book in one hand and a pen in the other. Rousseau’s

tomb is a vault, with a half-opened door, out of which is thrust a hand holding a torch-light, typical of the reful- gent genius that has helped to enlighten the world. Following on through various windings, we were brought to the monuments of Marshal Lannes — Duke of Mon- tebello— and of some of the first Senators of the Em- pire; — there, in the black stillness of those vaulted
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chambers, is shrouded forever their light and glory! The guide requested us to preserve silence, in order that we might hear the remarkable echo of the crypt. His stentorian call was responded to with equal force, and h|s lowest whisper came back with a distinctness that was quite startling.
In the neighborhood of the Pantheon is the Library St. Genevieve, which contains many interesting curiosi- ties, and over two hundred thousand volumes. There are numerous pastel paintings of the Kings of France ; busts of distinguished writers ; and one of Cardinal de la Rochefoucault, the founder of the libraiy. Some of the most ancient books on the ground floor are those given by Rome to Napoleon, in payment of her war debt. A curious old clock, made in 1546, represents the planet- ary system ; and a map, with the design of a wide- branching tree, illustrates the genealogy of Jesus Christ. There was shown to us a Bible, printed in the year 900, and another of the date of 1200. A cast of Henry IV, taken one hundred and eighty years after death, seemed as perfect as if it had been made when he was in the full vigor of health. Saint Denis must assuredly possess the power of preserving its dead ; but, if the deeds of good men live after them, why should not the features of a worthy monarch remain unaltered long after the day when funeral pomp has paid him honor ? At a short distance from this cast is the skull of Cartouche, the celebrated robber and assassin, the sight of which awakened the most uncomfortable sensations. And this is all that is left of the man whose career, it would seem, from early x
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youth, was presided over by the evil genius ! Thus, in earthly places, are crime and virtue not far separated ; but how shall it be in the great hereafter ? Opposite the landing of the staircase that leads to the grand library, three hundred feet in length, we found that very striking painting, The School of Athens — a copy of the one in the Vatican, at Rome, by Raphael. May such artists long continue to add to the imperishable glory of the philosopher and the sage ! The reading-room, with its closely stored books, contains a wealth of knowledge. Four hundred seats bear evidence of how
tl The mind — an antiquarian — loves to pore Amid the dost of ancient volumes still. M
Principally in the autumn months is every chair filled, from eight in the morning until sunset ; and then, when night is made attractive elsewhere with dance and mirth, this hall is the delight of the student, who deems the sable hours far too precious to be devoted to frivolity. All things considered, learning is a something whose value is greater than gold — outlasting trivial pleasures — a companion, when the world is as a desert, and one that rarely ever abandons us until the heavenly decree goes forth that mind and body shall perish.
We stopped next at the gorgeous St. Chapelle, con- nected with the Palace of Justice. The interior is one mass of gilding, tinted by the variegated colors of the windows — a scene that might be compared to a glorious sunset, blending colors with its gold. The chapel owes its great fame to St. Louis, who designed it for the re-
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ception of that greatest of all relics, the crown of thorns, and also a piece of the true cross. Service is only held on the exhibition of these holy relics; and, although our eyes were not saddened by the painful sight, still our hearts remembered that
“ Thus it was ! a diadem of thorn
Earth gave to Him who mantled her with flowers ;
To Him who poured forth blessings in soft showers,
O’er all her paths, a cup of bitter scorn! ”
The exterior of the edifice is a reflex of the inner splendor, and its gilded roof and spires were beautiful to-day as seen in the bright and glorious sunlight. A short walk brought us to the Cafe St. Michel, whose neat little tables on the side-walk, tempted us beyond resistance. It was a study to sit and watch the passers-by on this boulevard. One little man, who had been reduced to a skeleton, carried an umbrella, which, without its cover, would have been a fair representation of his own anatom- ical structure. This wiry ghost was the sharp fore- ground of another picture entirely his opposite — a plump Grisette , in a flashy red dress, which not even the pearl- colored trimmings could subdue. The face of an Italian Savoyard peered out from under a broad-brimmed hat; his large eyes filling with tears as he drew the bow across his violin, and, in plaintive voice, commenced an addio to his native land. Just then, a rumbling omnibus passed with a number of smoking, chatting students on top, and thus, for the moment, our thoughts were diverted from the little home-sick wanderer. Next came a foppish fellow, stepping, in fine patent-leathers, and
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flourishing a cane, who took up a note or two of the sad Italian melody, and then whistled off the merriest air, as if to intimate that, under gay sunshine, nothing should partake of a melancholy character.
Towards 5 p. m., we drove to the Bois de Vincennes. This park has sylvan retreats on the lake-shore, where repasts are furnished, and on a warm spring or summer evening the green, vine-clad bower is preferable to the salon of the restaurant. How quickly the hours pass when quiet ease and pleasure control them 1 Thinking thus, a friend raised her glass with this happy quota- tion —
44 Ah, never doth time travel faster,
Than when his way lies among flowers. ”
And this was followed by a toast — “ May the hinge3 of Hospitality never grow rusty ! ” How could they under the brightening influence of champagne, and the oil of a French salad ? Returning home after night had set in, we saw an electric-light on Porte St. Martin, shifting its dazzling glow, in various directions, over the city, and appearing like a vast meteor in the sky.
May 19. — A grand concert took place to-day, at the Cirque de PImperatrice, for the benefit of the Arabian and French orphans at an asylum in Algiers, founded by Madame la Marechale de Mac Mahon. The build- ing is spacious, containing six' thousand seats, and does not lack ornament. Around the sides are panels with paintings of horses’ heads; designs inappropriate to the occasion that assembled us, as something of a more
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classical taste would have answered better in presence of that great artist Dupres, of the Imperial Academy of Music, who was conducting his Grand Oratorio — The Last Judgment . Arranged in three parts, La Terre , VAbime, et le Oid> it partakes of the inspiration of Michael Angelo’s world renowned picture. The musicians num- bered one hundred and seventy, and the performance proceeded with the truest precision, every note being in perfect time, and rendered with such eveness as to convey the idea that the sound came from one mammoth instru- ment. Dupres carried out most ably the composition, as bearing upon the three parts above-named, — the soft, delicate tones, like harp strings, gently swept, whisper- ing of heaven ; — the grand swelling burst of sound in imitation of the thunders of a wrathful sky, warning the sinful children of earth ; the angry discordant clash, representing the fury and turmoil of hell. A symphony, sweet and dreamy, was now and then introduced, making many regret that the finale had ever to come. After an intermission of fifteen minutes, the second part of the entertainment began — a vocal concert, in which some of the most celebrated artists appeared, riveting the undi- vided attention of the audience. Mozart’s duo, from the Enchanted Flute , by Mile. Roze and Mr. Crosti, was followed by Mme. Marie Sass in that sweet melody, Sanda Maria , by Faure. Mr. Consolo, an Italian violinist, gave the Ave Maria y and one of Schubert’s delicious morceaux, with all the passionate, pathetic feeling that characterizes Italia’s strains. A duo was admirably sung by DuprSs; and Mr. Leon Dupres, x*
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rendered the Air de Joconde — Nicolo — in a highly creditable manner. But the most attractive piece, was the Valsede Mireille — Gounod — sung by Mme. Vanden- heuvel. Had a little bird suddenly flown in and breathed out its soul of song, it could not^iave excelled her delicious notes. Each of the lady singers received a green wreath, and worthy were they to wear the artist’s crown !
May 2L — The Hotel de Cluny is calculated to interest those who love to roam among relics of the past. First of all, the ancient building, with its turrets and quaint little windows, inclines us to inquire into its history and associations. Once invested with the sanctity of religion, it formed an asylum for the abbot and abbess — a refuge for the papal legates ; and, besides, became a home for the widowed queen of Louis XII. The whole building wears a quiet nunnery-like air, and the neatly laid out gardens that surround it are picturesque, and possess the charm of antiquity in the Gallo-Roman ruins and monuments, partly overrun with ivy, pointing back to the days of the Caesars ; the arches and portals of old convents covered with lichens and mosses, and the large cross that looms out of the shrubbery with the inscrip- tion “ From the church of St. Vladimir at Sebastopol.”
The Palais des Thermes, adjoining the hotel, is the oldest monument about Paris, being nothing more than the ruin of a magnificent pile which was erected in the year 360. The only portion in a state of tolerable pres- ervation is the hall called the frigidarium, or chamber
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for cold baths, which contains some curious relics — frag- ments of altars, colossal heads, crosses, and bas-reliefs in sculpture. One altar bore an inscription showing that it was dedicated to Jupiter, in the reign of Tiberius.
An examination of all the curiosities of the Cluny museums would engross a whole day. What a treat, with their valuable furniture, tapestry, sculpture, carv- ing, armor, jewelry, paintings, glass-ware, and a little of everything that ever was made on this round globe of ours ! There stands the bed of a king — a rare specimen of carving, with knights in armor on the posts — with its thread-bare coverlet; silk and embroidery having yielded to the hand of time, like its owner has done to the fell destroyer, Death. What dreams and schemes did Francis I engage in and enjoy as its occupant? Alas ! for poor humanity ! The cradle outlasts the smil- ing, dimpled babe, and the couch of the great and robust man remains long after he is turned to dust and ashes. Next, a piano of the time of Louis XIV, of gold-tinted wood, painted with a diversity of rich coloring. It re- minded me of my old grandmother’s patchwork quilt ; but why bring up association with ancient dame, when, perchance, the hands that brought music out of its keys were those of a blooming, gay Princess, wearing the roses of “ sweet sixteen?” A valuable painting of Christopher Columbus elicited our greatest praise, as we thought of the noble spirit that had braved the fury of ocean, a thousand difficulties, and endured the torture of long and dreary suspense, to find a land that every day and hour does something worthy to make her rank
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among the best of nations. We also saw a piece of the jaw-bone of MoliSre, an insignificant fragment of that man of genius ; a chess-board of rock crystal, that be- longed to Louis IX, — another reminder of a “ vanished hand ” that once had castles and knights under com- mand; a Venitian piano of the sixteenth century, with thirty keys ; a bed with cherry velvet hangings, now faded and worn — the property of the Marquis d’Effiat, Marshal of France in the seventeenth century ; the por- trait of Mary Stuart, in enamel ; and the altar screen of pure gold, an imperial gift to a cathedral church. The chapel is of the most singular construction, the heavily sculptured ceiling being sustained by an octagonal col- umn in the centre. The architecture is pure Gothic ; and, in reference to the altar chairs, it may be safely said that, for carving, the fifteenth century will never be excelled. The strange, pointed windows, admit only a sickly, miserable light — not the gracious rays that God intends for His sanctuary. Out of the dark little chapel we passed down, by a curious, cramped, winding stair- way, the frequent ascending and descending of which must have proved a severe penance for the portly old monks and the good angels of mercy ; and, once more in the gardens, we were disposed to seek our homes, yet not without a strong desire to turn antiquary soon again.
May 23. — The Louvre ! a little word, yet how full of meaning! Who that enters its spacious halls is not dazzled by its grandeur and wealth ? — Are not increased organs of vision and bigger hearts needed at this shrine
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of the beautiful]? Go, first, to the Museum of Antique Sculpture, and pass statue after statue — meritorious as they may be — until you stand before the Venus of Milo. It will not be that you depreciate the little gems in your admiration of the grander stone ; for do we not gaze upon the skies and skip the beauty of the stars, to give our first love to the “ queen of night ? ” This crowning specimen of the majesty of womanhood, serene and calm, has caught the poet’s eye, and thus has been immor- talized :
44 What thought triumphant moved this woman’s mind To such sublime controlment that the Gods Smote her with marble stillness 7 Generous earth Whose womb, preserving through the crush of years,
Hath given this fragment of a mighty age,
To shake the shameful bitterness of this With the rebuking awe of one great look,
As if the meaner thoughts of meaner minds Had sent, all quivering into lip and eye,
The curve and terror of defiant truth.
How lifts the torso grandly into light The fullness of a womanhood complete,
Broad breathing in an amplitude of grace,
And strong, as is the solemn strength and calm Of midnight moonlight. Imagination That would restore thine armless majesty Doth strangely grope, pleased with the blind distrust That, in thy rare beginnings, sees no end.
Thus art crowns art with art’s divinest aim,
Leading the wrapped observer from himself To finer issues and immortal flight.”
After leaving this grand statue, our attention was given to many other rich marbles, among which were the beautiful Venus, by Praxiteles, several graceful
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dancing Fauns, the mighty Hercules, and the handsome Apollp ; and then we passed on to the splendid hall containing Jean Goujon’s Caryatides, which made all else seem diminutive. The glorious treasures displayed in the upper galleries in the thousands of paintings, seemed to appeal for a larger appropriation of time, but it could not be granted, on this day at least ; and so, after traversing the court of the Louvre, admiring the ornate style of architecture ; the fresh and flowering shrubs, not to be despised even among the proudest things of art, we repaired to the Luxembourg Garden. As the sun was at treacherous play, and chose to hide himself be- hind some frowning clouds, streaked black and blue, and threatening rain, we were compelled to hasten our steps through the pleasant walks, bestowing only a rapid glance at the many little spots stamped with beauty. What a bright, bright picture in the groups of statuary; flower-beds, shady terraces ; chestnut groves and rustic seats ! In the massive back-ground of a fountain, is a niche holding the figure of an athlete, overlooking two lovers who lie in each others’ embrace, like two pearls in an ocean-shell. A growth of ivy at their heads, clambers about the limbs of the intruder, giving him the appearance of one springing out of a thicket to surprise the careless lovers. Connected with the basin of the fountain, is a miniature lake, completely embowered in green ; and the trees, equi-distant apart, skirting its borders, are festooned with garlands of evergreen and ivy. Such is the fairy-bower ! — just the spot for music and song, or the poetry of love ! Let us, who are grave
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and unsentimental, pass out and make room, for here Gomes a pretty maiden, whose cavalier looks as if the quiet, green little spot whispered hope and happiness. Perhaps she may here surrender up her hearty and if it be a true and faithful one, he will have secured earth’s brightest jewel — connubial joy, and be sheltered in that haven of love, where beating storms and struggling sorrows are soothed to rest.
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