And it's th' masters as has made us sin, if th'
Union is a sin. Not this generation maybe,
but their fathers. Their fathers ground our
fathers to the very dust;—ground us to
powder! Parson! I reckon, I've heerd my
mother read out a text, 'The fathers have eaten
sour grapes and th' children's teeth are set
on edge.' It's so wi' them. In those days of
sore oppression th' Unions began; it were a
necessity. It's a necessity now, according to
me. It's a withstanding of injustice, past,
present, or to come. It may be like war;
along with it come crimes; but I think it
were a greater crime to let it alone. Our
only chance is binding men together in one
common interest; and if some are cowards
and some are fools, they mun come along and
join the great march, whose only strength is
in numbers."

"Oh!" said Mr. Hale, sighing, "your
Union in itself would be beautiful, glorious,
—it would be Christianity itself—if it were
but for an end which affected the good of all,
instead of that merely of one class as opposed
to another."

"I  reckon it's time for me to be going,
sir," said Higgins, as the clock struck ten.

"Home?" said Margaret, very softly. He
understood her, and took her offered hand.
"Home, miss. Yo may trust me, tho' I am
one o' th' Union."

"I do trust you most thoroughly, Nicholas."

"Stay!" said Mr. Hale, hurrying to the
book-shelves. "Mr. Higgins! I'm sure you'll
join us in family prayer?"

Higgins looked at Margaret, doubtfully.
Her grave sweet eyes met his; there was no
compulsion, only deep interest in them.
He did not speak, but he kept his place.

Margaret the Church woman; her father the
Dissenter; Higgins the Infidel; knelt down
together. It did them no harm.

PARIS UPON WHEELS.

THE population of Paris living upon wheels
may be divided into three distinct classes. In
the first place there are the cabmen who
drive the vehicles which ply for hire from
their public stands near the kerb stone.
These are drivers of voitures de place. In
the second place there are the drivers of the
more aristocratic broughams, which wait for
their fare under private gateway's, and which
have all the appearance without entailing the
expense of a private carriage. These are
drivers of voitures de remise. In the third
place there are the drivers and conductors of
omnibuses.

Of this population upon wheels I propose
to give some curious details which are not
familiar, I believe, to English readers. I
shall begin with the hackney cabmen, their
vehicles, and regulations.

The hackney cabs of Paris are nineteen
hundred and ninety-nine in number. Of these
not more than sixteen hundred and forty-six
are in constant use. They are distributed in
seventy-four stands. They are the property
of seven or eight companies or administrations,
whose head-quarters are the Barrière
du Combat, the Barrière de la Villete, and
the Barrière du Maine. Each two-horse cab
has a reserve of two horses: each one-horse
cab gives employment to two quadrupeds.
It is estimated that the hackney cab horses of
Paris are six thousand strong. They are
generally worn-out cavalry steeds, bought for
one hundred and fifty to two hundred francs.
The fares of these cabs vary from one franc
two sous to one franc and a half the journey
—between any two points within the Barrieres.
To these fares should be added the pourboire
which the traveller is expected to give to the
cabman. This pourboire system may be
noticed as the worst feature of any system of
service in Paris. A lady orders a cap to be
sent home—the boy who carries it begs a
pourboire: a pastrycook sends a tart for
dinner; invariably his smart apprentice asks
for a few sous; and very sulkily the
shoe-maker's lad turns from your apartment should
you fail to reward him, for carrying his
master's goods, with a trifling gratuity. But
the Paris cabman, particularly, may be
remarked for his rapacity in the matter of
pourboires.

The aspirant for the honours and gains of
a cabman's seat in Paris must serve an
apprenticeship. He is compelled, by the police
regulations of the capital to spend a month upon
a coach-box with a cabman who knows the
streets well. Having done this, he must
present himself at the Prefecture of Police for
examination. He is required to know the
byways of Paris thoroughly. Should this
knowledge fail him he is not allowed the
opportunity of conducting people from the
Louvre to the Madeleine by the way of the
Quai Voltaire. But, having passed his
examination he has not won his seat. Before
he can get even a tumbledown cabriolet
milord, he must deposit, one hundred francs
as guarantee with his masters; and he must
be prepared with a second hundred francs to
be invested in the purchase of his livery.
This livery generally consists of a black
glazed hat, bound with a gay riband; a bright
blue frock coat, a scarlet waistcoat, and blue
trowsers. Thus equipped, he mounts the cab
box in the morning, and departs for his
appointed cab stand, there to wait the nod of
the passers-by. His pay is three francs a day,
and he is supposed to carry home all he gains.
In addition to his salary he is allowed to
pester his customers for pourboires; and it
is estimated that these contributions usually
raise his daily earnings to five francs.
Whether he occasionally puts a fare into his
own pocket is a question which I leave with
his conscience. It is certain that he is
narrowly watched, that the way to stolen
wealth is difficult; since each stand has its
appointed chef, and under-chef, who are