the water into the city is only five millions of gulden (about two millions of dollars).  It seems surprising that with this excellent opportunity at hand there should be any hesitation about accepting it.  And yet, after having been possessed of the knowledge for more than fifty years, there was only one vote in favor of the enterprise when the subject was discussed in a meeting of the municipal and medical authorities a short time ago.  The proverbial thriftiness of the German is apt to degenerate into stinginess when the object to be attained is of general rather than individual benefit; and though Munich claims a high place as an art-centre, it would take a long time to convince its citizens that three hundred millions of kreuzers are but as dust in the balance when weighed against the value to the world of Kaulbach.

One step, however, has been gained.  The urgent need of an abundant supply of good water, which is so patent a fact to all strangers visiting Munich, is beginning to dawn upon the intelligence of the community.  The connection between cause and effect was so evident during the cholera epidemic of last year that even Ignorance recognized the Law, while Superstition dared only whisper of “judgments,” and refrained from attempting to propitiate the destroying angel by religious mummeries until it was certain that his wrath was nearly spent.  But it is to be feared that, taking counsel of penuriousness, an attempt will be made to utilize certain sources which have recently been discovered near the city, and which are not only insufficient, but impure, instead of bringing, once for all, a full supply for every purpose from the neighboring mountain lake.

The dragon that haunted the soil of Munich in the old days is still poisoning the springs and the atmosphere with his pestilent breath, nor can he be tempted forth to his destruction until he shall see his reflection mirrored in fountains of pure water.

E.

AMONG THE BLOUSARDS.

When the miserables of the horrible and fascinating old Paris that people used to read about in the works of Eugene Sue and the elder Dumas were drawn into the streets of modern Paris by the ragings of the last revolution, people asked, “Where did these dreadful creatures come from?” Not only did the well-to-do citizen of Paris, who has his habitudes, and never departs from them, and knows nothing outside of them, ask this question, but the American or English tourist who was caught in Paris at the moment asked it.  These frightful creatures were not Parisians, surely?  Parisians!  Why the very word is redolent of ess. bouquet!  The well-to-do citizen, sipping his black coffee after dinner in his favorite corner on the Boulevard, explained that they came from the provinces—­“Oui, they were provincials, these miserables” And the tourist knew no better than the citizen where the Communist demon