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in hotels), which you may eat your way through. The secret of the low prices of the cheaper restaurants is this: they make arrangements with butchers, poulterers, and fishmongers to take from them, a little while before they close for the day, all meat, poultry, and fish left over, and which would be unsalable by next morning. They get these objects below cost, and at once cook them enough to prevent spoiling. They go to the Great Markets just before the markets close. The peasants, sooner than carry their market stuff home again, will sell it for a mere song. Fruit and vegetables which could not have been bought during the morning for less than six cents apiece may be had, then, three for one



Lastly come restaurants where one pays not only for what he takes, but for everything he uses even for the knives, forks, and spoons. There are all sorts of these restaurants, cheap and dear; the cheapest are, however, dearer than the highest fixed-price


I must not omit to mention cafés, although they are becoming mere billiard saloons. Clubs have hurt them. Then the introduction of bars gave them another blow. A still more serious blow was the establishment of musical cafés. Cafés are a cheap club. Artists, literary men, and business men living in the same neighborhood meet at cafés after dinner. Cafés are neutral ground, where there is no etiquette of visits, where everybody is equally at home, where one may order what he pleases, may come when he chooses, and leave the instant he feels tired; where the room is handsome, brilliantly lighted, comfortably warm, always animated. If these habitual frequenters be numerous enough to warrant it, a room is set apart solely for their use: it is really a club-room. The musical cafés require customers to take some refreshment (all refreshments served in them are dear and bad), but at most of them tickets, costing ten cents, are sold at the counter, which relieve visitors from the importunities of waiters. Neighbors who are known to be frequent visitors are commonly told that they are welcome without payment of admittance fee; even in these musical cafés there are corners reserved for neighbors who come with their wives and children to spend the evening.

Were I poor and wished to master French quickly and thoroughly, to see a great deal of French life, to understand the current of unwritten French thought, and to spend as little money as possible, I should, were I a man, become a boarder in a third-rate boys' school; were I a woman, in a third-rate girls'

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school in the suburbs of Paris or, which would every way be better, in some small provincial town. Here I should attend all the lessons, especially all the French and English lessons, given. I should select the most intelligent tutor, and win him, or her, by taking private lessons (they would not cost more than two dollars a month) and by making timely presents; he or she would on holy-day show you sights missed by general travelers. He would explain them to you, and call attention to particulars which else had escaped notice. You would visit the churches of Paris and mark the difference between them.

Or he or she would go with you to public gardens and analyze the people met. There are no more majestic figures in Paris (beadles of the great churches excepted) than the constables of the public gardens. Strangers take them for marshals of France. The cross of the Legion is on their breast; immense epaulettes hang on their shoulders; their clothes are brilliant military uniforms; their hat is that worn by the infantry. So strangers' eyes may well gaze on them for glories of France. They are old non-commissioned officers, whose declining days are made more comfortable by having the pay of constable added to pension. Their duties are light. They are expected to wage war on turbulent boys, to give chase to dogs that invade the garden, to guard flowers from hands that can not distinguish between meum and tuum. Their campaign never begins

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until long after sunrise and always ends with twilight. Their longest forced march is from chair to chair. Their existence is a Frenchman's beau idéal of life-plenty to eat and drink, nothing to do, sauntering in a public promenade till legs whisper "seat," and clothed from head to foot in gaudy clothes.

He or she would warn you against the adventurers with whom public resorts in Paris Once familiar with their physiognomy you would detect them everywhere, and find this knowledge useful even on your return to the United States. Faces such as our wood-cut portrays are to be seen hourly in Paris. When this knave gets up in the

morning he does not know where he will breakfast, still less where he will dine; and should his landlord be harsh, or have lost patience, he does not know where he will sleep. His only hope is that, if he eat very moderately and content himself with soup and bread, the mistress of the crèmerie will still give him credit, or that he may meet some acquaintance who will treat him to meat or drink. He is utterly without scruple. If he does not steal, it is solely from cowardice-fear of being caught.

Now the tutor already mentioned would take you to one of the most charming sights of Paris-the "first communion" of all the

boys and girls of a large parish. What putting on the toga virilis was to a Roman youth, what buying the first fan is to a Spanish girl, what "coming out" is to our sisters, what presentation at court is to our English highborn cousins, so is the "first communion" to French boys and girls. It taken, they are men and women. Is iron fortune theirs? After "first communion" they must set to work; life's race has begun. It is the great family festival. All persons do not figure as bride or groom, but all persons (at least it was the rule before war was declared on religion) take the "first communion." Girls are robed as brides, but trinkets are forbidden. The utmost purity of appearance is sought, to give all spectators "the outward and visible sign of the inward and spiritual grace." Each girl wears a white veil, and her hair, no matter how luxuriant, or blue black, or Venetian auburn, is held a close prisoner in a white cap, though the head have right to duchess diadem; the dress is muslin and as white as the veil; the waist girdled by a broad white ribbon ending in a large bow-knot behind. Boys wear white trousers, waistcoat, cravat, gloves, and an armlet of broad white ribbon tied in a large bow-knot, while from both ends hangs long gold or silver fringe; black

*Until 1882, girls too bore lighted tapers. The transept viewed from behind the high altar was a striking scene. Tapers' flames seemed like St. Elmo's lights hovering over the boys and girls, and might easily be taken for the Spirit falling from heaven on purity, blessing it and fitting it for the good fight in life's

coat; hair as well dressed as the nearest barber's skill can go; hat left at home. In one hand is held a missal, and a white rosary ending in a cross; in the other, a long white wax taper with a red velvet gold-trimmed holder round it.* Girls and boys wear these clothes at confirmation and at "renewal," which takes place a year afterward, though the armlet is discarded from the boy's arm at "renewal." Where poverty is unable to provide this livery of heaven, wealth supplies not only the dress but the substantial meal which adds memories to the day, for round the board all kindred are assembled -- often for the first, oftener for the last, time. The day ended, boy's armlet and girl's white reticule are put in a paper box and are laid in a secure corner of a chest of drawers, to be joined in time by the bride's garter or her orange wreath as souvenirs of life's great days. The church to which grandma and kinswomen are wending their way in our illustration is St. Médard, the parish church of Mouffetard Quarter the parish church of the famous Gobelins tapestry manufactory and of the Garden of Plants. It has twice been inundated with blood in our day—in June, 1848, in May, 1871.

J. D. Osborne.

battle to be begun to-morrow. In 1881, a girl in St. Sulpice Church set her veil on fire, and there came nigh being a catastrophe fatal to as many as that at Lima, Peru, a few years since. Calamity was averted by a priest, who in putting out the fire was seriously burned. Since then no tapers have been intrusted to girls.


WHEN on thy bed of pain thou layest low

Daily we saw thy body fade away,

Nor could the love wherewith we loved thee stay For one dear hour the flesh borne down by woe; But as the mortal sank, with what white glow

Flamed thy eternal spirit, night and day,Untouched, unwasted, though the crumbling clay Lay wrecked and ruined! Ah, is it not so, Dear poet-comrade, who from sight hast gone,— Is it not so that spirit hath a life

Death may not conquer? But, O dauntless one! Still must we sorrow. Heavy is the strife

NOVEMBER 19, 1887.

VOL. XXXV.— 79.

And thou not with us,-- thou of the old race
That with Jehovah parleyed, face to face.

R. W. G.

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WENTY-TWO years have passed since the termination of the civil war in America; a new generation of men has the destiny of our country in their possession, and we who probably lag superfluous on the stage watch with jealous interest the drift of public opinion and of public events. These are mainly guided by self-interest, by prejudice, by the teachings of books, magazines, and newspapers.

We veterans believe that in 1861-5 we fought a holy war, with absolute right on our side, with pure patriotism, with reasonable skill, and that we achieved a result which enabled the United States of America to resume her glorious career in the interest of all mankind, after an interruption of four years by as needless a war as ever afflicted a people.

The causes which led up to that war have been well described by Mr. Greeley, Dr. Draper, Mr. Blaine, and General Logan-the opposite side by Mr. Davis, Governor Foote, General Johnston, and the recent biographers of General Lee. In addition to these, innumerable volumes have been published, and nearly all the leading magazines of our country have added most interesting narratives of events, conspicuously so THE CENTURY. The editors of this magazine, armed with a personal letter from General Grant, applied long ago to have me assist them in their laudable purpose. I declined, but the pendulum of time seems to have swung too far in the wrong direction: one is likely to receive the impression that

the civil war was only a scramble for power by mobs, and not a war of high principle, guided by men of great intelligence according to the best light they possessed. Discovering that one branch of the history of that war, "Grand Strategy," has been overlooked or slighted by writers, I have undertaken to discuss it, not with any hope to do full justice to the subject, but to attract the attention of younger and stronger men to follow up and elaborate it to the end.

War is the conflict of arms between peoples for some real or fancied object. It has existed from the beginning. The Bible is full of it. Homer immortalized the siege and destruction of Troy. Grecian, Roman, and European history is chiefly made up of wars and the deeds of soldiers; out of their experience arose certain rules, certain principles, which made the "art of war" as practiced by Alexander, by Cæsar, by Gustavus Adolphus, and by Frederick the Great.

These principles are as true as the multiplication table, the law of gravitation, of virtual velocities, or of any other invariable rule of natural philosophy. The "art of war" has grown to be the "science of war," and probably reached its summit in the wars of Europe from 1789 to 1815. Its fundamental principles are as clearly defined as are those of the laws of England by Blackstone. Jomini may be assumed as the father of the modern science of war, and he has been supplemented by "great masters" such as Napoleon, Marmont, Wellington, Napier, Hamley, Soady, Chesney, and others, all of whom agree in the fundamental principles; but to me the treatise of France J. Soady,

Lieutenant-Colonel, R. A., published in London, 1870, seems easiest of reference and best suited to my purpose, because he admits the elements of local prejudice and the temperament of the people to enter into the problem of war.

Lieutenant-Colonel Soady divides the "lessons of war as taught by the great masters" into the following heads:

1. Statesmanship in its relationship to war. 2. Strategy, or the art of properly directing masses upon the theater of war, either for offense or invasion. 3. Grand tactics. 4. Logistics, or the art of moving armies. 5. Engineering the attack and defense of fortifications. 6. Minor tactics.

He further subdivides these "heads," and illustrates by historic examples the following branches: "Aim and principles," "Lines of communication," "Zone of operations," "Offensive and defensive warfare," Fortresses, Battle, Modern improvement in arms, Steamboats and Railroads, the Telegraph; and indeed more nearly approaches the science of war as it exists to-day than any author of whom I have knowledge. Any non-professional reader who will cast his eyes over the 555 pages of Lieutenant-Colonel Soady's volume, as well as those of " The Operations of War," by Colonel (now General) Hamley, will discover that war as well as peace has a large field in the affairs of this world, demanding as much if not more study than most of the sciences in which the human mind is interested. Every man who does to his neighbor as he wishes his neighbor should do unto him finds on examining the law of the day that he has been a law-abiding citizen; so a soldier or general who goes straight to his object with courage and intelligence will find that he has been a scientific soldier according to the doctrines laid down by the great masters. Many of us in our civil war did not think of Jomini, Napoleon, Wellington, Hamley, or Soady; yet, as we won the battle, we are willing to give these great authors the benefit of our indorsement.

Now in the United States of America, in the year of our Lord 1861, some ambitious men of the Southern States, for their own reasons, good or bad, resolved to break up the union of States which had prospered beyond precedent, which by political means they had governed, but on which they were about to lose their hold. By using the pretext of slavery which existed at the South they aroused their people to a very frenzy, seceded (or their States seceded) from the Union, and established a Southern Confederacy, the capital of which was first at Montgomery, Alabama, afterwards at Richmond, Virginia, with Jefferson

Davis as their president. By a conspiracy as clearly established as any fact in history, they seized all the property of the United States within the seceded States, except a few feebly garrisoned forts along the seaboard, and proclaimed themselves a new nation, with slavery the corner-stone. Old England, the first modern nation to abolish slavery and to enforce the noble resolve that no man could put his foot on English soil without "eo instante" becoming a free man, looked on with complacency, and encouraged this enormous crime of rebellion.

The people of the Northern free States, accustomed to the usual criminations of our system of elections, supposed this to be a mere incident of the presidential election of the previous November; went along in their daily vocations in the full belief that this episode would pass away as others had done; and treated the idea of civil war in this land of freedom as a pure absurdity.

In due time, March 4, 1861, the new President, Abraham Lincoln, was installed as the President of the United States. He found the seven cotton-States in a condition which they called "out of the Union," claiming absolute independence, and seeking to take into their confederacy every State which tolerated slavery. In the end they succeeded, except with Delaware, Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri, so that in the spring of 1861, April 12th, when the Southern Confederacy began actual war by bombarding Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbor, it awakened a response which even they could not misunderstand.

The people of the United States loved their Government and their history; they realized perfectly the advantages they possessed over the inhabitants of other lands, but had no army or navy adequate to meet so grave a crisis. The boom of the cannon in Charleston Harbor was carried by electricity to every city, town, and village of the land, and the citizens realized for the first time that civil war was upon them; they were told to form themselves into companies and regiments, and to go with all expedition to Washington, the national capital, to defend the civil authorities and the archives of government. This done, the cry went up, "On to Richmond!" and the battle of Bull Run resulted. The South was better prepared than the North, and victory went to the former, according to the estab lished rules of war. Had Johnston or Beauregard pushed their success and occupied Washington, it would not have changed the final result, because twenty millions of freemen would never have submitted tamely to the domination of the slave-holder faction. Johnston himself records that his army was as much

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