become an "engineer" in the French sense of the term; he will remain a foreman. Secondary education alone, given in Lycées and Collèges, leads to the Bachelor's and Licenciate's degrees, and to the graduate professional schools. No doubt a number of scholarships are offered to deserving sons of the people: the bourgeoisie has sense enough to aggregate to itself the best elements in the other classes. But these scholars are a minority; they are placed in a bourgeois atmosphere, they are taught bourgeois traditions, and their desire is to break as completely as possible with their origins. One must draw the line somewhere, and the logical place is between one's father and oneself.

The fees and the long period of studies make secondary education almost prohibitive for the masses. Democratic selfsupport of the American type hardly exists at all; and the very strict age limit set for entering the great professional schools makes it impossible for a young man to interrupt his studies, earn some money, and then resume his course. But another and still more effective protection is raised against an influx of democratic elements into the sacred preserves of the bourgeoisie: the professions, for the first few years, do not pay. Hardly any member of a legal profession, hardly any officer in the army or navy, hardly any man in the more promising branches of the civil or diplomatic services, can expect to live on his salary. Young men have to pass difficult examinations and wait until they are thirty to secure a munificent pay of some four hundred dollars.

The "marriage of convenience" is another factor of social stability. In an ancient country like France inherited wealth looms much larger than it does with us: opportunities for making new fortunes are fewer. So a "suitable match" is a recognized step in a young man's career: it is prepared for more sedulously than a university degree. And the trust of inherited wealth, the bourgeoisie, controls the matrimonial market. Even in politics, the bourgeois is supreme. It takes money to be elected, even by honest means, more money than the deputy will receive from the state in

cation-that classical, literary ed which, as we have seen, the sons people have no fair chance of gett be successful in the bourgeois milie Chamber. So the peasants, and e social-democratic population of th are represented by bourgeois lawyers, and professors, like Jaurès for one Jaurès who remained fait the class that had elected him, dozens of men who naturally reve or veered toward, the upper class held the good things of this wor was willing to welcome them. Messrs. Viviani, Briand, Millerand their political careers as socialis representatives of workingmen's di And we know how completely the been purged of their youthful err

THE problem therefore is not: Ho the French bourgeoisie manage to democracy down?-but How, unde unfavorable circumstances, did 1 democracy manage to assert itself to be a power in the land and in the

First of all, immediately before a mediately after the great Revolutio bourgeoisie had to fight against the ileges of the nobility, and in that fi was compelled to invoke democrati ciples and the support of the F When the fight was securely wo bourgeoisie turned round-some as as 1794, some in 1830, more in But they could not undo all the m they had done: they could not fi combat the democracy to which the been rendering lip service. The struggle between Voltairian free th and the Catholic Church had the eff splitting the bourgeoisie into tw tions, the more progressive of whic to strike an alliance with the demo elements. It was the issue of cleric vs. anticlericalism alone that kept bourgeois on the liberal side. With we should never have seen such a t conservative bourgeois as Waldeckseau heading a Ministry of Repul Defense with the sympathy of the s ists. Anticlericalism is the stock in of the bourgeois radicals, their sole 1

y education sons of the getting-to milieu of the and even the of the cities, pis doctors, aurès. But a faithful to im, we find reverted to, class which = world and hem. Thus erand began cialists and n's districts. y they have ıl errors.

t: How does ge to keep under such lid French tself at all, the world? ›re and imlution, the t the privat fight, it ratic prine people. won, the e as early in 1848. e mischief t frankly they had The long : thought e effect of two fachich had mocratic lericalism pt many ithout it, a typical ck-Rous

they are whipping that poor dead horse at the present day.

17

And such an order of things is not to be despised. France, on the whole, is decently governed and quietly prosperous. The members of the French Parliament are rather better educated than our average Congressman, and they are more brilliant than the average British M. P. They are honest, as deputies go. They are probably less under the thumb of big business than the very gentlemanly members of the House of Commons. Scandals like the Marconi affair, which were politely hushed at Westminster, would have been pitilessly thrashed out at the Palais Bourbon. The French constitution has no damning fault. It does not prevent France from getting the government she deserves-no better, no worse. Once more, the substance of power is not there: it is in the bureaucracy, in the plutocracy, and in the press, those three powers that a modern Montesquieu should study rather than the old-fashioned executive, legislative, and judiciary. Give the women a vote; decentralize; create a genuine system of proportional representation; give ministers a safer and longer tenure of office; have the President elected by an independent college, or by the whole people: all these reforms may be desirable. But, even though all were achieved, you would repeat: "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." On the contrary, without any political change at all, a peaceful revolution may take place. With her newly conquered mines, with the development of water-power, with the resources of her colonial empire, France may evolve from a bourgeoispeasant republic to a republic of industrial workers; then new problems will arise, a new temper, and new methods. If such be the case, Parliament will have no choice but to register, clumsily and a little late, the inevitable trend of national life. And our successors may regret, like a vanished Arcadia, the France of RoyerCollard, Casimir-Périer, Guizot, Thiers, Ferry, Waldeck-Rousseau, and Raymond Poincaré.

But another factor has worked in favor of democracy, and counterbalanced to some extent the overwhelming superiority of the bourgeois-peasant alliance: the democrats occupied strategic positions, the great cities, particularly Paris. The working people of Paris were better educated, could come and act together more rapidly, than the peasants and even the provincial bourgeoisie. Over the purely Parisian bourgeoisie they had the superiority of numbers. They were strengthened by many deserters from the upper class, who came to the people either out of idealism or for less worthy reasons. Thanks to the centralization for which the Ancient Régime was striving, which was perfected by Napoleon, an order from Paris would at first be blindly followed by provincial France. This is the secret of the jerky course of French history from 1789 to 1871. Repeatedly, the radical elements congregated in Paris, supported by the Parisian populace, would make a sudden bid for power, and take a bold step toward democracy. The provinces would remain passive for a while, then slowly, irresistibly, the permanent superiority of the bourgeois-peasant alliance would make itself felt. În 1830, 1848, 1871, conservative France "came back," and with increasing rapidity and violence. It may be said that in the Commune insurrection of 1871 democratic Paris finally lost the fight. Since that date a Parisian revolution out of keeping with the temper of the vast conservative classes has become almost unthinkable. Paris has been tamed at last. In 1789 the bourgeoisie got what they wanted-the suppression of all privileges except their own; the peasantry secured what they were craving for a clear title to the land they had tilled for centuries. So both are now in agreement to keep things as they are, and against their combined strength the industrial workers are powerless.

at once to want to know him, in rare even to aid him, and this, it is to be posed, is one of the results of that sc ing of the heart which, we are so told, comes with suffering. It mean any rate, that an interchange of trac crets has taken place which must the invalid speak with wider know of the class of sick men.

First, we should discourse of the sures, if there are any, of being atta by disease or decay. It is conceit that very often the Tired Business (who is here used as typical of any A can, male or female), that this overw and hunted creature may at the ou under the sharp impact of a strange even feel real relief at the surrender sponsibility, at saying in his heart t doctor and his various nurses, profess and amateur, that he is done with "carcass" that he is and that he tur over to them, to bring it back to life let it sink into forgetfulness, if they This for many may represent the freedom from care known since gro up. But it can only be indulged in pleasure when one is mentally unde spell of the great American Get-Well tem and can believe implicitly that well and safe so long as one has a doctor and a good trained nurse. I one may gradually come to doubt wh there is such a thing as a good doctor really trained nurse. But for the being here is safety.

It may gradually be borne in upor sick man's mind that this perfectly f tioning American system is not prim meant for him, but for others. The of caring for him is not altogether safety, but that of those around himpeace and security of sorrowing he watching his bedside, which other would find great difficulty in attendin business or doing their Christmas s ping. An invalid must never forge think of the happiness of others.

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its very existence to the presence in the world of illness, is enormously invigorated by there being a body of beings abjectly dependent on them and trusting in them. As for the profession of nursing, enough can never be said for the suffering human beings who have created the need for these fine, independent, hard, self-supporting women, who help to heal us at so much per day. Even sick folk must try to be reasonable and to understand why a good season for the nurse means one in which there are many pneumonia cases which, although they mean hard work, mean also quick and decisive results for better or for worse. The activities of both doctors and nurses are on the whole benign, and the ten per cent commission which until lately undertakers used to pay nurses, has gone out almost everywhere over the country.

To attack doctors and nurses is a favorite relaxation of the invalid mind, but it should be remembered that both classes have a monstrous tale to tell of the irritability and lack of decent consideration on our part; and that it is as well to remind ourselves occasionally that even a sick man may still be a gentleman. With all the irritability which is often felt at both doctors and nurses one can also have moments of being justifiably glad that the whole thing can be upon a basis of pay

ment.

A well-known man of letters was once heard threatening never again to go to his dentist, because this practitioner had had "the impertinence" to charge him less than the rich who "brought their fangs" to be filled with gold. The author was, however, so many may think, merely receiving one of the just prerequisites of fame, and many physicians, we know, feel strongly that they would be glad to be "socialized," that is, to be paid a living wage by the government for serving alike rich and poor. Invalids will sympathize often with such doctors; for there comes a time when it seems to a sick man just a little ill-bred to be too much interested in oneself, and when, in consequence, he is glad to feel under no obligation to doctor or nurse which cannot be discharged on a financial basis, as it so often only too evi

remembered, live nowadays in a not wholly friendly world. There are so many new cults which profess to make well in other than material ways that the physician must feel that, the moment his back is turned, some one will "jump out" at his charge and attack the whole science of medicine. The sick man can possibly well afford to be sorry for his doctor.

The ill know, better than any one, how distressing it can be, and how really sapping of courage, to have too many people sorry for them. At these moments the invalid can never be too grateful for the so neatly invented and so impersonal name by which he is known-the patient! Since at least the eighteenth century we impatients have been called patients, and the word has emphasized the cool aloofness in which we are placed, so that there may be no sentimentalizing over us. One can even learn to feel a certain pride of race in those of us so prostrate as to be carried to and fro; we are what are technically known to trained nurses as "stretcher-patients."

A well-known arthritic says with a certain bitter air of pleasure that he has given incredible comfort to many of his fellowsufferers from the same disease by being absolutely the worst case on record, so much worse even than any one of them is. After all, the lesson which sickness should teach is the old one, not to think of ourselves too much, but to live for the good of others. Females in good health particularly are notoriously made of a softer and more lovely character by the suffering of men under their control, made to glow too with a new color and strength. The demand upon their responsibility brings self-respect; and pity, inspired by those of the once stronger sex, makes their bloom softer. It cannot be too strongly said that if all women would only keep patients as pets, their own sweetness and beauty would be increased manifold. It has become the writer's custom of late to advise all working women with whom he comes in contact, such as chambermaids, laundresses, and so forth, never to marry unless they can get invalids as husbands. The almost universal fear seems to be that a sick man would not ha ahla

come, one may surely hope for a time when rich women will all crave and secure the luxury of patient-husbands.

There is no wish here to make sport of the sympathy and the practical kindness which women, and indeed almost all the laity or non-sick, feel for us. The oversensitive invalid would only laugh at it that he might not cry. It is good for him neither that others should pity him too much nor that he should be too sorry for himself; so here indeed the slogan probably should be "a rough regime for the patient." Yet in simple justice it should be said that, oftener than not, people do not know how to show pity for the ill because they do not quite understand how they the sick men feel. And it is hoped that through the advice to the ill and the bullying of them which shall here be indulged in, something may be seen of what it is like to be an invalid and to be forced to come to terms with life in quite a new way. Sick folk are really not the most fortunate or happiest in the world, nor are they so cross-grained and cantankerous a race as they must often seem. A plea may be made for even them.

Their poor little attempts to do something for themselves are not all the product of a proud desire to be independent and to scorn help. They may merely come from a wish, as it were, to hide their weakness and not to obtrude it indecently upon others. The sick man's desire to put on his own shirt and his trembling attempt to raise the spoon containing his cereal food to his own lips may mean a rather pathetic gallantry, a perhaps despicably bad try at waving his own banner in the breeze. But as invalid to invalids, one must tell them a few truths. There are many who almost envy us the life we lead.

Most of us have at some time in our lives longed for the quiet life, for repose, the reading of good books, peaceful talk with friends and freedom from responsibility. Now, quite against our will, much of this comes to us sick men. We should at least enjoy these things. The business man and many others will say at once that to be free from care means merely to be living in want. But want so often only means that you really must cut your coat

accustomed to such tailoring, so known in America, you may find yo not envying your spendthrift neig To discover suddenly that your inc limited and yet is perforce suffici really as relieving as to have come fortune, if to come into money wo calming. And if you ought to have money, in a way it is a comfort to that you, at least, can do nothing it. Perhaps you now realize that y married, and that to a spouse and t dren you must hand over the cha supporting you. It may also be tha like it and that you are really giving a chance for self-development. W quite seriously, it is a beautiful blessed thing that every respons given up, every effort abandone short, every renunciation made, brings us what seems wealth and fre and gives a greater chance for wisd all those around our sick-beds.

Even the regimen of the invalid all its prohibitions and limitations, have its own charm. In our drea the quiet life most of us have pro imagined bread, green vegetable spinach need apply), fruit, and a cool water from the spring, all po taken from a marble table on a t with a view of the Grecian sea. well, we have decided that ideally" a dinner of herbs-where love isthe stalled ox," etc.; and if in hea man can be so sensible, why shoul some of his wisdom last into illness

Pain is the great evil of illness. is admitted that the invalids spok here are those whose sufferings are mild (as is so often true). Acute a most intolerable torment is a matt tween the sick man and his God. problem is as old and as puzzling a of the existence of evil. About al can be said is that it is to be pres that most who are ill prefer living in to dying, and have in the secret da cesses of their souls struck the ba somehow. To write of all this too would be presumptuous and indecer is very usual with invalids to qu whether their life is worth living a conclude that it is not. This is pr ably mostly rubbish, for, to put it