ance. In France, as in most old countries, few
people expect to change their condition in life. Once a servant, always
a servant. It is common for parents in humble life to apprentice their
children to some branch of domestic service, satisfied if they become
excellent in their vocation, and win at length the distinctions and
promotions which belong to it.

Lady Morgan, who visited Paris several years ago, relates an anecdote or
two showing how intelligent some French servants are. She was walking
along the Quai Voltaire, followed by her French lackey, when he suddenly
came to her side and, pointing to a house, said:--

"There, madam, is a house consecrated to genius. There died Voltaire--in
that apartment with the shutters closed. There died the first of our
great men; perhaps also the last."

On another occasion the same man objected to a note which she had
written in the French language.

"Is it not good French, then?" asked the lady.

"Oh, yes, madam," replied he; "the French is very good, but the style is
too cold. You begin by saying, You _regret_ that you cannot have the
pleasure. You should say, I am _in despair_."

"Well, then," said Lady Morgan, "write it yourself."

"You may write it, if you please, my lady, at my dictation, for as to
reading and writing, they are branches of my education which were
totally neglected."

The lady remarks, however, that Paris servants can usually read very
well, and that hackmen, water-carriers, and porters may frequently be
seen reading a classical author while waiting for a customer.

A very remarkable case in point is Marie-Antoine Careme, whom a French
writer styles, "one of the princes of the culinary art." I suppose that
no country in the world but France could produce such a character. Of
this, however, the reader can judge when I have briefly told his story.

He was born in a Paris garret, in 1784, one of a family of fifteen
children, the offspring of a poor workman. As soon as he was old enough
to render a little service, his father placed him as a garcon in a cheap
and low restaurant, where he received nothing for his labor except his
food.

This was an humble beginning for a "prince." But he improved his
disadvantages to such a degree that, at the age of twenty, he entered
the kitchen of Talleyrand. Now Prince Talleyrand, besides being himself
one of the daintiest men in Europe, had to entertain, as minister of
foreign affairs, the diplomatic corps, and