M. Moustier, Minister of Foreign Affairs; England, by

Lord Lyons, and several attaches of the Embassy ; and Italy, by Chevalier de Nigra. Dr. Martinez wore dec- orations numerous and large enough to form a breast- plate. Fair names come to my thoughts as thick as “ leaves of Vallambrosa.” Miss Ware was pronounced one of the sweetest flowers of this strewing by the great French artist, who everywhere wins “ golden opinions ” like the lustre of his name. Miss Torrence appeared to all eyes the stately lily ; and Mrs. Ronalds a beautiful rose. Lastly, a word of praise is due to my escort, Cap- tain Drake — the sole representative of our navy — whose uniform was to us quite as attractive as the glittering decorations bestowed by the hand of the Emperor.
February 23. — The holy Sabbath ! and to think that on this solemn day of Christian worship there should be
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a frolicking, reckless throng of people following les boeufo gras — a cortege numbering five hundred, on foot and on horseback, in chariots and in cars — all clad in grotesque costumes, some wearing masks that pointed back to the dark ages. The procession, starting from the Palais de ^Industrie, moved in the following order: A regimental display, consisting of a drum-major of the old Imperial Guard ; a huzzar bearing the French standard of 1804 ; a band of music, and a number of soldiers. A chariot, representing France, was drawn by four horses, and held the goddess of the year 1868; also, the four seasons and the months of the year personified. Then came Amer- ica, with additional music, red-skins and allegorical char- acters ; Asia, with horsemen, slaves, and a big elephant carrying a Princess of India ; and Africa, with her sable band. The remaining chariots, tastefully decorated with wreaths and garlands and mixed devices, represented Agriculture, the Four Ages of Life, and the Olympian Deities. Conspicuous in the show were the poor oxen, sporting ribbons of rainbow hues — their horns wreathed in flowers — and wearing, we thought, a sad look, as though conscious of their certain and near-approaching doom. These animals parade the streets for a period of three days for the amusement of the citizens, and then are led to the abattoir to be killed. But who can de- scril)c these people in their wild revelry, with screams and shouts, fanfares and brass horns? The Champs Elysees re-echoed the Bedlam-noise long after the Arc de Triomphe had been passed ; and we wonder if the distant country did not catch a sound that disturbed its
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tranquility ? What a sight, and how nearly lost was dignity! But it would be mal a propos to suggest mod- eration to this excitable race, for is not gaiety the very essence of their lives ?
February 25. — Prominent among the festivities of the Carnival was the magnificent costume ball of Mr. and Mrs. Downing, of New York. Arriving at a late hour, we found the scene one of dazzling beauty, in its group- ings of rich costumes, from the oriental, mythological and historical, down to the plain Venitian mantle. Re- viewing the beautiful picture, worthy of first notice is the hostess, whose commanding figure and elegant ap- , pearance admirably adapts her to the choice personation of a Marquise . Let all stand off to admire the elaborate costume, and to avoid crushing any of that shower of roses, dropped so gracefully on the point (TAlcncon of her velvet robe. Take in, at this pleasing glance, the sparkle of her jewels, which are not confined to neck and arms, but help to make up the becoming coiffure; and then pass on beyond the stately Marquise to the loquacious diameter attracting, with her genuine wit, a host of friends, who gaze at her as if she were a total stranger . Her disguise is perfect. Can this old maid from Boston be Mrs. Blake — daughter of General Dix?
— if so, would not her husband, three thousand miles distant, be glad to receive, from the inexhaustible reti- cule, some of the apples and nuts that are being dis- pensed alike to beaux and belles f Behold how lost in wonder she is at the curious things seen in a Paris salon!
Q*
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— she thinks the men look like mere toys compared with the stalwart swains of way down East, and considers none prizes who cannot sew buttons on, make a good cup of tea, on a rainy day, and nurse the babies in a case of emergency. Besides, her country is not given to such short dresses as that pretty girl, across the way, wears, who is spangled all over, and shines like the moon on a cold, frosty night. Surely, Jack Frost ought not to be blamed for paying court to such ankles. The old maid, however, is not hard-hearted, and will give to the shiv- ering girl, should she suffer with ewgdure, a little of her healing balsam — only a little — for she does n’t believe in wasting, as that brings “ woful want.” Then she adjusts her scant yellow gown ; — “ That man’s spur nearly put a rent in it, and a military Court gentleman ought not to be awkward;” — bridges her nose over with her spectacles, and resumes her knitting, believing that hay can be made under gas-light as well as in sunshine. She thinks that, although candles may be cheap in France, too many are placed in a row, and that reminds her of soldiers in time of peace on parade — too much shine for the little good they do. Oh ! that she could impress on these people the importance of economy! Would n’t six lights answer as well as a hundred ; and why should soldiers wear long lines of buttons so close together as to pinch their fingers, when six would do the work? She advises that Bedouin — as they call him — to take off a part of his long, funny gown, and stop clasping his head, and bowing down to her and the Muse of Poetry as if they were Egyptian idols. The Muse
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is so overcome by his queer antics that there is no longer any reason or rhyme in her. She don’t care if the Muse does call her old Mother Hubbard, for was n’t that old lady considered very smart in poetry ? Of one thing she is sure — that the sights that fall under her observa- tion are enough to make folks stand on their heads, like Mother Hubbard’s dog. She is afraid that one of the musicians will be troubled with goitre if he don’t stop blowing that trombone so hard ; it don’t make little feet go round any faster, and certainly Mr. Strauss did n’t compose music with the view of killing either the per- former or the dancer. Her Yankee “ thinking-cap” had not set so closely for a long time. She had thought a variety of things in a few hours, but trusted that her strength of mind would stand the test of Paris shows, and enable her to return to dear old Massachusetts just as she came, — only, perhaps, with a bit of foreign air which she could n’t help sniffing from the atmosphere.
Then we left Massachusetts, and sought Italy, in red and gold attractions, saying, for the nonce , "This is the magic-land,” not even excepting la belle France . See, in that corner, how sweetly cluster three flowers — Eglan- tine , who gives a wild-rose from her basket; Pansy, whose charms make hearts-acAc, and the Lily, as pure and white as the regions of snow ! Keep up your trio- band of fragrance, beauty and love, for we shall wander back ere long. Near this sweet quarter, comes Oiscau - bleu . Have you not flown from Paradise on heaven’s azure wings, and does not your pretty plumage elicit many a — “ Wont you have me, or let me be your mate? ”
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Captive here must you be held until you warble the sweet little answer yes? Then, and only then, may you flap your tiny wings, and seek your native sphere. See, in the path of the Dianas, the gallant worshipers who fearing not silver bows and arrows, kneel in rapture to the crescents that sparkle on their brows! Who would not fall a willing victim to such archery, even though it cost them a sojourn in Spain, or a voyage to America? And you , the brightest of Vivandieres, tinged with El Dorada’s glory! — have you not fired the hearts of a whole regiment by a gentle look from softly-veiled eyes? But the most disastrous and gorgeously grand element is Fire , represented by a bright and beautiful daughter of Cuba! Raging everywhere, damaging and consum- ing hearts without number, still, for some , she proves a genial ray. Winter keeps far away, for her frost-crown would melt before that mighty power, like mist before the sun. An Armenian group forms a dazzling circle, the Princess S — in a dress of gold embroidery, and girdle of precious stones, and her daughter ; the Coun- tesses L and B in rich, satins of orange, red
and blue. Turn, now, to a tiny Page whose face is a miniature picture of beauty, and ask again and again if to her belongs the ponderous title of Madame ; and be- hold the fair Marguerite, with blonde hair that can scarcely be eclipsed by the radiance of Golden Wheat. A Water-Nymph floats by, the shade of whose apparel indicates that she comes from the “ pale-green sea-groves,” bringing with her grasses and corals, “ starry spangles and shells.” She speaks with another goddess of the
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sea, who must have sprung, Venus-like, from the pure white foam, for she is enveloped in snowy tulle, and wears pearls and water-lilies. Tennyson’s “ Who would be a mermaid fair ? ” finds a fitting answer on this night*
** I would bo a mermaid fair —
*******
With a comb of pearl, I would comb my liair ;
And still as I combed, I would sing and say * Who is it loves me t Who loves not met* ”
Here strays a Gipsey who salutes a lady of rank from Warsaw; and there a Spanish Gitana dances with the
Count de B , an Andalusian nobleman in maroon
velvet, flashing with diamonds. And thus continues the kaleidoscopic view; new angels and new heroes in- vesting the scene with interest, until a streak of morn- ing light creeps in, and these stars vanish from the scene, like those that are paling in the skies.
February 26. — Yesterday being the last of the Car- nival, the northern Boulevards were crowded with the merry revelers up to mid-night, when they repaired to the Bals Masques to finish their sport. Numbers gath- ered around Duvals, the famous butcher-shop, which was illuminated and garlanded with flowers; a sort of high carnival being held there over the slain oxen. Very few will credit the assertion that such a place could be made attractive ; but let the unbelievor come to Paris, and sec how the magic hand of the Frenchman invests with a polish and grace things that are coarse and un- seemly — how it transforms ugliness into beauty, and develop out of very little marvellous greatness.
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We attended the brilliant concert of an American pian- ist, Mr. J. E. Haner, at the splendid Salle d’Erard, where some of the most distinguished artists met to greet the debutant ; among whom were Henry Herz, Camille Stamaty, and Damcka. The crowded saloon, and the enthusiastic applause, from time to time, gave proof of the high order of talent and the excellence of the per- formance. Before leaving America, this young and accomplished artist was a pupil of Gottschalk and Mills* and he has since pursued his studies abroad, with Sta- maty; at the Conservatory of Vienna, and more recently with Damcka. The pieces selected, admirably displayed the facility of his execution — la danse des Fees , by Pru- dent — the fugue of Hummel , — the duet of Mozart’s Don Giovanni , by Lysberg— performed on two pianos — Mile. Laure Caulmaehe assisting ; and his Reverie de VInven - teur. This last sweet melody, succeeding loud and brilliant executions, fell gratefully and soothingly on the ear, like the sound of rippling waters after the din and roar of a tempest. M. Ponsard, of the Grand Opera, and Mile, de Beaunay received flattering applause ; also