the exchequer from this somewhat curi- twenty years is the item for the year

ous source. Before going, however, into any figures in this respect, it may be well to look back some years, with the object of seeing whether the custom can be traced of people adopting the practice of unburdening their conscience in matters of taxation by means of the payment of conscience money into the public exchequer.

1892. To assign any reason for this great decline, or, in fact, for the decline of the last five years, is a well-nigh impossible task. Can it be due to the fact that the public conscience is less tender now than it was, say, in the year 1860, or may the shrinkage in revenue from this source be due to the greater energy displayed by the income tax assessors of the present day? Whatever the explanation is, there can be little doubt that many persons in this country, although having no desire to evade the payment of income tax, feel that by making their true income

According to Hone, £360 was carried to the public account in the year 1789 in consequence of the receipt of the following note by the chancellor of the exchequer of that time. "SIR-You will herewith receive bank-notes to the amount of £360, which is the property | known to the authorities they are mak. of the nation; and which, as an honest man, you will be so just as to apply to the use of the State in such a manner that the nation may not suffer by its having been detained from the public treasury. You are implored to do this for the ease of conscience to an honest man."

ing it "public property; " and this is especially the case with tradesmen, who fear the knowledge of their income reaching the ears of their competitors in business; hence recourse may sometimes be had to the payment of conscience money.

A somewhat amusing example of the The earliest public notice of the re- power of conscience may be cited in ceipt of such revenue appears to have which the proprietors of Punch are been made in the Times in the year reported to have received threepence 1842, the form of acknowledgment dif- in conscience money from an anonyfering but little from the present form. mous correspondent, who is said to The laconic announcement runs as fol- have surreptitiously read lows: "The chancellor of the ex-number of Punch from the various chequer acknowledges the receipt of pages displayed in the shop front in £40 from some person unknown, as conscience money.”

an entire

Fleet Street. Such an instance of the unburdening of the conscience is only It is not until the year 1855 that the equalled, perhaps, by the story told of amounts received as conscience money a fellow of Pythagoras, who, it is reappear under any separate heading in lated, had bought a pair of shoes from the public accounts; since that time, a cobbler, for which he promised to however, the total amount received pay him on a future day. He went each year has duly appeared as a sepa- with his money on the day appointed, rate item. The following figures, from but found that the cobbler had in the which the shillings and pence are interval departed this life. Without omitted, will give some idea of the saying anything of his errand, he withamounts that have from time to time drew, secretly rejoicing at the opportu been received: 1855, £1,895; 1860, nity thus unexpectedly afforded him £16,488; 1865, £7,184; 1870, £7,132; of gaining a pair of shoes for noth1875, £2,688; 1880, £5,801; 1881, ing. His conscience, however, says £6,202; 1882, £5,346; 1883, £6,614; Seneca, would not suffer him to remain 1884, £3,127; 1885, £9,234; 1886, quiet under such an act of injustice; £6,565; 1887, £2,288; 1888, £950; so, taking up the money, he returned 1889, £635; 1890, £1,588; 1891, £1,834; to the cobbler's shop, and casting in 1892, £253. the money, said: "Go thy ways; for It will thus be observed that the though he is dead to all the world, yet lowest amount recorded during the last he is alive to me."

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From The Quarterly Review.
THE CONCIERGERIE.1

ciergerie du Palais de Paris. It was, in old times, a prison forming part ENGLISH visitors to the French cap- of the palace of the kings of France; ital have often gazed with interest at and, as in the case of our own Tower, the round towers, conical spires, and palace and prison were Siamese twins. long stone façade of the oldest and Turning to the right out of the courtmost memorable prison of Paris, and yard, the guide unlocks a heavy door, felt a strong desire to visit the interior descends a few steps, and ushers the of the famous Conciergerie. In Sep- visitor into the noble old guard-room of tember, 1893—the centenary year of the palace of the kings. Here everythe most blood-stained period in the thing is mediæval in character. Colexistence of the prison - a student of umns rise from the stone floor and the Revolution obtained from the Pré- spread themselves out into vaulted, fecture de Police a card of admission groined, springing arches extending to which enabled him to gratify a long- the roof. The place stands silent and cherished wish. With some little ex- empty. It is one that appears to recitement our student stood upon the quire fulness of life; but there is now Quai de l'Horloge, between the great no clash of arms, no glint of armor; round towers, called la tour de César no groups of armed soldiers throng the and la tour d'Argent. Until 1864 the floor between the gracefully stalwart waters of the Seine washed the foot columns; and no voices are echoed by of the iron walls and the bases of the the shadowy, vaulted roof. Over a massive towers; but now both walls stone wall which rises to about the and towers rise out of the pavement of height of a man's chin, the eye looks a tolerably broad quai which extends into the cuisines de Saint-Louis, so between the quiet river and the pictur- called, and into bare hearths and cold esque old prison. The visitor stops fire-places. The guard-chamber is picbefore a large iron doorway, which turesque and imposing in its stately contains a small door, furnished with architecture, and vividly suggests visun petit Judas, through which the jan- ions of the state and splendor of that itor can inspect him. He rings a heavy bell which, to the fancy, seems to sound with a hollow, sepulchral tone; and then the lesser door is opened, and a French jailer appears. The present functionary - who bends over the order of admission is a man of about fifty, short, moderately stout, with iron grey hair, a sallow face, and little hard eyes which look about suspiciously. The student raises the foot and bows the head as he enters through the little door, and finds himself in a dark courtyard. The wish of years is fulfilled at last, and he actually stands within that Conciergerie which holds so grim a place in history, in romance, and in terrible human tragedy.

feudal royalty which needed ample military watch and guard. Time, which changes so many things, has given up the old palace of the kings to become a palace of justice. Palace and prison were rebuilt by King Robert (10311060), and Saint Louis and Philippe le Bel greatly enlarged the stately edifice; but, in the Conciergerie, one lingers almost impatiently over the relics of feudalism, eager to begin to see all that is still left of the great prison of the French Revolution. The connection of the Conciergerie with the Revolutionary Tribunal, and with its many victims, is the dominant fact in the history of the prison. We are disposed to neglect its criminals in favor of its victims; and yet the two towers at the entrance contained the dungeons of Ravaillac and of Damiens. These two criminals were tortured, as were others, in the tour de Bon-Bec, dite la Bavarde, dite aussi tour de Saint-Louis.

Their dungeons in the two main towers | Robespierre, of Madame Roland, of are now used as prison offices; and André Chénier, of Madame du Barry, the cabinet du directeur is in the tour de and of other famous prisoners. The César. cells of the old Conciergerie were occuThe Revolutionary Tribunal was in-pied by female prisoners; males being stalled in the Conciergerie on the 2nd incarcerated in the part called l'enceinte of April, 1793; and its sittings were cellulaire, which is not now shown. held in the room which is now la pre- The Conciergerie was then the antemière chambre civite of the Palace of chamber of the Tribunal, and the storeJustice. With the creation of the house for the guillotine. It is to-day a dread tribunal began the last bloody act modern prison for vulgar crime, and of the French Revolution in the Con-visitors are not allowed to enter any ciergerie. The comparatively unaltered and yet much altered ancient part of the prison witnessed some of the most moving scenes, enclosed the most eminent victims, contained some of the greatest villains, of the catastrophe. That part which we are now about to enter, still affords evidence for history, material for romance, and stories of pathos. Even now, a visit to the Conciergerie is sorrowful, painful, sombre. It stirs feelings, wholly deep and somewhat morbid, at the thought of the horrors, sorrows, sufferings, tears, despair, which its dumb wails have witnessed. It forms a stage on which were displayed such agony, so much heroism, that a sight of it excites both pity and admiration. It is haunted by phantoms of jailers, headsmen, and their hosts of victims. The shadow of dreadful memories descends upon us as we tread its stones.

From the Salle des Gardes the ancient prison is entered through the rue de Paris- a vast, dark corridor, which in Revolution days was lined with rows of dismal cells always crowded to excess. It has contained two hundred and fifty prisoners at the same time. A frightful black couloir, with barred gates, is this memorable passage; and the cell of the queen is to the right when the "street ceases. Near to it is the ancienne cour de la Conciergerie, male and female prisoners being separated by a tall barrier of railings, whose bars could not preclude tendres épanchements. From the high walls, of a dead, dirty-white, the heavily barred windows of two upper stories of dungeons look into the court. Here are the windows of the cells of Marie Antoinette, of

cell in which criminals are confined. The cell of Madame Roland on the first floor (she did not occupy it alone) was thus closed because it was tenanted by two scoundrels. It resembles other cells on the same floor. A part of the prison which retains many of its old features is the yard, in which the fountain still exists at which so many ladies washed their linen and their dresses. The women's court is very little altered, and needs only to be repeopled by the imagination.

No

The prisoners of the Revolution were divided into two classes les pistoliers, or those who could pay for a bed; and les pailleux, or those who, unable to pay anything, were herded in heaps upon foul, never-changed straw, in cells on the ground-floor. The condition of the prison was insanitary and indescribably foul. The place was so crowded that no payment could secure a cell for one occupant, and as many beds as it would hold were crammed into une chambre dite de pistole. part of the prison was worse than the infirmary. Prisoners, except those in the cachots, were shut out of their dungeons at eight or nine o'clock in the morning, and then resorted to the yard, to the women's court, or to the vestibule for men. They were, or sometimes were not, locked in their cells about sunset, when jailers were often drunk, and unable, even when sober, to go through the form of calling over names. The stench of the griaches penetrated to the very greffe, and food was bad. In cold or heat, prisoners, especially the poor pailleux, were wretchedly off; and their only comfort was, that they would not have to wait