thick rope, with the help of a comrade, and the price is two francs for each hogshead.  In my own country, I am a labourer, and do everything relating to the cultivation of the ground.  I root up the trees; I saw them into several lengths; I split the wood; pile it up to dry; then load it on mules, and carry it to the house to be burned; afterwards I mow the hay and corn; carry the corn into the barn (shrug), and the hay also; thrash the corn, and put it away into the granary; from whence they take it out by little and little to have it ground and to make bread.  I prune the vines.’  Here the commissionaire gives an account of the whole process of wine-making, in which he is an adept; and then goes on to explain how he is employed as a spy on families and others, all in the way of business.  He ends with saying that trade is dull, and blames the revolution of 1848 for ruining his employment—­for why?  ’Everybody is afraid of the future.  Everybody is economical; everybody is hiding, hoarding, or saving his money, because he knows that affairs cannot continue as they are, that sooner or later there will be another revolution.’  Such a country!  The revolution thus anticipated has taken place.  By relieving the Parisians from the fears of a social upbreak—­a universal sack of property—­for that was preying on their minds—­the grand coup of Louis Napoleon will doubtless set money afloat, and restore occupation to the humbler classes—­the real sufferers by revolutions.

The curious thing about all the revolutions and coups that have ever taken place in France is, that they never give the slightest particle of real liberty to the people; and, what is equally surprising, the people do not know what liberty is.  It is a thing they talk about, and paint over doorways, but further they go not.  When, in 1848, a mob was suffered to assume supreme authority, it might have been anticipated that the very first thing they would do would be to turn the whole police system about its business and destroy its records.  No such thing.  The triumphant insurrectionists, complaining of tyranny, were as tyrannical as anybody; they retained the obnoxious system of passports, and kept up the usual routine of police administration, spies and all.  The truth appears to be, that the French cannot comprehend the idea of social organisation without a minute machinery of management and interference.  Society in England, where people may speak and do pretty much what they like, go here and go there without leave asked, and set up any business anywhere as suits their fancy—­is anarchy, a chaos, according to French notions.  Sir Francis inclines to the belief that a system of government interference and regulation, as in France, is an advantage, because it protects society against some gross abuses—­such as the indiscriminate sale of medicines, want of sanitary arrangements, the open spectacle of vice, and so forth.  True this, in some respects, and we could wish for a little