back street in London? In no field does a French housewife's thrift more conspicuously manifest itself than in cookery. The fare of a Parisian workman, if not so nutritious as that of his London compeer, is at least as appetising. Thus a basin of soup is often a man's meal before setting out to work. Water, in which a vegetable has been boiled, will be set aside for this purpose, a bit of butter or bacon added, and there will be a savoury mess in which to steep his pound of bread. The excessive dearness of provisions puts a more solid nutriment out of the question. Thus bacon costs 1s. 6d. the pound, and the high price of butter drives poor folk to the use of margarine.

Whether the pleasant and apparently fresh butter supplied in Parisian restaurants is adulterated or no I cannot say. This I know, that a friend living in Paris has for years abjured butter from a horror of margarine. And here I add a hint to fastidious eaters. In order to make up for the missing butter with cheese, this gentleman mixes several kinds of cheese together at dessert. Roquefort, Brie, Camembert-a delicious compound I am assured.

In humble restaurants may be seen long bills of fare, each dish priced at sums varying from 24d. to 5d. Workmen in white blouses sit down out of doors to these dishes, which look appetising enough. I have never ventured to try them. I am assured, however, that it is only the very poor of Paris who patronise horseflesh, and you have to make a long voyage of discovery before lighting upon the shop sign, a horse's head and the inscription Boucherie de cheval, or Boucherie chevaline. One such shop sign I have seen in the neighbourhood of the Rue Roquette.

Money is so hardly earned by the Parisian workman and workwoman, and existence is such a struggle, that we need not wonder at the deadly tenacity with which earnings are clutched at. When some years ago the Opéra Comique blazed, amid a scene awful as that of a battlefield, the women attendants thought of their tips, the half franc due here and there for a footstool. Unmindful