they were attended by troops of archers, kept in constant pay for that purpose, but never allowed to enter the fortress. When customers arrived, they were obliged to sound a trumpet, which was answered by the warder, who kept watch on the battlements night and day; when, if it was thought advisable, the basket was lowered, and they were drawn up, man by man, except in times of more than ordinary danger, when samples of the goods were let down to them, and the merchants arranged matters with them from one of the loopholes. It is doubtful if shopkeeping on this principle would pay in our generation; but we live in better times. A fine contrast to it was presented by the Alpine shops of Switzerland about a century ago: they consisted of lonely huts, built at the entrance of the principal mountain - passes, the door secured by a latch from the depredations of the wolf, and the lowlatticed window revealing to the passing traveller cheese, bread, coarse cloths, and almost every article his necessity could require, each with the price marked upon it, which he was expected to deposit in the money-box standing hard by, there being neither salesman nor book-keeper; in fact, not an individual within leagues of the solitary shop, the shepherd who had thus risked his little all coming once a month from the heights where his flock remained for the summer, to count and carry off his profits. The ideas from which such arrangements grew were worthy of the Golden Age; but the mountain-shops have long disappeared since steamers began to go up the Rhone and across Lake Leman: it is even said that fashionable hotels in many instances occupy their places.

There is perhaps no foil to the pomp of London shops so complete as the Kassina of Morocco. It is a part of the town where stuffs and other articles are exposed for sale, and is composed of a number of small shops formed in the walls of the houses, about a yard from the ground, and of such a height within, as just to admit of a man's sitting cross-legged. The goods and drawers are so arranged, that he reaches every article without, and serves his customers as they stand in the street. These shops, which are found in all the towns of the empire, afford a striking example of the indolence of the Moors. Here people resort as to an Exchange in Europe-to transact business and hear news; and independent gentlemen often hire one of these shops, and pass the mornings in it for their amusement. Still simpler are the accommodations for business in more distant African cities: the capital of Abyssinia does not contain a single shop, the place of traffic being a great plain in the vicinity, to which the merchants proceed, each accompanied by a slave laden with goods, while the master carries an umbrella and a mat; on reaching a convenient spot the mat is spread, the goods arranged upon it, the slave holds the umbrella over his master, and the shop is opened for the day, to be as quickly closed in the evening.

To return nearer home: the mountainous districts on the north-west of Ireland have yet shops whose primitive simplicity rivals the scenes of African commerce : a cabin, situated on some wild hill-side, or where a byway leads across a lonely bog, built of the native peatmoss, thatched with rushes, and having a large turf or piece of dry sod suspended over the entrance by way of sign, which indicates that milk, coarse provisions of all sorts, and occasionally malt spirits of illicit distillation, may be bought within. Of course the stock in trade of such warehouses is rather limited; but they have one convenience unknown to more splendid fabrics-that of being removed, premises and all, in the course of a forenoon, which is sometimes effected on account of the wind blowing too keenly in the everopen door.

History affords no evidence that English shops were ever constructed on this free-and-easy principle; but from the allusions and illustrations of the period, it would appear that the majority of London shops in the reign of Edward IV. were crowded, dingy, and in many

instances temporary concerns, closely resembling the old Luckenbooths described in The Traditions of Edinburgh:' their signs were in general one of the most conspicuous articles in which they dealt, suspended over the door or window, a custom also referred to in the above-mentioned work; yet some of the wealthier classes had painted signs even then, generally referring to some subject of Catholic legend, according to the spirit of the times; and their owners were accustomed to stand in their doors, dressed in velvet hats, long gowns of Kendal cloth, leathern girdles with a pouch at the left side, which was expected to answer the purpose of our modern till; and the shopkeeper's chief employment was to invite in all passengers, and advertise them of the quantity and quality of his goods. Even so late as the reign of James I., we find that this task devolved on the apprentices, and Sir Walter Scott, in his 'Fortunes of Nigel,' has chronicled their accustomed cry, What do you lack? What do you lack, gracious sir, beauteous madam?' which, addressed indiscriminately to the passers on a London street, would have a curious effect in our times; but changes have come over shopkeeping as well as other matters since then. May we not add, that our shopkeeping fashions, in other words, our trading operations, are the basis of our country's prosperity? There was a larger meaning than seems at first obvious in Sidney Smith's proposal to alter Britain rules the waves,' to 'Britain rules the shops;' and when Bonaparte stigmatised us as a nation of shopkeepers, he uttered a true though unintentional eulogium on our national skill and success in commerce, which, from the signs of the times, would seem appointed by Providence as one of the most efficient instruments in forwarding the progress and improvement of society.

LIBRARY STATISTICS."

AN article in the August part of the Journal of the Statistical Society of London' gives a view of the principal public libraries in Europe and the United States. The information conveyed by its figures is curious and important; but not so, we think, as even a 'subsidiary clement' (according to the compiler's notion) of the educational condition of the states referred to. The people have rarely anything to do, at least in a direct manner, with the national libraries: that of the British Museum, for instance, existing solely for the benefit of the few scores of literary persons in London who resort to it. In like manner, the collections of pictures in the houses of our nobility and gentry give no indication of the state of art among the people; although the degree of liberality with which these galleries are exhibited may influence to some little extent the progress of popular taste.

England is not famous for liberality either in literature or art. We debate eagerly about education, and vie with each other in the unreserve of our confession of its importance: but after all there is more cry than wool. Knowledge is admitted to be a great and universal good; but we guard its avenues with the most jealous restrictions. Even the common highway of the alphabet must be approached only on certain onerous conditions; and the libraries said to belong to the nation are carefully locked up from their owners. This inconsistence prevails less upon the continent, where, generally speaking, the people are permitted to look at the monuments they have reared, and the collections of art they have made, and to read the books they have purchased. All the national libraries of Paris, for instance, with the exception of that of the Arsenal, are lending libraries, and so likewise are those of Munich, Berlin, Copenhagen, Dresden, Wolfenbuttel, Milan, Naples, Brussels, the Hague, and Parma. Besides the great public libraries of the capital, there are public libraries of considerable extent in most of the large provincial towns in France, and to these valuable works are occasionally sent at the expense of the nation. In our

cloth or blue cotton; enormously heavy and solid shoes, but no stockings or socks: the costume is completed by a cap or bonnet of cloth stuff, the material of which you suspect rather than recognise under the dabs of diluted plaster and yellow clay produced by stone-sawing, with which it is liberally adorned.

The wearers of this uniform are the artisans employed upon the building, who come to commence the labours of the day. Previous to beginning work, according to an ancient custom, they adjourn to the nearest wine-shop, where a sip of some trifle prepares them, as they think, for encountering their dusty occupation. This ceremony over, they adjourn to the boarded enclosure, where the work is carried on. Apropos of these rough-boarded fences if encroaching on the public thoroughfares, they are allowed to be put up only on paying at the rate of five francs a metre each month they stand. When, therefore, we feel disposed to revile these ugly timber barriers that interrupt the circulation for months together, we have at least the consolation of remembering that they contribute to the enormous budget of the city of Paris, which enables the municipality from time to time to accelerate the march of improvement. Thus the public are compensated for the inconvenience they endure.

As the clock strikes six, every man hastens to resume his work on the spot where he left off the night before. Some climb up the ladders, and continue the careful laying of the stone blocks; others prepare the mortar or the plaster on the spot. If there be sufficient space to saw and hew the stones at the foot of the building, you will hear the grinding of the saw and the sound of the mallet and chisel on all sides; if not, you will see the barrowmen arrive from the stone-cutters' yard, bringing the stone-blocks already prepared for laying. Each companion-mason has a labourer assigned to him, who is bound to execute his orders; these carry the mortar which they have prepared to the upper storeys, and also stones of moderate dimensions, and perform every possible service, necessary or not, which is required of them, in the hope of being one day, sooner or later, served in their turn.

This labourer or garçon mason has been, from time immemorial, the faithful servant of a master or companion, as the mood may prompt. Thus a mason, perched on the upper storey, will call his garçon; the garçon, quick as thought, clambers up five or six ladders, leaps from scaffold to scaffold, from beam to beam. Now, my lad,' says the mason, go and look for my pipe!' and the victim descends with the prospect of another journey on equally important business. But when the term of his apprenticeship is expired, and he is a mason himself, he will have his garçon, who shall dance up and down in search of his pipe, or for a less sufficient reason, if he choose to make him.

If it were necessary in our day, when monarchs are confined by charters, constitutions, and representative chambers, to personify despotism, we could not choose a better example than the companion - mason, and we would add his garçon to the picture, as a living symbol of devotion and self-denial: we make use of the word mason, as the generic term under which all workmen in buildings are ordinarily classed; but the stone-cutter, the stone-setter, the plasterer, &c. have also their garçon or labourer.

The following is the value of the various workmen rated in current coin :-Stone-cutter, per day, four francs, four and a-half, and five francs; masons, stone-setters, &c. per day, three francs, three and a-half, and rarely four francs; garçons, barrowmen, and other labourers, per day, two francs, to two and a-half.

At taskwork, as labour is always rated at a higher value than time, a good workman can wonderfully augment his salary, earning from seven to eight francs a day. The stone-cutters generally work task-work. To counteract the too indulgent dispositions, the contractor keeps upon the premises a superintendent, with the title of master-companion mason, charged with entire authority over the workmen. It is he who rebukes the idle, fines the late-comers, and registers the absent; he runs from

room to room, sees that every hand is properly employed, and, in case of need, gives his counsel and personal assistance; and his services and advice are so much the more necessary, as every workman, upon meeting with a difficulty that seems to him insoluble, folds his arms peaceably, and waits till Providence or the master-companion comes to his assistance. The importance of this personage and his function it is easy to comprehend, as well as the care and caution the contractor should exercise in his appointment. It is necessary that he should not only be active and intelligent, but, what is more, incorruptible, and courageously proof against the too often irresistible arguments of the wine-seller. All these precious qualities are usually estimated at the price of from 180 to 200 francs a month by the contractor, who retains his services throughout the entire year, notwithstanding any lengthened cessation of labour through the occurrence of frost and wintry weather.

While we have been wandering through the building, and stumbling here and there among the poles and scaffolding, the time has flown-it is nine o'clock: at the first stroke of the bell everything stands still; and all rush away to breakfast. Let us see what kind of a thing is a French workman's breakfast. It is neither the meal porridge of the Scotch nor the tea and toast of the English. While the labourers eat modestly, in the open air, the morsel of pork, or the lump of sour cheese, together with huge wedges from the enormous loaf, which you cannot have failed to remark tucked under their arms upon their arrival at the scene of their operations, the companionmasons resort to the nearest wine-seller, who has prepared them an ample breakfast of their favourite soup, a kind of vegetable pottage, flanked with fried potatoes and other roots, among which the carrot ranks as a conspicuous delicacy-the bread, brought by the workmen themselves, forming the solid portion of the meal. The whole is qualified with a quantity of cheap light wine; and, last of all, a pipe. At ten o'clock all resume their work until two, when the soup and ceremony of the morning are repeated, and the day terminates at six in the evening.

The companion-masons, as well as the labourers, inhabit all quarters of the town, but appear to give a decided preference to the neighbourhood of the Hôtel de Ville, and the small dirty and narrow streets and lanes which abut upon the municipal palace, where the cheapest lodgings are to be met with. They sometimes unite to form a chamber, assembling at the house of a letter of lodgings, who follows, besides, the profession of tavernkeeper, or restaurateur. This worthy provides daily, or rather nightly, suppers for the workmen, and even gives credit to those out of employment whose characters are good.

The general rendezvous of the companion-masons is at the Place de Grève. From five o'clock in the morning they arrive there in crowds, some in search of work, others on the look-out for comrades; the roleur is also always there at that early hour: this functionary, so named from his keeping a list or enrolment of the parties wanting work, is engaged and paid by the body for the purpose of procuring employment for those in want of it; there also come the contractors to engage any number of workmen they may need. The carpenters and joiners frequent the Place de Grève as well as the masons; the locksmiths have chosen a domicile near the Pont-au-Change, where the wine-shop is an equally necessary appendage, an asylum, indeed, rarely deserted.

We have dwelt at some length upon the occupations of the masons, because it is only at the scene of their labours that their veritable physiognomy is perceptible. We ought now to say something of their pleasures: as we said before, these are of the calm and quiet sort, and on high days, consist chiefly in an extraordinary consump tion of cold viands; giblet pies, more or less authentic; and salads furiously seasoned; and especially wine at six or eight sous a pint. The whole is varied by walks, of pure observation, to see the balls and dancing parties, the waltzes and polkas, which in every possible season are in full swing in the suburbs, and at the barriers of

the city. These scenes are not unfrequently attended with quarrels, in which the masons take a more active part; but the disposition to intermeddle and foment strife is unfortunately not peculiar to them, but shared alike by all the laborious classes of the French capital, so proud of its refinement in luxury and civilisation.

It is on fête days only that the mason makes any attempt at personal display; then he puts on his new blue coat with broad lappets, and bright metal buttons shining proudly in the sun; then he changes his heavy mud-coated shoes for boots, equally solid, but brilliant with blacking of the choicest polish: on these days of solemnity he brings forth his broad silver watch, the possession of which he more than intimates by a wide silk ribbon floating gallantly upon his waistcoat, and trinkets of glittering steel. The masons greatly enjoy their fêtes or holidays, the frolics on such occasions being to a certain extent tempered by religious observances. Besides these stated cessations from work, the masons enjoy certain occasional recreations connected with their professional labours. Two of these special festivities may be noticed the crowning with flowers,' and the 'conduct of comrades.

The last thing done to a house is to polish and ornament it with carvings outside, and these operations are performed by the more skilled craftsmen, who are suspended by ropes on purpose. When this nice work is completed, the building is finished. Now comes the ceremony of crowning. All the artisans employed club together, and buy an enormous branch of a tree bushy with leafage, which they bedeck with ornaments of flowers and ribbons; then one of their number, chosen by lot, ascends to the top of the house they have just built, and erects the resplendent bouquet. As soon as the body of workmen see the joyous signal waving proudly in the air, the favours streaming in the light breeze, and the foliage gently undulating over the summit of the house, the foundations of which they dug but a few months before, they raise their united voices in a shout of applause and gratulation. This ceremony accomplished, they take two other bouquets, more remarkable for their dimensions than the beauty of the flowers with which they are loaded, and repair to the residences of the proprietor and the contractor. These parties, in exchange for the verdant and odorous offering of the workmen, surrender a few five-franc pieces, in the expenditure of which the day is merrily concluded, without any regard for the fatigues of yesterday, or anxiety respecting the uncertainties of the morrow. The crowning with flowers, a modest and charming solemnity, typifying the exaltation of nature over the triumphs of art, is one of those happy traditions which are but too rarely met with among the various bodies of artisans.

The conduct of comrades' is a ceremony much more in vogue in the provinces than at Paris. It is a mark of esteem conferred upon a workman who is leaving them by his companions, who take this mode of testifying their friendly regard and respect. This benevolent demonstration is principally in usage among the workmen affiliated to some one or other of the societies of companionship. On the day of departure they assemble in great numbers, every one clad in his festal garb, and accompany their departing friend to a certain distance from the town he is leaving. One carries his staff, another his knapsack, and bottles and glasses are distributed among the rest; they proceed on their journey, gossipping, singing, and drinking until the moment of separation; then they drink a general bumper to the health and prosperity of the traveller, and separate. Quarrels are rare at these festivities; for independently of the natural good-humour of the French, they indulge for the most part only in very light wines, which raise the spirits, but do not intoxicate to an injurious degree. What a step towards temperance would be the general use of these wines, instead of beer or gin, among our working-classes in England!

As might be expected in the case of a profession which embraces a greater number of operatives than any other, its members are not supplied by any one particular dis

trict exclusively. It is not with them as with the watercarriers, who are mostly Auvergnats, or as with the charcoal-burners, who all originate in the calcined gorges of the Cantal. From the north as from the south of the kingdom, from the mountainous region of the Puy de Dôme, from Dauphiny or the level plains of Champagne, from Bourdeaux and from Lille, from the Pyrenees and from the Moselle, from La Creuse and the Upper Rhine, crowds of building operatives swarm regularly to the capital; and in the patois of the various races, as they gossip during the intervals of labour, you may recognise the sharp accent of Provence, the drawling pronunciation of Lorraine, and the unintelligible idiom of Alsace. These various parties are not all easily satisfied: thus during the recent erection of the fortifications of Paris, a whole gang of masons, from Flanders, abandoned the works because the flavour of the Parisian beer was not to their liking; and a party of English labourers on the Rouen railway, sick of soup, soddened salads, and sour wine, recrossed the Channel in the avowed search of British beef and ale.

An immense number of German builders also find occupation in France; and sometimes their importation is so recent, that the least ignorant, or, if you will, the most learned among them, is obliged to act as interpreter for his fellow-countrymen. The workmen from La Creuse are also very numerous, and their peaceable and honest conduct has acquired for them an honourable reputation for morality. Picardy, Normandy, Dauphiny, and the department of Herault, supply excellent stone-cutters. That class of workmen who spend their days in the laborious occupation of building the rough walls, are all exclusively natives of the neighbourhood of Limoges. They are bound inseparably together by a strong spirit of clanship, and practise a rigorous economy, which their enemies revile as avarice. During the times of the recess, which commences about the 20th of November, and lasts till the middle of March, they manage to regain, either singly or in small bodies, the country which gave them birth; there they carry the savings of the year, until at length, having accumulated enough to buy a small plot of ground, they return to their cherished country, to quit it no more, content with the humblest independence, because it is the welcome reward of their own industry.

In a country like France, where the police keep incessant watch, with such touching solicitude, over all the citizens, we may well suppose that they have neglected nothing that could tend to maintain order and submission among the vast body of building operatives, or even to enable them at any time to verify the conduct of each individual. Accordingly, we find that the adminis tration has multiplied the regulations and ordinances affecting them from time to time, until at length it controls the operations of the companionships, fixes their itineraries, appoints their salaries, and allots the hours of labour throughout the year; lastly, it compels each man to keep a book, which is in some sort the accountcurrent of his conduct and position as a workman; this book is an abridged memoir of the owner's existence, as well as his cash-book and ledger; in it he must inscribe the date of his engagements, the names of his employers, the sums which he receives, and, upon the first page, his own name, surname, profession, &c. according to the eternal formula. Though this livret is, for bad characters, a register of faults, and an act of perpetual accusation, for the honest, sober, peaceable, and industrious labourer it becomes a veritable book of gold, in which are inscribed his titles of nobility; honourable and just titles, inasmuch as they spring from the practice of intelligence, industry, and integrity.

We could mention more than one illustrious individual who, by active perseverance, have ascended from the inferior ranks to a high position, and who look not without pride upon the humble book which was the confidant of their former deprivation and fatigue; and we may well pardon that pride which glances with complacency from the calculation of a princely revenue to the soiled and tattered pages of the operative's work-book.