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direction. The doors were opened on the fourteenth of November, 1844. It was provided with twelve cradles and a small cot. This was followed by the Creche St. Philippe du Roule, opened April 29, 1845, and by numerous others in various parts of Paris.

M. Jules Delbruck, a gentleman of Paris, has written a little volume on the subject of the Creches. It contains brief reports of the condition of these establishments in the year 1848, and from these, his own researches on the subject, his own ingenuity, and, to some extent, the Phalanx of Fourier, he has drawn a picture of a model establishment of this character, which, with the aid of his illustrations, we shall endeavor to set before our readers.

We enter from a garden the apartments of the Criche Modele, all of which are on the groundfloor. We are first introduced to the play-room. It is a lofty and well-ventilated hall. In the centre is a circular railing, formed of net-work, just high enough for an infant to reach when standing. Within this, a nurse has a group of children playing about her. The net-work keeps them in bounds, and does not hurt them if they fall against it. Outside the inclosure is a circular rail-road, in which a joyful car-load of children are propelled by two comrades, a little farther advanced in years, visitors from the neighboring infant school, one pushing, another pulling. Close to the wall, on each side, are two parallel ranges of railing similar to that in the centre. They are designed to aid the children in learning to walk,

by holding on to the rails. If they fall, they can easily pick themselves up by taking hold of the meshes of the net-work. The wall is hung with representations of familiar objects, and on each side of the door is a large cage filled with singing birds, which the children are feeding. A few toys are scattered about the floor, and we see in the little garden beyond a few nurses off duty, sewing.

A second apartment is devoted to cribs and dining-tables. Both arc designed for children from one to two years of age. The cots are, of course, for the use of the infants when tired; but it is found that, with the exception of an hour or so after the principal meal, they are little in request, the attention and consequent wakefulness of the children being secured in the play-room during the day, so that their sound sleep, as well as that of their weary mothers, is unbroken on their return at night.

The third room is designed for those whose age is reckoned only by days and months. Here we find a triple row of cradles, not on the obsolete rockers of our infant days, and which were so readily stumbled over, but suspended from a neat iron frame-work, and so arranged that part can be rocked simultaneously, and part separately. In the aisles between the cradles are net-work railings, as in the play-rooms. A small organ occupies one end of the room, whose notes will soothe the senses to repose, or gently rouse them from their rest. The idea is as old as Montaigne, whose father, he relates in the delightful gossip of his Essays, took great pains with his education, and had him awaked in the morning by strains of soft musie, merging sleeping into waking as gently as Aurora's blush dispels the shades of night.

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The nurses who are seen in these pictures in neat cap and apron, arc, of course, the all-important portions of the establishment. Of little use will be its admirable mechanical organization if these, its rulers, arc not of kindly heart, winning smile, gentle, patient, motherly endurance. M. Delbruck illustrates the needfulness of this by his statisties regarding the creches in actual operation. The uniform and admirable rule in each is that every infant received must be clean. If the mother has neglected the duty, the nurses must make vigorous use of the soap and water, sponges and towels provided. This sponging process fumishes M. Delbruck's test question. Do the children cry when sponged? If they do, he sets the fault down as much to the nurse's hand as to the sponge or child; if they do not, it is a strong proof that the nurse is gentle and kind.

These nurses are all dressed in a simple uniform of blue and white, colors which have been generally adopted at the existing creches in place of the more sombre tints, or of the appalling black of the religious orders. Those who arc familiar with the French bonne, and any one who has ever set eyes on her trim figure, set off by an always admirably-fitt«d though plain dress, and the little muslin cap which forms her only head-covering summer and winter, in-doors and out, running on

an errand around the comer, or crossing the ocean to America, will know that she is a model of neatness, and apparently of good nature. Those of the creche should be young and have pleasant faces, and such it is not difficult to find.

Blue and white are also the prevailing colors in the simple fittings up and decorations of the rooms, and of the light and simple bed-draperies. Every thing is made as cheerful and simple as possible. M. Delbruck has some excellent remarks on the religious paintings which, as is the custom in Roman Catholic countries in all charitable establishments, decorate the creche. The Crucifixion, which he finds in some of the existing establishments, he regards as a more fitting accompaniment to the maturity or the close of life than its commencement. Then, the dread import, the blessed significance of the Sacrifice can be understood—the dying man looks upon the dying Saviour. He would have the infant's eyes rest on the Holy Babe—the Child in his mother's arms— the most beautiful subject within the range of Christian art. This may be accompanied by the beautiful scene of Our Saviour calling little children unto him.

This care in the decoration of the rooms is carried out in minute but wise detail in all the arrangements. In every article of furniture rounded arc preferred to angular forms, not only as more graceful, but as protecting the infant from many contusions young flesh is heir to, in parlor as well as kitchen or garret, from sharp comers. The terminations of the little inclosed walls are semicircular for this reason, and the model crib is composed entirely of net-work, attached to an oval hoop of light iron. It is chosen not only for the superior safcty of the heads of the little outsiders, but for the comfort of its occupant, as its pliant material will allow the use of thinner and less heating mattresses. It is a matter worth noticing, that the ends of the uprights are decorated with little figures of angels, keeping their "watch and ward." M. Deibruck claims the spiral table, which is found in our picture of the crib-room, as his own invention. He presents it to us again in a somewhat modified, and, we think, improved form.

Is it not a cosy and delightful affair? Who would have planned it but a Frenchman, familiar with the snug restaurant corners, sociable tables d'hote, and comfortable salles a manger, of that city of good dinners and good digestion—Paris? Here we have dinner and digestion combined, the promenade encircling the dining-table. This happy design was the result of deliberation. M. Deibruck found, in his visits to the different creches, that the dinner-hour, instead of being, as in advanced civilized society, one of enjoyment, was a scene of discord and confusion. Children cried then who cried at no other hour. And good reason had they for doing so; as, while one was dining, seated on the nurse's lap, and fed by her with a spoon, five were waiting their tums. An obvious improvement on this state of things was to place the six around the

nurse's knees, and allow the spoon to pass in regular and impartial sequence from mouth to mouth. But there was a difficulty in the way of carrying out this. The children who needed this care were those lately weaned, and just learning to stand. Though their appetites were strong, their legs were weak, and the jar of a rude concussion of that part of the youthful frame by which appeal is usually made to the moral sentiments was caleulated to impair good digestion and good temper. Besides, who ever heard of any one, young or old, except through-by-daylight railway travelers—and even they are abandoning the bolting process—eating one's dinner standing! The obvious plan to protect the exposed portions of the tender infant frame from too sudden contact with mother earth, was by the compromise measure of a seat. This, and the accompanying table—a virtual extension of the nurse's knees—constructed, its inventor sought at once to have introduced them into the creches.

To his and our surprise, he was met by an objection, "such a thing has never been done," ergo—after a more common mode of logic in the Old than the New World—can't be done. Repeated visits and entreaties arc of no avail; but the projector, though disgusted at meeting difficulties in so small a matter, persisted, until one fine morning he met "excellent Doctor Moynier," who pointed to the wind-mills of Montmartre, with the words, "Here you will find what you want; the nurses feed several infants at once, '& la becquee,'" which, forwant of a better phrase, we translate "chicken fashion."

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M. Dclbruck, with commendable zeal, at once toils up the hill of Montmartrc, and finds there one Madame Vandervin, who makes him witness of her mode of procedure, which was to gather the children about her lap, and feed them in turn. Duly armed with precedent, our projector descends, returns, and conquers.

It is worthy of note, that the little half-moon benches arc divided by partitions into stalls. It is, no doubt, useful in securing each his due space, and avoiding cause of quarrel; but it is amusing to sec the French system of order applied on so minute a scale. This system of sialies especially is found in Paris, in every place of amusement, and in every omnibus, down to the little one drawn by four goats, which runs, with juvenile passengers, up and down the Champs Elysees.

It must be borne in mind that the institution we have described is the model, not the actual creche. It is, however, in its main features, founded on fact; the garden, the cage of singing-birds, the uniform of the nurses, and one or two other subordinate, although important matters, being all that distinguishes most of the institutions in operation from the standard we have presented. These could be added, with the exception, perhaps, of the garden, at inconsiderable expense.

Charles Lamb, in one of his Essays, gives a picture of the children of the poor, drawn in darker colors than it seems to us needful to use in treating the same topic here. Among the extremely destitute, however, of our large cities, the sketch may, we fear, be often realized.

"' Poor people,' said a sensible old nurse to us once, 'do not bring up their children; they drag them up.' The little careless darling of the wealthier nursery, in their hovel is transformed betimes into a premature reflecting person. No one has time to dandle it, no one thinks it worth while to coax it, to soothe it, to toss it up and down, to humor it. There is none to kiss away its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. It has been prettily said that 'a babe is fed with milk and praise.' But the aliment of this poor babe was thin, unnourishing—the return to its little baby tricks, and efforts to engage attention, bitter, ceaseless objurgation. It never had a toy, or knew what a coral meant. It grew op without the lullaby of nurses; it was a stranger to the patient fondle, the hushing caress, the attractive



novelty, the costlier plaything, or the cheaper offhand contrivance to divert the child, the prattled nonsense (best sense to it), the wise impertinences, the wholesome lies, the apt story interposed, that puts a stop to present sufferings, and awakens the passions of young wonder. It was never sung to ; no one ever told to it a tale of the nursery. It was dragged up, to live or die as it happened. It had no young dreams—it broke at once into the iron realities of life. A child exists not for the very poor as any object of dalliance; it is only another mouth to be fed, a pair of little hands to be betimes inured to labor. It is the rival, till it can be the co-operator, for food with the parent. It is never his mirth, his diversion, his solace: it never makes him young again, with recalling his young times. The children of the very poor have no young times."

How happy a contrast does the creche present to this sad, though exquisitely touched picture! There, as the statisties of these institutions prove, the child is happy and contented. It has its cheap little toys, and better amusement in play-fellows of its own age. If it cries, its wants are relieved, its troubles soothed; if it is tired, it is gently sung and swung to sleep. Its mother may come to nurse it, or if she do not, others will supply the kindly office of providing nourishment. Its chances of life are as good, the statisties show, as those of children brought up at home in affluence, and it is probably quite as happy. The parental tie is not weakened, for it is only at the hours when it can not be supplied that the creche proffers its aid.

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TTTITHOUT wishing to disparage the youth of TM other nations, I think a well-bred English lad has this advantage over them, that his bearing is commonly more modest than theirs. He does not assume the taileoat and the manners of manhood too early: he holds his tongue, and listens to his elders: his mind blushes as well as his cheeks: he does not know how to make bows and pay compliments like the young Frenchman; nor to contradict his seniors as I am informed American striplings do. Boys who learn nothing else at our public schools, leam at least good manners, or what we consider to be such—and, with regard to the person at present under consideration, it is certain that all his acquaintances, excepting perhaps his dear cousin Barnes Newcome, agreed in considering him as a very frank, manly, modest, and agreeable young fellow. My friend Warrington found a grim pleasure in his company; and his bright face, droll humor, and kindly laughter, were always weleome in our chambers. Honest Fred Bay ham was charmed to be in his society; and used pathetically to aver that he himself might have been such a youth, had he been blest with a kind father to watch, and good friends to guide, his early career. In fact, Fred was by far the most didactic of Clive's bachelor acquaintances, pursued the young man with endless advice and sermons, and held himself up as a warning to Clive, and a touchmg example of the evil consequences of early idleness and dissipation. Gentlemen of much higher rank in the world took a fancy to the lad. Captain Jack Belsize, introduced him to his own mess, as also to the Guard dinner at St. James's; and my Lord Kew invited him to Kewbury, his Lordship's house in Oxfordshire, where Clive enjoyed hunting, shooting, and plenty of good company. Mrs. Neweome groaned in spirit when she heard of these proceedings; and feared, feared very much that that unfortunate young man was going to ruin; and Barnes Neweome amiably disseminated reports among his family that the lad was plunged in all sorts of debaucheries: that * Continued {torn the May Number.

he was tipsy every night: that he was engaged, in his sober moments, with dice, the turf, or worse amusements: and that his head was so turned by living with Kew and Belsize, that the little rascal's pride and arrogance were perfectly insufferable. Ethel would indignantly deny these charges; then perhaps credit a few of them; and she looked at Clive with melancholy eyes when he came to visit his aunt; and I hope prayed that Heaven might mend his wicked ways. The truth is, the young fellow enjoyed life, as one of his age and spirit might be expected to do; but he did very little harm, and meant less; and was quite unconscious of the reputation which his kind friends were making for him.

There had been a long-standing promise that Clive and his father were to go to Neweome at Christmas: and I dare say Ethel proposed to reform the young prodigal, if prodigal he was, for she busied herself delightedly in preparing the apartments which they were to inhabit during their stay—speculated upon it in a hundred pleasant ways, putting off her visit to this pleasant neighbor, or that pretty scene in the vicinage, until her uncle should come and they should be enabled to enjoy the excursion together. And before the arrival of her relatives, Ethel, with one of her young brothers, went to see Mrs. Mason; and introduced herself as Colonel Neweome's niece; and came back charmed with the old lady, and eager once more in defense of Clive (when that young gentleman's character happened to be called in question by her brother Bames), for had she not seen the kindest letter, which Clive had written to old Mrs. Mason, and the beautiful drawing of his father on horseback and in regimentals, waving his sword in front of the gallant —th Bengal Cavalry, which the lad had sent down to the good old woman ?—He could not be very bad, Ethel thought, who was so kind and thoughtful for the poor. His father's son could not be altogether a reprobate. When Mrs. Mason, seeing how good and beautiful Ethel was, and thinking in her heart, nothing could be too good or beautiful for Clive, nodded her kind old head at Miss Ethel, and said she should like to find a husband for her—Miss Ethel blushed, and looked handsomer than ever; and at home, when she was describing the interview, never mentioned this part of her talk with Mrs. Mason.

But the enfant terrible young Alfred did: announcing to all the company at dessert, that Ethel was in love with Clive—that Clive was coming to marry her—that Mrs. Mason, the old woman at Neweome, had told him so.

"I daresay she has told the tale all over Newcome !" shrieked out Mr. Bames. "I daresay it will be in the Independent next week. By Jove, it's a pretty connection—and nice acquaintances this uncle of our's brings us!" A fine battle ensued upon the receipt and discussion of this intelligence: Barnes was more than usually bitter and sarcastic: Ethel haughtily recriminated, losing her temper, and then her firmness, until, fairly bursting into tears, she taxed Bames with meanness and malignity in forever uttering stories to

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