The next Sunday it was Granada, and a fête day. In the morning the markets were crowded with buyers; women sitting on the ground with heaps of copper coins piled on the ground, without guard (or need of any), other than the common honesty of the common people; veritable money-changers in the market-place. The publichouses were full of people, but for coffee, not spirits; the talking incessant, the noise considerable, but no disturbance, no quarrelling. In the afternoon the chief streets looked almost as quiet as Oxford Street. A row of stalls was being set up in the chief square, and in the same square we saw a huge heap of earthenware presided over by a woman, while a man (presumably her husband) was selling, or rather trying to sell, very small bits of paper, which proved to be tickets for a lottery, the earthenware being the prizes, to be awarded at night. In the market-place we had seen in the morning two very fat pigs, driven about by a man who was selling tickets for another lottery, of which the pigs were to be the prizes; in the afternoon the same two pigs were lying in the grand square completely exhausted, the man still trying to sell tickets. We walked in the evening to the Alhambra through streets as quiet as any in London; the few shops that were open being quite devoid of any appearance of business. We dined off cold bread, and meat, and oranges, on the slopes of the Sierra Nevada, looking down upon the Alhambra, and even on the Generalife, and saw two men building a wall at the cemetery, and a man and two mules collecting stones for them to build with.

Another Sunday, and we are at Barcelona; again a fête day, when much extra trade in specialities might be expected. In the morning the same busy markets, the same crowded churches, the same noise, and the same freedom from disturbance of any kind. In the afternoon the same absence of business and crowded streets. Three o'clock performances at two theatres, a circus, two panoramas, and a small boat, thirty feet long, in which two men, one a Swede, the other an American (born at Bath, and brought up at Nottingham, in England), had crossed the Atlantic, then made up the public attractions in day-time. Here we came into collision with the authorities at the Post-office, who declared my passport, ten years old, to be out of date. The British Consul explained that, as nothing lasted ten years in Spain, an English passport ten years old must of necessity seem to be out of date. In the evening we crossed the frontier, having very few fellow-travellers, the journey being quiet to tediousness, which is not the usual characteristic of Spanish third-class railway journeys. In all my Continental journeying I travelled third class.

In Rome, Naples, Venice, Milan, the same appearance of decreasing Sunday work and trading. At Naples I saved ten shillings by finding a bank open on Sunday; but there was no clerk and no appearance of business. A most obliging English lady was apparently the

only person on the premises, and we settled the value of a five-pound note by finding a newspaper, and from it the exchange of the day. We differed in our computation, but I had to accept hers, which was the higher of the two. The hotel-keeper would take the note only at its nominal value, desiring to profit by the very large exchange, on the plea that he was 'an hotel-keeper, not a banker.'

6

In Berlin I spent one of the busiest and the dreariest of my foreign Sundays; so dreary was it that I resolved the next Sunday should be under the shade of my own trees, whatever had to be given up. Coming after so many other Sundays in so many other towns, possibly Berlin had not a fair trial. In the morning I watched the shops opening one by one, the men going about with beer and paraffin on long drays; by mid-day the closing was as general as the early opening, and more prompt. In the afternoon the closing was complete. The streets, museums, and park full of people, occupied with the eternal walking about' which seems to be the one great means of getting rid of Sunday. The only opera amongst all the theatres was at the Wilhelm Theatre, on my way to which I passed two beer-gardens. The first, at four o'clock, was beginning to fill. A large open space, almost completely filled with square wooden tables, each having six chairs. At one end a large bar, at one side a large toy stall. At the other end a large room in which at intervals conjuring tricks, of a somewhat commonplace character, were exhibited. To this an entrance fee of about one penny was charged. Besides the few gas lamps there were rows of lanterns decorated by rough coloured engravings, all vigorous, some a little broad in character. Men, women, and endless groups of children gradually filled the place.

The Wilhelm Theatre is in one of the long, apparently endless, streets that branch out of Berlin, gradually changing from town to suburban character. It is built on part of a garden, the remainder of which has a broken-down character, suggesting the idea of what a well-kept small private garden might become in a year or so if left utterly untended. The opera was 'Trovatore,' with a chorus of ten and an orchestra of eight. At the end of each act the audience went out into the garden until a bell rang to give notice of the next. The second act was compressed into twelve minutes, and the audience evidently expected more of it, for no one stirred. A notice, End of the Act,' rose out of the stage, and in two minutes the exodus was complete. Each time the entire audience went out in less than two minutes and refilled the house in less than three. The eating and drinking was more of the kind we see at the Crystal Palace-not hasty drinking at a bar, but leisurely eating and drinking at a table. The waiter in a few seconds would cover a table with a cloth, knives and forks, plates, &c., and the audience had a series of little meals between the acts, while the others walked about until the bell rang.

6

Let us take a wider view still, beyond the limits of Western

1

Europe, which is too often considered as if it were the world, or at least a fair representation of the world as a whole.

St. Petersburg has several museums, art galleries, and libraries ; some open on Sunday, but none to any extent used by the artisan or poorer classes, whose recreations are usually of a more festive character, in which drinking, if not drunkenness, plays an important part, especially on Sundays and Saints'-days, when there is considerable trading but little skilled labour. There are some dozen newspapers, but the poorer classes are too illiterate to read them. Moscow has six museums, three having libraries attached, all open on Sunday, either free or for a nominal fee; but the artisan and poorer classes but rarely go to them, their amusements being chiefly drinking; and on Sundays, Mondays, and holidays there is considerable drunkenness. Sunday is the chief trading day for the poorer classes, for whom on that day quasi-fairs are held: there is also much skilled labour on Sundays, especially in the forenoon.

At Odessa the religious feeling is stronger, and there is no work on Sundays or feast days; but the extent of religious feeling is not sufficient to prevent drunkenness, which is very prevalent, especially on Sundays. A few of the better shops are closed on Sunday, but the greater number are open after noon. The only museum and library is used by students, men and women, but by them only. All the Government offices are closed on Sunday, the only labour being the carting of grain in the port. Every Jewish shop is closed, as in England, from sunset on Friday until sunset on Saturday. There are five newspapers in Russian and two in German.

Drinking in Russia is not quite the same as in England; a man may be a drunkard in Russia and yet not neglect his business or his family or forfeit the respect of his neighbours. During the week he will be a steady hardworking man, careful of his family; but on Sunday he will regularly get drunk; systematic Sunday drunkenness has not fallen, or risen, into daily tippling. In winter the tea and grog shops (spirits are sold in tea shops) are very attractive, being always warm, having usually singing and always a large organ, such as may be seen and heard at the café near the North Station at Brussels. Drunken men and women are often seen and usually afford amusement to the passers-by; but it is exceedingly rare for a Jew to be seen drunk.

Turning to Roumania, in Bucharest there is one public museum, open on Thursday and Sunday; and on the latter day very largely attended by the poorer classes, who have it, then, nearly to themselves. Large numbers of peasants come in from the country, and behave extremely well. In town the other means of recreation are not numerous; still there is little drunkenness, and not more than usual on Sunday. In the country there is dancing in the open air. Sunday trading is extensively carried on, but skilled labourers and

Christian shopkeepers limit very much the amount of their work on Sunday. There are twelve newspapers: two French, one German, one Greek, one Hebrew, and seven Roumanian, the latter being much read by the natives of all classes.

It is interesting to notice the comparatively high intellectual tone of Roumania, especially when considering Russia on one side and Turkey on the other. In the latter we have the same polyglot newspaper literature; Constantinople having many periodicals in Turkish, Greek, Armenian, French, and English. Art-gallery there is none: an imperial museum, very difficult of access, is not of great service; and there is a library belonging to a mechanics' institute. The chief recreation is found in excursions on the Bosphorus in fine weather. In Stamboul there is no drunkenness worth notice; in Pera there is a little, chiefly amongst the Greeks and English sailors. The Christian Sunday, the Jewish Sabbath, the Ottoman holyday, Friday, is each very fairly observed.

At Adrianople, the observance of Sunday, as in all non-Protestant countries, is limited to church-going in the early morning, abstinence from labour, and pleasure-seeking. The population contains Mussulmans, Jews, and Christians of the Greek, Armenian, and Roman Catholic Churches; so there are, as in Constantinople, Friday for the Mohammedans, Saturday for the Jews, and Sunday for the Christians. There is no art-gallery, no museum; the Greeks have a poorly furnished library, chiefly of Greek works, open every day. The present generation of artisans and poorer classes have but little in the way of intellectual recreation, but the next generation will be more fortunate, for the Greeks all over Turkey are making great and successful efforts in the way of public instruction, and their efforts are readily seconded by the parents. On Sunday the Christians saunter about, cracking nuts, smoking, singing; some of them get drunk. The Jewish Sabbath is spent in much the same way, excepting the smoking and drunkenness, for with them to light a cigarette would be a desecration of the holyday, and drunkenness is unknown. All Mohammedan shops are closed on Friday, all Jewish shops on Saturday; on Sunday some Christians do a little business in confectionary and fruit. The only newspaper is a Government one, in Turkish and Greek, about as popularly known as the London Gazette is in London.

In Persia Friday is a general holiday, not a sabbath; shops are generally closed, and the amount of skilled labour is decreasing on that day. Drunkenness is very small in extent. Public museums, galleries, or libraries do not exist; three newspapers in Teheran are very little read by the poorer classes. Government officials have half-holiday on Monday, corresponding to our Saturday.

Returning to Europe, at Salonica there are no museums or art galleries; there are three libraries, one belonging to the Jewish com

munity, one to a Greek literary club, and the third to a European club. These libraries are open daily until sunset. The weekly holyday is a term requiring definition in a population composed of Levantines and Europeans (included under the term Franks), besides Jews, Turks, and Greeks; but the population, varied as it is, is not remarkable for high culture, the libraries being quite unused by the poorer classes, owing to their inability to read, their chief amusements being the inevitable 'walking about' in the streets or su-b urban roads. Drunkenness is almost unknown, at any time. Sunday trading is general, as on other days, but some kind of compensation is offered by Saturday being a comparatively idle day. Skilled labour is almost as general on Sunday as on other days.

Going a little south, to Patras, we find the same complete absence of museum, art-gallery, or library, the shops open on Sunday because of the number of peasants who do not wish to lose a working day in marketing in town, but skilled labour almost unknown on Sunday. The chief Sunday recreation is drinking and smoking, tobacco being very cheap, but no drunkenness is to be seen in the streets. A band plays in the public square every Sunday, and the public attends in large numbers. Sometimes a dramatic or operatic company comes, and the prices in the cheaper parts are so low that the poorer classes are able to pay them. Newspapers are fairly read by the poorer classes.

In the New World we have greater freedom from the traditions and survivals of early ages. In Boston, the literary capital of the United States, there is a museum of fine arts, having an average attendance of 50 daily, excepting Saturday and Sunday, when it is about 1,100. There is also a natural history museum, with an average attendance of 400 on free days, twice weekly. The public library and art-museum are open on Sunday; there are Sunday bands and excursions, all contrary to existing statutes, but supported by public opinion, and especially by the press. There is no trading or skilled labour except, in the former, medicine, milk, and cooked food, and, in the latter, any special work of immediate necessity. Newspapers are numerous, of wide circulation, and read by all classes, yet every day there will be about forty people locked up for drunkenness, the average on Sunday being less, about thirty-five. The public library is the largest of the kind in the world, the library staff numbering 150 persons.

In New York there is one museum and art-gallery and several libraries, all but two closed on Sunday. The artisan class, but not the labouring class, use them to some extent. On Sunday the general resort of both artisan and labourer is the park, or the beer-garden in the suburbs. This is true more of the German than the Irish part of the population, the latter being more of a stay-at-home character, and seldom getting farther than the streets near their homes. Sacred