To this I replied giving both the French and English regulations as to marriage, and I heard no more of the case. I am sorry to say that during my chaplaincy there were several sad cases of desertion after mixed marriages (French and English); but these will be more easily dealt with under “The difficulties of English people abroad.” The calls of anxious parents to meet girls coming abroad to situations, and to look after them, and requests to find French families where young men and maidens could be placed for education in the language, and enquiries as to schools, pensions, and hotels, were a pleasant though constant part of every day’s work. A list of reliable abodes was kept, and one had the satisfaction of being able to be of real service in this way to hundreds of one’s fellow countrymen, who without good advice too often get into difficulties. One rather frequent call upon the services of the chaplain, in the earlier part of my work in Paris, is happily no longer necessary. We frequently got urgent letters and telegrams from India to look after people who had been bitten by snakes, dogs, a jackal, etc., and were hastening to France to put themselves under the Pasteur treatment; and with some the experiences were very painful, as they arrived too late for the cure to be successful. Now happily our Government has provided a similar institution in India, so that those who need it can be immediately attended to. This splendid institution in Paris is, however, well worth the attention of visitors. There were occasionally English people in Paris suffering from mental disease—not sufficiently insane to be placed under control, but yet ill enough to cause considerable trouble. Upon one occasion a man came to me and gave me a sealed packet, telling me it contained a most important document, and it was not to be opened unless I heard of his death. His manner made me think it might be of real importance, and he did not strike me as insane. Some years after I heard of his death, and opened the packet, and found it contained only torn pieces of paper with no writing upon them. One poor lady who lived in Paris during the whole of my stay there, frequently wrote me letters—literally yards long—some of them must have taken her many hours to write. Yet on many points she was sane enough, and was engaged for years in teaching English to the French, both privately and in classes.