M. Michel Chevalier ; Lord Lyons ; Chevalier de Nigra,

the Italian Minister; a noted representative from Persia wearing a Tartar cap ; and one of the editors of the Cbn- stitutionnel.
Januai'y 21. — A votary again to-night at Pleasure’s
p*
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shrine; but "the serious things come after awhile” whispered a gray-haired sire of the beau monde as we stood in the midst of the gay dancers. This ball given by Dr. and Mrs. Johnston, Boulevard Malesherbes, gave evidence of distingue and liberal taste. The flowers scattered here and there in profusion would have formed a luxuriant conservatory. Among the numerous guests were Gen. Dix and daughter, Mrs. Blake ; the gifted Mrs. Schleicker; Dr. Evans; Col. Heine, of the United States Legation; Miss Eddins, of Alabama; and the Messrs. Dewey, of California. A distinguished belle, fairest of all, was observed to wander off from the dazzling scene to drink in the more dangerous light of a pair of black eyes, whose power lay very deep under the heaviest fringed eye-lids; and our wager is that out of the wooing will come a chiding, and yet no harm need have been done. Nous verrons !
January 26. — Day receptions and evening parties continue to make up the schedule of time. At the ball of Madam Anstey — an English lady, with a trio of lovely blonde daughters, — were mingled the beauty and grace of at least five or six nations. Following this, came the reception at the Hotel de Yille, by Baron and Baroness Haussman, and on the same evening another brilliant soiree at 6. Rue de Presbourg.
January 27. — A notion siezed us this pleasant day to visit the Moi'gue, that dismal place which clouds the spirits even before its portals are crossed. On visiting a cemetery where the dead lie shut out from sight, and
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where only green mounds or stone-tablets meet the eye, sad emotions fill the mind, widely differing from those evoked by the sight of a dead body, whose end has been a violent one. The Morgue y lately renovated, presents a neat exterior. Numbers of persons were flocking in from sheer curiosity, but in the throng there were a few wretched mourners looking for lost friends. A scant calico apron received the tears of one poor woman who turned her sorrowful face towards us as she brushed by — her quick, nervous tread betraying her mission, whilst our slow steps told that we were only sympa- thetic lookers-on at grief and death. The building is appropriately situated near the Seine, as this river fur- nishes most of its occupants — unfortunates that must be claimed by friends within a specified time, or else be consigned to unknown graves.' The bodies are exposed to view three days, their clothing being hung up to assist in the identification. A grating separates the visitor from the corpse which lies extended on a sort of inclined plane, a constant stream of water trickling down upon the form. When we first entered, the curtain had not been raised, and those few moments of suspense seemed a century to several persons, whose hearts were swelling with anxious emotion ! Soon were revealed two victims — a man and a woman — and a single glance sufficed to impress upon our minds the sin of life taken, or life surrendered without the hand of God in it. I turned away to the sunlight, welcoming the street with its animated aspect, but not without a wish that the sorrows of mortals might be lessened, and that our heavenly
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Judge might show mercy to the self-destroyer, and to him who imbrueth his hands in the blood of his fellow- man. A drive around Notre Dame , which is in the vicinity of the Morgue , afforded us a more correct idea than ever of the magnificence of its architecture. It would require a giant eye to take in all its beauties, and a mind co-equal to invest and treat each pinnacle and portal with the merit it deserves. Victor Hugo’s pen has brought out the sculptured ornaments as boldly as did the artist’s chisel, making them shine with a glory as golden as the light that streams down upon them from heaven. His description so faithful and true, has gained for him one of his proudest laurels. * * * *
The Marquis de Geoffroy in a visit just made to us, conveys the gratifying intelligence of a friend’s recovery of health in Italy. How many seem to shake off the burden of disease and ennui in the freshness of that bright land !
January 29. — I attended to-day with the Princess Savalan Kahn, the reception of Mrs. Dix, who, by her accomplished graces, always imparts to her re-unions a charm, independent of the attractiveness of her guests. Then followed a drive to the Bois, where we found the usual display of stylish equipages and gay people. The spectacle there presented, at certain hours of the day, is most imposing. A soiree musicale given this evening by a friend residing on the Avenue de l’ImpSratrice, whose apartments are the ne jjIus ultra of olegance, em- braced some of the best professional talent of the city,
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besides the graceful amateurs, Miss Sims and Miss du Hamel, who won bountiful praise.
Fcbi'uai'y 2. — The Greek church in Rue de la Croix is built in the Bysantine-Muscovite style, and the effect of the dazzling sunlight is very fine upon its burnished gilt cupolas. The interior of the central one is painted to represent Christ imparting His blessing . Upon enter- ing this chapel we are reminded of a family oratory by its diminutive proportions. All the appointments, how- ever, are of the most gorgeous character. It was erected by the voluntary contributions of Russian families at the cost of two hundred and forty thousand dollars, — a sum sufficient to make it one of the brightest jewels of the crown that Paris wears in beautiful churches. The paintings on the walls are The Adoration of the Shep- herds; The Sermon on the Mount; The entry into Jerusa- lem ; and The last Supper. The finest velvet tapestry covers the floor ; and a railing near the entrance separates the spectator from the inner shrine, so marvellously grand and enticing, as —
“ To rouse the heart and lead the will,
By a bright ladder to the world above."
****** The Park Monccaux — a more ap- propriate designation would be garden-spot, — is one of the most attractive resorts, it being situated in the very heart of the capital. Magnificent gates of gilded iron lead to the grounds, which arc embellished with hand- some trees, green shrubbery and bright flowers. The main walks arc supplied with seats, but there are more
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secluded windings where the beautiful greensward invites one to recline d la paysan. Man}* visitors drive through the park, but a promenade a pied is preferable, for it enables one to wander along the banks of the little lake called Naumachie, to view the broken columns of the Corinthian colonnade ; or stand at the stone bridge, a short distance off, and let fancy weave some romantic history out of the mock-ruin. But there is a real his- tory connected with the park, and which is told in the fragmentary remains of a pyramidal tomb. It was in the days of Louis Philippe, that Monceaux, owned by the Duke de Chartres, was a spot consecrated to pleas- ure, and where games involving heavy losses of money were indulged in. A young German possessed of con- siderable riches came to Paris, and soon fell into the fascinating pastime of gambling. He lost at the play, and thereupon very excitedly cast imprecations upon those who had led him into the game. A gentleman attached to the Duke de Chartres, reminded him that “ he must not speak thus before his master,” to which he tartly replied — “ among fools, there are no princes. ,, The crowd fell upon him and killed him, and secretly buried his body in the gardens. Another of the attrac- tions is a small grotto whose rocks, almost entirely over- grown with mosses and grasses, are constantly bedewed by a showery waterfall. The interior is very curious, abounding with stalactite formations. We left the grounds rather reluctantly, our parting glances falling on the rotunda, now occupied as a residence by the park- keepers ; and, on our homeward route, stopped at the
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church of St. Augustine, an ornament recently added to the Boulevard Malesherbes. The building is in the style of the 14th century, with a magnificent dome, sur- mounted by a gilded ball, and has statues of the twelve apostles as outside decorations. The lateness of the hour, however, excluded us from the church-proper, but we gained admission into the basement, where vespers were being held. On reaching the Avenue de PImperatrice the scene was excessively gay for a Sabbath afternoon — at least so we thought ! But, in Paris, this day of all others, is selected for a general turn-out by the rich and poor ; the former in their luxurious carriages, and the latter on foot — the hard-toiling man and his family en- joying the wealth of bright, beautiful sunshine, little caring for the vain accompaniments of riches.
February 10. — A week consumed in frivolities, and another ball at the Tuileries, which passed off with the usual eclat , has left scarce a moment for reflection. But while fashion and gaiety reign, we are sometimes forced to turn from the rose-strewn path to the pale lily, em- blematical of death. Nowhere is the coming of death more poignantly felt than in a strange land, when it cuts down the tender bud, or the stately flower that has bloomed in grace and beauty upon our own shores. In the demise of an estimable lady from Alabama we share the sorrow of the bereaved family and the regret of friends far away. The blight of disease, whose destroy- ing touch takes from us our loved one, still leaves like a perfumed incense the memory of every gentle virtue ;
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and we know that through “ the valley of the shadow of death ” we shall catch a gleam of the light that leads the spirit from the darkness of this world to the “ per- fect day.” Such is our consolation in bereavement ; and so doth hope turn us from the ashes of the tomb to the sweet promise of immortality — from the withered earthly garland to the imperishable heavenly crown !
February 14. — St. Valentine's day ! A pleasant re- minder comes in the shape of a sweet-scented billet from England. We stopped this morning at Charlie's res- taurant — noted for its excellent buckwheat cakes and pumpkin pies — to add our mite to the fund of praise accorded it by many Americans. From its very humble appearance one would hardly expect such cheer within. The windows present no such luscious and tempting morsels as those of the Grand Cafe and Maison Doree, and no fine plate-glass attracts the eye, but a snow- white muslin curtain partially drawn back reveals the neatness of the little saloon. The absence of glittering mirrors and chandeliers is agreeably atoned for by the little bouquets scattered about, and by that one dish which the best of French cookery can never make us forget. Madame Busque, to whom the establishment really belongs, — a nice old dame full of compliments — came in from the culinary department to welcome us. Let none of our people pass by this Franco-American institution, as a breakfast served there is sure to rceall “ Home, Sweet Horae,” and a pleasant word of English will greet the ear should Madame B. enter to wish a
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“Good morning.” If an invading army threatened to overthrow Paris, would there not be enough lovers of hot cakes and American eagles — one is perched over the entrance — to protect from harm this one little spot ?
To-night another musicals is added to the pleasant entertainments that friends have been constantly offer- ing. Among the celebrities were Gustave Dore; the accomplished Doctor Martinez — Maximilian’s late Em- bassador to Turkey and Greece; and the beautiful Madame T., wife of Gen. Tour of Italy.
February 16. — In our promenade around the lake, in the Bois de Boulogne, it was a delight for the eye to fol- low the graceful, easy motion of the swans, as they came up to the banks to receive the scattered crumbs. The gorgeous sunset was succeeded by a flood of crimson light that tinged all nature with beauty and made me think — if earth is so lovely, what must heaven be ?
February 20. — Let there be a truce to gaiety as my pen records this date, so fraught with sad memories ! Through many years we may drink sweet draughts at pleasure’s fountain, yet at some moment there will surely come the Marah-drop. A sage has truly said that pain- ful memories are of the greatest benefit to the soul. As the summer storm spends its fury over the lovely land- scape, imparting purity to the atmosphere, and bringing out the sweets of the flower, so do the bitter waters that sweep over our souls purify and chasten us to the beauty of holiness !
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