the very same day. The name of the delinquent is entered in a sort of "black" book, and for the next week or fortnight the bulletins d'arrivé of the different hotels and lodginghouses are carefully examined to find if any one answering the description of him has put up at some other place. If the thief have changed his hotel without changing his name, his detection is inevitable. If he has taken the precaution of altering his style and title, he, of course, stands a better chance of getting off; but even then he cannot hope to continue his freaks very long. At the third or fourth report of his doings that is forwarded to the Rue de Jerusalem it will certainly be guessed that the tall, thin (or the short, stout) Englishman who has been victimising the Hotel A., the Hotel B., and the Hotel C, are one and the same person, notwithstanding that a Mr. Brown may have been the depredator in the first case, a Mr. Jones in the second, and a Mr. Robinson in the third. This fact once admitted, the depositions of the three hotel keepers are compared, a tolerably graphic description of the thief is arrived at, and the same is at once despatched to all the hotels where it is thought most likely that he may put up. If this fail-but it does not often do so-and if the robberies continue, the case is put into the hands of a special detective, who is never long running down his man in one of the cafés in the boulevards at Mabille, or at any other place where foreigners most do congregate. This is why the light-fingered fraternity of England look upon Paris as a poor sort of place, very much over-rated, and not at all a fit dwelling for a man of genius.

a

When the foreign thief is caught, he is handed over to justice as in other lands; but the French are less tolerant of offences against the purse than we are. A pick-pocket seldom gets off with less than two years of imprisonment; and in some cases the penalty amounts to a great deal more. When the man has served his time, however, he is not let loose again upon society according to the plan usually followed in England; being foreigner, he is conducted to the frontier between two gendarmes, and shipped off for his own native land, with the laconic warning that if he returns again he will be locked up summarily for twelve months, by virtue of a clause in the alien act. This system of expulsion is pursued in France with regard to all foreigners who have no settled means of existence :-Italian organ grinders, white mice boys, and bag-pipes men; German band players and jugglers; English sharpers and

thimble-riggers; Indian banjo minstrels and conjurers-all are categorically told to begone as soon as ever they are proved to be in a state of vagrancy. The French hold with great justice that they have enough to do to take care of their own paupers without adopting those of other nations. It is quite impossible to keep order in a large city when to the misery of an enormous native population of beggars are added all the vagabonds who choose to come from abroad. We, in England, who seem to make it a point of honour to welcome all the human scum and refuse of our neighbours, would do well to imitate this axiom.

But it is not so much in the handling of foreign rogues as in the dealing with native scamps that the vigour of the French police system is apparent. No one ever saw in the streets of Paris a Frenchman go about barefooted, bawling "I've got no work to do," or cynically exposing his sores to tempt the compassion of the unwary. Such a man would, before he had gone ten paces, be stopped by a policeman and led off to the station-house. Here, the first question put him by the commissaire would be: "Où sont vos papiers?" (Where are your papers?) If the man be honest and reduced to beggary by misfortune only, and not by crime, he has nothing to fear. All he has to do is to produce the livret, with which all servants and working people are required to be provided. This livret is a small book issued by the Prefecture in Paris, or by the mayors in the departments. On the first page is set forth a full personal description of the recipient, together with his name, age, birthplace, and condition of life; the remaining pages contain blank forms to be filled up by the people in whose service he is employed. It is a penal offence punishable by a fine of 500 francs for a first offence, and 1000 francs for a second, to engage any servant, workman, or workwoman, unprovided with a book of this kind; and the master is furthermore bound under penalties to fill up the blank forms in the book, stating the day upon which the man or woman entered his service, and the day on which he, or she, left it. As, however, a rogue so disposed might occasionally forge a few signatures, and fill up his livret with names of fancy employers, servants and workmen are required to present themselves before the commissaire of their quarter when they change their situations, and obtain from that functionary an official visa to their livret. The commissaire detains the book four-and-twenty hours; and, in the interval, sends round to the

servant's late master to find out if the signature purporting to be his be genuine; if it be, the visa is given; if it be not, the forger may count upon a year's imprisonment, and five years of police supervision.

One cannot too highly commend this system of livrets, which renders greater services than can ever be supposed. By it masters have an almost certain guarantee of their servant's honesty; for as it is always customary for the employer to detain the livrets of the men or women in his service until the day of their departure, anything like a sudden flight with the plate or linen becomes out of the question. What could the fugitive do without his livret? It would be utterly impossible for him to obtain a new situation; and if, pretending that he had lost his book, he applied to the police for another, he could only get it upon furnishing satisfactory evidence as to the manner in which he had been spending his time for the last two years; which, under the circumstances, he would not be able to do.

Again, the necessity of being provided with a livret, makes professional thieving and vagabondage a thing unheard of, as we can show, by reverting to the supposed case of the man wandering about barefooted. At the question of the commissaire: "Où sont vos papiers ?" he produces his livret. If it be in order, he is asked in a kind manner how he comes to be out of work; and, after hearing his explanations, the commissaire remands him for a fortnight, in order that enquiries may be instituted concerning him, and also that his relatives may be officially communicated with to ascertain if they are able and willing to help him. At the end of the fortnight he comes up again, having been comfortably cared for in the meanwhile, and is disposed of according to the merits of his case. If he be a native of Paris, he is told that he may apply at the Bureau de Bienfaisance, at the Mairie of his arrondissement, and receive so much a week until he finds work. If he be infirm, he is placed in the depot de mendicité (workhouse) of the Department of the Seine, and boarded there for the remainder of his days, or until such time as he can either find easy work or relatives to support him. In the same way, if the man be a native of a country town or rural district, he is despatched to his birthplace to be either relieved by the Mairie of his home, or placed in the depot de mendicité, of which there is one, at least, in each department. Should, however, the mendicant be a tramp, and have no satisfactory account to give of

himself, the manner of dealing with him is much more sharp and summary. To begin with, he is imprisoned for six months, for the bare fact of being a vagabond and without a livret; after which, he is sent under escort to the department where he was born, and put into the way of obtaining employment in some government works. At the same time, he is warned that Paris and its vicinity are thenceforth closed to him, except on the condition of his obtaining settled employment there. In this case, he must apply to the prefecture for a permis de residence, which is sure to be granted him if he have not misbehaved himself anew.

By this means Paris, and all the larger cities where the same plan is pursued, are preserved from the dangerous agglomerations of vagabonds for which London is noted. Indeed, there are very few vagabonds at all to be found in France. Vagabondizing is too precarious a trade. When a man knows that an hotel keeper dare not lodge him for more than a single night if he cannot produce his livret; when he knows that the first gendarme he meets on a country road may call upon him for his papiers, and lock him up for a whole week, pending inquiries, in case they should not be forthcoming; when he knows, in short, that wilful idleness is sure to bring him to jail, and subject him for a few years to the close supervision of the police, he minds what he is about, tries to find honest work, and does his best to stick to it. Such few incorrigible tramps as there are spend an enormous per centage of their lives under lock and key, and are at last sent off to Algeria or Cayenne, where they work in penal settlements and are encouraged to become honest by the promise of an eventual grant of land.

Of course, however, there are thieves in France as elsewhere, but we cannot repeat too often that the class of professional thieves as known in England does not exist: firstly, for the reasons we have already given; secondly, because of the immense difficulty that exists in getting rid of stolen property; and, thirdly, because of the deterrent fact that, after a fifth condemnation for felony, a criminal is deemed incorrigible and shut up for life.

With regard to the getting rid of stolen property, nothing is easier in England. The first pawnbroker will answer the purpose. The question that is asked as to name and residence is a mere idle formality, for, as no guarantee is required, there is nothing on earth to prevent the possessor of a stolen gold watch from giving a false name. In France the case is

different. Let us take Paris for instance. All the loan offices (monts de piété) are in the hands of the Government. There is but one to each quartier (making eighty in all), and they are each connected with a central office, to which all articles are sent within twenty-four hours of their being pledged. In order to pawn anything, a man is obliged to produce satisfactory evidence as to his name, profession, and dwelling place. The mont de piété clerks make no difference in this respect between a gentleman in kid gloves and a man in a blouse. If a person present himself without having the necessary papers with him, he is requested to go and fetch them, but, meanwhile, the article he has offered in pledge remains at the office, so that, if he be a thief, the fact is at once known by his abandoning the property, and not putting in a second appearance. If the man, however, be stupid enough to give his real name and address whilst pawning stolen goods, he may rely with perfect certainty upon being arrested within the week, for when a commissaire de police receives notice that anything has been stolen, he sends the complainant to the central office of the mont de piété to see if he can discover his missing property amongst the objects lately pledged, and, if the stolen article be identified, it becomes a very easy matter to trace out the culprit.

In the case of individuals offering articles for sale, the law is still more exacting, for dealers are vigorously prohibited from purchasing things from strangers except on the condition of accompanying them to their dwellings and paying them there. It is needless to remark that the penalty entailed by the knowing receipt of stolen property is exceedingly severe. In the case of a shopkeeper it is ruin; for his establishment is closed and his patente (licence to sell) is withdrawn from him.

One word now as to liberated convicts. A man who has been once condemned to penal servitude in France remains more or less under the supervision of the police to the end of his days. Upon leaving the hulks he is given a sum of money collected from his earnings whilst in confinement, and is despatched to a provincial town, where he is enjoined to reside for five years under pain of being locked up again if he ventures to leave it without permission. Should he happen, however, to have friends or relatives, he may, of course, return to them; but in this case all change of residence on his part must be notified to the police until such time as he shall be proved to

have been established at least six months in some honest situation, and have done nothing during that time to merit punishment. He is then freed from the obligation of communicating with the police, but may be called upon at any moment to account for his means of living, and is dealt with as being in a state of vagrancy if proved to be without work and living an idle life.

These brief details will serve to give an idea of the manner in which the French government protects the honest members of the community against the dishonest. Certain parts of the police system of France might easily be found fault with, and would no doubt tally ill with our English ideas as to personal freedom. But the main principles of the system are good, as the results afforded by them can testify; and, if we should not be prepared to advocate the entire remodelling of Scotland | Yard on the plan of the Rue de Jerusalem, we should yet be very glad to see our authorities cast their eyes across the channel to see how the "flippant, unpractical" French can give a lesson to the "wise and practical" English.

WHAT

TABLE TALK.

WHAT was the Star of the Magi? is a seasonable question; but it is a difficult one to answer, because the little information we have about the phenomenon will not tally with the only theories that can be offered to explain it. The length of time that we are to infer the star remained visible precludes the supposition that it was a meteoric appearance, and the recorded motion of it goes far to invalidate the evidence that it was a celestial one. Feeling the want of a physical explanation, many have fallen back upon the belief that the apparition was a miracle. But if a star appeared, it must have shone in accordance with natural laws; and it must be accounted for by a rational hypothesis. We can hardly accept as such that which referred the bright body to an angel clothed in luminous vestments-the exposition offered by an old divine. The more reasonable solutions are those proffered by the astronomers, the Magi of our time, who have suggested that the star may have been a comet, or the bursting forth of a new fixed star, or a conjunction of the brighter planets, Jupiter and Saturn, or a luminous meteor, a shooting star or bolide. The planetary-conjunction theory was that which found most adherents, till a late Secretary of the Royal Astronomical Society proved it untenable. The meteor explanation, as I have said, appears fallible, because no atmospheric light or meteoric body has ever been known to last as long as the star in question is judged to have remained visible. New stars have been known to appear for a season, and then fade away; only two years ago a tiny star suddenly blazed forth with the brightness of one of the second magnitude, and declined in a few days to its former insignificance. So the new fixed-star theory comes well within the limits of probability, only the movement of the wise men's guide is an impediment to it. Perhaps, after all, a comet best satisfies the conditions, but the compilers of comet catalogues have hesitated to set down the date of the Saviour's birth as the year of a comet's appearance; in other words, they have not felt justified in calling the strange star a comet. If, however, any future body of this class should visit us, whose orbit, when it comes to be computed, indicates an apparition at or about the accepted annus domini, the cometary theory, if it be not completely established, will at least be rendered highly probable.

I HAD no letters the other morning at the usual time for their delivery, and, strolling out an hour after, I met the postman, an old hand, going from door to door with a weary trudge, and a fagged-out look. I suggested that he was late, and he said, "I am, sir; and I've got good cause to be: I'm done up, and so are all my mates. Thousands and thousands of election circulars have we had to deliver and never an hour's assistance given us. I hope to I shall never see another general election." Considering the over prosperous condition of the Post Office, is not the postman's complaint an argument in favour of private-circular delivery companies?

ANY of our countrymen who, from rheumatic gout, or any other ailment, may be sent to Vichy, would do well, as soon as they have sufficiently recovered the use of their legs, to pay a visit to the Villa Belvedere, where a very singular mode of fattening poultry has for some time been successfully pursued. A large circular building, admirably ventilated, and with the light partially excluded, is fitted up with circular cages, in tiers rotating on a central axis, and capable of being elevated, depressed, or rotated, which are so arranged that each bird has, as it were, a separate stall, containing a perch. The birds are placed with their tails converging to a common centre, while the head of each may be brought in front by a simple rotatory movement of the central axis. Each bird is fastened to its cell by leathern fetters, which prevent movement, except of the head and wings, without occasioning pain. When the feeding time comes, the bird is enveloped in a wooden case, from which the head and neck alone appear, and which is popularly known as its paletot, by which means all unnecessary struggling is avoided. The attendant (a young girl) seizes the head in her left hand and gently presses the beak in order to open it; then, with her right, she introduces into the gullet a tin tube about the size of a finger. This tube is united to a flexible pipe, which communicates with the dish in which the food has been placed, and from which the desired quantity is instantaneously injected into the stomach. The feeding process is so short that two hundred birds can be fed by one person in an hour. The food is a liquid paste, composed of Indian corn and barley saturated with milk. It is administered three times a day in quantities varying according to the condition of each bird. The food seems to be very

satisfactory, for if any chances to fall they devour it all as soon as they are released from their paletots. The poultry house is well ventilated; but of course it is impossible for any place in which six hundred fowls are confined to be entirely free from smell. It takes about a fortnight to fatten a bird by this method. Before being killed the birds are left in a dark but well ventilated chamber for four-andtwenty hours without food. Each fowl is then taken up by its feet, is wrapped up so as to prevent all struggling, and then bled so adroitly in the throat, that its death seems instantaneous. The blood is then allowed to flow from it, and finally, after being plucked, washed, and cleaned, it is wrapped in a damp cloth, and is ready for sale. From forty to fifty fowls are thus killed and sold daily.

THERE is a story told in the People's Journal which gives a good idea of the drinking style of the last century, and which ought not to be overlooked. This was what our grandfathers took for humour. The Lord Panmure here spoken of was, I believe, the father of the present Lord Dalhousie. "Two young English noblemen were paying a visit to Lord Panmure at Brechin Castle. One day he wrote a letter to Panlathie, a tenant of his, to come and dine with him, and at the same time he ordered him to bring a sum of money. Panlathie was aware when he got that order that something was to be done. After dinner, Lord Panmure gave the first toast, which was 'All hats in the fire, or £20 on the table.' Four hats were immediately in the fire. One of the English noblemen gave the next toast, 'All coats in the fire, or £50 on the table.' Four coats were committed to the flames. The other English gentleman gave the next toast, 'All boots in the fire, or £100 on the table.' The whole of the boots were committed to the flames. Panlathie's toast came next, which was, 'Two fore-teeth in the fire, or £200 on the table,' when Panlathie pulled his teeth out and threw them in the fire. The English noblemen looked amazed. He had ivory teeth unknown to them, and Panlathie went home without hat, coat, or boots, but he had £600 in his pocket. Lord Panmure thought much of his tenant after that."

sugar from well-nigh everything vegetable. Iceland moss, thanks to the chemists, is to be the base of the Swedish brandy. Sweden abounds in the lichen, and the lichen is full of starch. This, by digestion with an acid, is convertible into grape sugar-the sweet crystalline matter found in raisins and outside dried figs. The Swedish moss is reported to furnish seventy-two per cent. of the glucose, | the fermentation of which, while in a liquid state, and subsequent distillation, yields a spirit pungent and aromatic as that which trickles from the stills of Cognac. At least, so says report.

THE utility and convenience of stored-up force, such as that of compressed air-springs, and the like, have yet to be fully developed and appreciated. Why should locomotors be hampered with the cumbrous apparatus necessary to generate the power that is to drive them, when they might, in many cases at all events, carry the power ready prepared and bottled? This thought has occurred to many mechanics, but hitherto no one seems to have been sufficiently impressed by it to make a practical trial of the principles. Now, however, the idea promises to be speedily consummated. An American has made a locomotive car, which is to be propelled by compressed air. The car station is to have an ordinary sixty-horse engine to compress the air into proper reservoirs, two of which are to be attached to the car for each journey. The air, delivering up the power which the steamengine gave it, works another smaller engine, and impels the carriage. The reservoirs carry enough air for a ten-mile run. How long before London omnibuses are thus driven?

I HEARD the other day of a lady whose new house was elaborately decorated with parquetage, and every fashionable novelty; and, with no little pride, she was pointing out her parquetted floor to a bosom friend, when said this bosom friend (who, of course, was not in the least envious), "What a very good imitation of oil-cloth!"

that it was neither new nor wonderful, but was as old as the Deluge, which, in his opinion, killed more than it cured. I have just met