My removal to Paris in 1865 severed many of my old associations, separated me from friends of long standing, with whom I had been in daily intercourse, and materially changed my course of life. Whereabouts to pitch my tent in the boasted capital of civilization was the first difficulty that presented itself. With a young family about one, the idea of living in an appartement up four or five flights of stairs in the heart of Paris hardly commended itself to me, besides which, in the preferable residential quarters over-prudent propriétaires often objected to take people with children as tenants, both on account of the noise the youngsters made, which would possibly scare away other lodgers, and of the damage they might do to the paint and wall-papers.

When inspecting an appartement, I remember you were then invariably questioned as to the number and nature of your family by the concierge, who, besides objecting to children, usually informed you that dogs, cats, and parrots were not allowed on the premises. A friend of mine, unburdened with any pledges of his wife's affection, and who kept neither bird nor canine or feline pet, experienced the greatest difficulty in securing suitable quarters. Concierge after concierge interrogated him as to the composition of his family, and when he replied, “Oh, there is only myself, my wife, and my mother-in law,” the rejoinder promptly came, “Very sorry, monsieur, but we cannot take you as a tenant, unless, indeed, madame, your mother-in-law can arrange to live elsewhere. This house is a quiet one.”