refuse to acknowledge and claim not to be bound by. Monsieur Alloy says of the last that they are now what they were eighteen centuries ago. Their bodies are in irons, but their souls are flying over the fields of the past, and their thoughts are beneath the folds of their tents with their families and their beloved steeds. A slow and painless disease gradually destroys them. They pass the day sitting crouched together, with their sheet rolled round their head and hanging down in the form of a bernous; and they have altogether the appearance of men lying in ambuscade and hiding their muskets from the chance of discovery. Distinguished from the other prisoners, they are always alone with their thoughts and their distant country; practising no game nor inventing any resources to help them through the sunless valley of their destiny. "If (says the author) they ever call up even a bitter smile, it is when you awake in them the memory of the desert. It has sometimes occurred to me to pronounce distinctly the name of their favourite dish, couscoussou, and straightway they would fall into transports of joy like so many children." It would be in vain to subject the Arab forçat to the rules of the penal labour of the prison. The Government exercises a proper compassion towards this class of prisoners. They are left to undisturbed repose, and at the hour of evening prayer these outcast Arabs are heard to mingle in their grateful orisons the names of those who have alleviated their hard destiny by some touches of compassion.

Another distinctive class at Toulon is to be seen in the natives of Corsica, of whom there are many in the prison, of all classes, but generally for one crime-that of murder. Such are the fruits of the Vendetta or family feud, which runs through long centuries and which never really ends. A man is shot, perhaps, accidentally. It is the duty of his kinsman to take the life of one of the family of the slaver. This is done even after long waiting for, and, thenceforth, the Vendetta is established in full force. We will suppose that the murderer of the original, innocent, slaver is condemned to the gallies. Forthwith, a kinsman of the last-named watches his opportunity: he may find it in a week or he may not be able to profit by it for years; but, when found, he never fails to avail himself of it, and he takes the life of one of the family of that murderer who is in irons at Toulon for having killed the first and innocent cause of all this sanguinary evil. This last assassin is also captured, tried, and condemned to the gallies for life, where he may chance to find himself fettered for the remainder of his days with his foe: each of them has

slain the kinsman of the other, and between them there must be a companionship and exchange of suffering and cruelty, in comparison with which the scaffold must be mercy and the passage to it a joy. They know, too, that the feud does not terminate with them; but that upon the blood-relation of one lies the next duty of this strange system of murder. The attempt to check this sanguinary and systematic course of violence by the guillotine has entirely failed it only created more victims. But for one circumstance the island would, ere this, have been decimated; but, fortunately, though the hatred be intense, love is stronger or more potent still. Should affection spring up between two young hearts belonging to opposing factions the Vendetta is suspended. Reconciliation is talked of; and, if mutual consent be given and the insular Montagues and Capulets shake hands and say "Aye" to the bridal, the bloody feud dies away for ever beneath the warmth of the benison of the Church. Amid the darkness, therefore, there is sunlight: where there is despair there is also hope: all is not wailing, for an accent of gladness rises clear above the cry for revenge and the shriek when it is accomplished. The footsteps of the fiend have not, therefore, obliterated the traces of the divinity, and man is saved by tasting of the healing fountain of a heaven-born love.

i

We find ourselves drawing towards our allotted limits; but we most not close our imperfect record before saying a word or two touching the religious superintendence observed in the Bagnes. The author says little of that followed at Brest and Rochefort. He contents himself with generally complimenting the self-denying priests and the good sisters who devote themselves to a holy and difficult mission among the dangerous and destitute population of these convict settlements. Whatever the errors of faith may be in those individuals, there is no doubt of the genuineness of their acts and intentions; and we cheerfully contribute our word of praise to those who can make surrender of the world and bury themselves within these gloomy walls for the purpose of teaching to the captive how to deserve the heavenly freedom that is established beyond the grave. M. Alloy, in treating of Toulon, goes more largely into the question, both as regards the system and the individuals carrying it out. To the Abbé Marin, the indefatigable chaplain there, he pays the tribute that appears to be due. The good abbé not only devotes himself to the spiritual improvement of the guilty prisoner, but to that of every class that stands in need of his assistance. He is a worthy successor of Vincent de Paul,

of Montes, and of Perrin. The abbé had succeeded in his office a Spanish priest attached to one of the churches in Toulon. The latter was learned and well-meaning, but he failed in working any good effects among the gangrened population of the prison. In the Abbé Marin, says the author, there is a magnetic power which, wherever he appears, excites sympathy and veneration. In describing the galley slave, M. Alloy remarks that such a man, hardened and cast away as he may be, loves prayer when he can feel love for the missionary who teaches him to pray. At first, even at the table of the Lord, there is no higher sentiment felt than a desire of imitation; and if the once refractory prisoner become calm, penitent, and pious, it is perhaps the result only of a moral force which draws him, all unconsciously, to regulate his actions by those of the priest whom he respects. The religious sentiment succeeds; but, at first, it is the sympathetic sentiment for the individual by which he is influenced. The predecessor of the Abbé Marin could never present himself to the galley slaves of Toulon without being assailed by showers of imprecations and obscene blasphemy. If he attempted to question or catechise these reprobate children, he was answered from the vocabulary of filth and slang. His personal qualities should have gained for him a better reception; but the fact is-and it is worth remembering by those who are engaged in similar delicate and difficult work at home-that he failed in manner. had zeal, but, lacking judgment, his zeal was nullified. The flock which he found hardened, guilty, impious, steeped to the lips in sin and making boast of its infamy, he left even as guilty and hopeless as he found it. The Abbé Marin succeeded to the mission and the roaring sea became tranquil; the billows sank in calmness before him and kissed the feet of the apostle who stood there to reprove sin. It is worth showing how this was done; and, perhaps, our readers generally, and our excellent gaol chaplains in particular, may smile when we say that the abbé brought in the drama to the aid of the Gospel, and thereby gave effect to his great object. It was so, nevertheless; and this is the manner in which it was done.

66

He

It is many years since Fenelon published the maximHappy is the man who can gain instruction through amusement." The maxim has since then been acted upon by an ecclesiastical author in France, named D'Exauviller, who, in the composition of his religious works, so models them as to give attraction to the solution of the most grave and elevated

questions. Some of these works are cast, if we may say so, in dialogue, the colloquists being often characters drawn from the very dregs of society. These works were, in short, tracts and spiritual dramas after the fashion of Mrs. Hannah More and similar writers; but, like these last named productions, they were not always applicable to the peculiar class and the consequent difficulties with which the chaplain of Toulon had to contend.

The first circumstance which the chaplain had to prove was the existence of God and the duty of worshipping him. Had he had to deal with untaught savages, the necessity would not have been greater of beginning the edification from the very foundations. If he had commenced by establishing a pulpit, and in surplice or gown had addressed his ferocious audience with fervid eloquence upon the truths of the Gospel, his biblical language would, probably, not have been more satisfactorily received and responded to than was that of his predecessor. But he proceeded in a different course, and constructed his little dramas for his peculiar audience :--

"The chaplain got together as many copies of each as there were persons in the drama. He then entered one of the halls, and after reading aloud the introductory portion of his book, which generally led to the narrative of some historical anecdote, he named the parts, such as M. Dumont, mayor of a village, witty but sceptical Thomas Peter, &c. all inhabitants of some rural district where religion was as much neglected as morality was unknown. He then made selection of the most intelligent convicts who could read, and it being a question of amusement there was no difficulty on this head. Each of the readers received a copy. The abbé reserved one for himself as also a character in the play, which was, in every case, the cure of the village. He intimated to the convict, to whom was assigned the part of the personage who opened the drama, to begin. The conviet soon learned to assume the tone appropriate to the part he was appointed to represent. The second convict fell into the dialogue and imitated his companion. The scene was played with zeal and intelligence, while the crowded audience of prisoners sat around and listened with an eager curiosity. The subject was grave and important, but it was treated in a familiar way and in popular expression; and when the reasoning sceptic, who heaped argument upon argument against all that was advanced by the cure of the village, was at the end of his objections, and was fairly beaten by the truths revealed to him by the priest, a round of applause and shouts of bravo broke from the audience, and the triumph of the part assumed by the Abbé Marin was complete."

The convicts took such delight in this species of instruction that there was quite a competition for the possession of

parts. The chaplain varied his pieces, and thenceforward his presence became a desire to the condemned. It was here that he recognised the opportunity which he had longed for and which he was not slow to seize; and, in his conversations and conferences with his "poor criminals," he improved upon the foundation which he had laid by his dramas. The results were satisfactory, and the gratitude of those for whose benefit such result was accomplished was unbounded. We will cite one instance of how it was manifested:

6

"Some time ago (said the Abbé Marin to me) there was among the condemned brought to Toulon a priest of the diocese of Chartres. The unhappy and guilty man dreaded the sarcasms and humiliations to which his ecclesiastical condition was probably about to expose him. In the town, the news of the arrival of a guilty priest had created a great sensation. Curiosity was aroused, and every one was eager to gain a sight of the wretched and fallen man. On alighting from the cellular carriage, the newly-arrived convict was, according to custom, put on board a galley rowed by criminals, in order to be conducted across the port to the locality assigned to the prisoners of his class. Ten couples of these convict rowers were at the oars, and all of them cast cager looks at their new companion. The galley ploughed the waves, and during the passage it was crossed by a sailing vessel crowded with a multitude who were collected together through eagerness to behold the priest. At the sight of a bark manned by convicts the passengers concluded that the priest was on board, and they bore down upon the galley, exclaiming aloud to the rowers, 'Have you not got the priest with you?' Show him to us!' The whole body of rowers suddenly and simultaneously seemed to comprehend the necessary agony of the condemned man at that momont, who was only asked for to make him the plaything of a malignant curiosity. They had compassion on his abasement; and, by a spontaneous movement and without any order to that effect, the whole body arose so as to conceal their new comrade in misery, and, with their hands pointed to a distant vessel, induced the roving crowd of curious passengers to conclude that the objeet they sought was in the far-off boat......I am persuaded, said the good Abbé Marin, that besides the sentiment of compassion which influenced them it occurred to them that what they were thus doing for a captive priest would be pleasing and acceptable to that other priest who devoted himself to the furtherance of their best interests. It was to acquit themselves of a debt of gratitude to me that these men, ordinarily scoffers and inclined to treat with derision all that is sacred, manifested a delicate charity and compassion for a fallen priest. They said to each other, This man has worn the cassock like the Abbé Marin;' and they tried to hide the spots that had fallen upon it from those who would have cried scandal! at the sight. You see, sir, added the good chaplain, that something can be made even out of these natures of which society affects to despair. And he added that, even after the priest was heavily chained and set