genius of the nation, and upon extensive canvas that military glory before which monarchs paled and the world trembled; wherever you go, whatever point of view you take, from palace window or upon the marble stairway, you are lost in the variety of objects, each one a chief in itself, but all arranged for one brilliant stroke of the vision over an expanse of area utterly inconceivable before by our unsophisticated mind. Addison has said, that the sight continues longest in service, affording for a longer time pleasure and delight, through its inlet to the soul, than any of the other senses. We found it true at Versailles. Without fatigue or cessation, it ranged from hall to hall; running through centuries, from Charlemagne and Pepin, down to Louis Philippe and Charles X., and in the mean time taking in all the splendid efforts of art from the reign of Louis XIV. and of the Empire. David's pictures of the Coronation of Napoleon, and of Napoleon giving the Eagles to the Army, fulfilled every anticipation concerning them; but the chapel, the frescoes, the landscape-paintings in which battle-scenes are introduced, the wonderful effect of all these in developing, sustaining, and giving enthusiasm to French, purely French nationality, I had not before any adequate conception of.

It would require but a glance at the painting of the wounded Marshal Lannes, with Napoleon by his side, or of Austerlitz with the figure of Bonaparte proudly eminent, to give ésprit to the army of France, such as of old it possessed under its almost deified General.

This palace of Versailles was formerly a hunting-lodge for one of the earlier kings. Additions after additions were made, millions being expended in their construction, until the Revolution, after which it sunk into decay. Napoleon preferred to live at St. Germain or St. Cloud. He said that it would take forty millions of francs to put Versailles in repair. Louis Philippe had it in excellent order.

Our ladies were curious to see the Trianon, and especially the little Swiss cottage erected by order of Marie Antoinette;

but as I attempted to go by the soldier-a laughing, goodnatured fellow, who marched under the signs "Propriété nationale," and "Liberté, Egalité et Fraternité" he called out for a pass, which I had not provided, and I could effect no fraternization with him, by which to gain my end.

We saw a great crowd looking at the golden royal coach of Charles X., which is considerably laughed at just now. It may roll through these arbors and green lanes yet, with a Bourbon in it; who knows? But hurrah! here is a rush! what a crowd of Johnny Bulls; and there they go, after a fine-looking whitehaired gentleman in very black, who is being led around into the orangery by the Prefect of the Seine. The English run after, like mad, women and men, fat and lean-mostly fat. Aha! now they are stopped. A French soldier, with ribbons on his coat, has run a rope across, and the soldiers are trying to guard the pass. In vain, fat Aldermen's fat wives, perspiring like the frogs in yonder fountain of Latona, dodge under, clamber over, escape outstretched arms, and caper away like kittens, after the Lord Mayor. At last the heft (to Yankee it) of the crowd is stopped. The rest present tickets, and talk Henglish quite huselessly. The pageant has faded. And so has it been all day-a chase of English Aldermen, and their consorts, after the Mayor, who is hurried along by the Prefect at a good trot. It was a scene for Punch.

We returned home to see Paris by night, in the Champs Elysées, Boulevards, Luxembourg, and at the Cafés, where concerts, circuses, and amusements of every variety, keep a company of two hundred thousand, if not more, constantly on the qui vive. One does not know what that phrase means, until they see the sights here on Sunday. If there be any churches here, what were they built for? The question has been answered in a former chapter; they are but mausoleums over the buried great, or theatres for the display of festal and regal magnificence. They were built for man, not God.


One of the most attractive places of resort in the environs of Paris is the Père La Chaise cemetery. There is a peculiarity in the tombs, and a beautiful custom connected with them, well worthy of mention and imitation. The cemetery lies to the northeast of the city.

We passed along the magnificent quays of the Seine, crossed the bridge, and stopped before the monument erected upon the spot where the Bastile of the old régime stood. It is built to the memory of those citizens who fell on the memorable three days of July, 1830, which dethroned the elder Bourbons, and made Louis Philippe "citizen king." The monument is elegantly surmounted with a gilded image of Victory winged, standing with one foot on tip-toe upon a globe, about 250 feet high. The image is exceedingly aerial and graceful. It is about the height of the majestic column to Napoleon in the Place Vendôme. The latter is modelled after that of Trajan at Rome, and moulded wholly out of the cannon and other metallic trophies taken in battle by the Emperor.

Through streets lined with marble stores, and shops where funereal wreaths are made, we pass up to the cemetery. Mourners stop to buy the wreaths of yellow and white. They are very touching, and expressive of kindly sympathy. Little images, too, of persons kneeling or mourning are bought, and all are placed upon the tombs, either within upon shrines, or without under little covers, to keep them from rain or sun. Almost every tomb was thus remembered. Very few were without some token. Many had flowers growing around and about them, most tastefully arranged. How good-how mindful are the French! was the exclamation, as we passed amid these emblems of life. and decay. The tombs of La Place, of Volney, La Fontaine, and of David, the great painter, are here. Most eagerly we sought for the tomb of Heloise and Abelard, so renowned in

song and story. They flourished in the twelfth century, and were two of the most distinguished persons of their age in learning and beauty; but for nothing were they so famous, as for their unfortunate passion. After a long course of calamities, they retired each to a separate convent, and consecrated the remainder of their days to religion. Buried in life thus in divided graves, they were united in death in the same tomb; not, however, long to rest together, for ecclesiastical power followed their dust, and separated it, as it had their lives. But after many vicissitudes, they lie side by side, as is beautifully indicated by the sculptured images under the little Gothic temple which affection has reared. Wreaths there were not a few, upon their tomb,-touching tributes to that constancy and attachment which their lives, death and entombment, typified so beautifully. White roses grow plentifully within the inclosure, chaste symbols of a love which death has not quenched, but only purified. We plucked one rose as a souvenir of the spot, and, if any cemetery may be thus called, of this pleasant abode of the departed.

The Père la Chaise affords a fine view of Paris, which we were enjoying as the bell began to ring, and the watch of the cemetery began to cry the hour of departure from the different points. Taking a dish of berries and ices at a café (every body here lives at a café), our party went to the hotel, and I to the Theatre Comique, to see Paris in another phase and hear a funny opera.

Let not the lawyer who visits Paris fail to drive down to the Palais Justice, and observe the working of the courts. I spent very profitably a most interesting day in listening to the judges and lawyers. The latter are the most intelligent and best-looking gentlemen I have seen in Europe. I know that remark is superfluous. Dressed in their black gowns, and black caps shaped like the segment of a sugar loaf,-they move about from court to court with their briefs in hand, unincumbered with loads of authorities and ever ready to meet their cases. I heard

a case tried by jury, and noticed many little improvements upon our present mode of practice. Their custom of questioning the accused shortens the trial, and it seems not at all inconsistent with fairness. The repartee even between prisoner and accuser, and prisoner and judge, while it excites from its dramatic character, generally shows where the blame or crime lies. Soldiers are always on hand to preserve order and protect the doors. It was a sufficient password to say that I was a stranger, in order to obtain admittance. There are some eight or ten judges in each of the courts. A good feature is, that the lawyers have a grand consultation every Saturday, when the poor may obtain gratuitous advice.


Now I know that it is not the province of a transient traveller, to venture too far in generalizations upon national character and prospects. He is liable to make himself ridiculous. I only speak of what I have been informed. I have hardly seen enough for a respectable induction upon any subject. The proper subject of a traveller's pen is the superficial. Of that, what an area has my eye covered! what multiform objects has it embraced! Can I enumerate! The Hotel des Invalides, where the veterans upon wooden legs and crutches line the fine walks, cultivate their little flower plots, and talk of Napoleon, whose remains are entombed within the chapel, where wave two hundred ensigns-trophies of his valor from the Pyramids to the Snows; the Louvre, that noble repertory of art, surpassing any of the galleries of Italy-being, in fact, the choice selection from them all-where Rubens and Vandyke vie with Raphael and Caracci for the palm of genius, where Salvator Rosa and Claude, the one in bold outline, the other in mellow lustre, reproduce nature in her loveliest aspect, where the holiest of beings beams benignly from the wall on the canvas of Murillo, and where the German Bacchanals drink beer with such a jollity, that the canvas fairly


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