showing that the mind is courted, not birth or rank, and information sought after from the American citizen as greedily as the Spaniards sought for gold among the Peruvian mountains.

The American tourist, on first being admitted into French society, will at once perceive that the women play a very distinguished part in it, and have more power, and far more important influence, than the women of England or the United States. France may well be termed the Paradise of women. and if consideration and deference be sufficient to constitute a Paradise, it may be called so very justly. I am not, however, prepared to admit that Frenchmen make better husbands than the Americans, even allowing the former a little more true and studied politeness. A French gentlemen is never known to speak a harsh or improper word to his wife, even if she is wrong in argument on household affairs, or committed an error which can be remedied. A Parisian lady will bring forward with equal readiness and sweet grace, all she knows, all she thinks, and all she feels on every subject that may be started: whereas, in the United States, the dread of egotism weighs down many a bright and shining spirit, and sallies of pure wit and fancy are withheld, for fear of betraying either the reading or the genius with which a fair, promising young lady is endued, who would rather be thought an idiot, than be thought or named an egotist. A majority of the ladies in the United States are as well, if not better informed, than the majority of either the French or English ladies; but unfortunately it too often happens that they are terrified at the idea of appearing too much so. The terror of being called learned, is in general much more powerful than that of being classed as ignorant. Much as it may surprise the American tourist, yet it is a matter of fact, that the meeting of a single woman past thirty, is indeed a very rare occurrence in France, and "old maids," so termed in the United States, to all ladies past forty-five, are never seen or heard of in Paris or the provinces. Yet I firmly believe, so highly do I appreciate women, that there is scarcely one to be found in the United States, who, at the age of fifty, has not, at some time, or in some manner, had the power of marrying, if she chose it. No woman merits scorn because she has had the firmness and constancy of purpose in preferring a single life, considering it best and fittest for her. In fact, I know nothing more high-minded than the doing so. The sneering which follows female celibacy in the United States, in particular, is so well known and so very coarsely manifested, that it shows very considerable dignity of character to enable a woman of fine feelings to endure the appellation of "old maid," rather than act against her sense of what she considers right. Lady Morgan says, in whatever other countries friendship may raise her altars, it is in France, and by French women, that she will find

them best served. Lady Morgan, when she asserted this, was ignorant that a country like the United States existed, or she would never have made so broad and wholesale a remark on her sex. If her Ladyship had left out the word France, and French women, and inserted America and American women, all travellers would have acknowledged it a just and deserved remark, and bowed to her ladyship's superior judgment and knowledge of human nature. Diderot says, to paint the character of a woman, you must use the feather of a butterfly's wing. I should suppose in some places, from what we daily read and hear, that they made use of the spread tail of a peacock on such an occasion, and found even that too small. Diderot, however, must have meant the character of a Parisian lady, who unites to more solid qualities, many of the peculiar attributes of that lively insect. Light, brilliant, and volatile, she seems to flutter on the surface of life, with endless adaptation to its forms, and has no hesitation in acknowledging that the "besoin de sentir" (want of feeling) is the first want of her existence that a succession of pursuits is necessary to preserve the current of life from that stagnation which is the death of all vivid and generous emotions.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Poverty, Sorrow, and Affliction not seen in Paris; The Cause; Hotel des Monnaies; Hotel des Beaux Arts; Palace and Gardens of Lux. embourg; The Pantheon; Legion d'Honneur; Ecole Militaire; Palaces of the Ministers; Jardin du Roi; Hospitals; Mr. Emerson, Mr. Okey, &c.

I BELIEVE One good reason why the city of Paris is so much more amusing to a stranger than London, is, that it contains so many more people, in proportion to its population, who seem to have no employment whatever, other than to make sport for themselves and others. Thousands, it would appear, are contented in Paris to exist on incomes that in the United States or England would be considered by some as scarcely sufficient to furnish comfortable lodgings. Yet, such persons dress in the fashionable costume of the day, and appear as independent as princes of the blood. Married or single, they are always received with much courtesy at all the soirees, and without this class of truly independent persons, what would become of all the parties and balls in Paris? In the United States, it is only a small and highly-privileged class who

can permit themselves to go wherever and whenever pleasure beckons. But in Paris, nobody of ton, in making arrangements for a fête, has need to think twice before she can answer the important question, "But where are we to get beaux?" Faris is indeed a delightful city, as all must acknowledge who have entered its gates. It would be interesting beyond all other cities in Europe, if carefully travelled through with a shrewd, well-informed antiquarian, to enable him to do justice to it. Even a history of the streets of Paris might contain a mixture of tragedy, comedy, and poetry; of history, biography, and romance, that might furnish volumes of entertaining and useful knowledge, which could hardly fail of meeting with success in these days of experiments, improvements, and cheap reading, so greedily sought after. I have ofttimes wondered, while wending my way through the by-streets, lanes and alleys in Paris, seeking for information, as I looked around, where all the sorrow and suffering, which we know to be the lot of mortals, contrived to hide itself. In all other cities, we see people looking anxious and busy, at least, if not wo-begone and utterly miserable. But in Paris the glance of every eye, male or female, young or old, is a gay, laughing one, seemingly void of all care; although this may be assumed, the effect is certainly most cheering to the spirits of the tourist in search of pleasure and information in a large city.

The Hotel des Monnaies is a great attraction to tourists, on visiting Paris; it is situated on the Quai Conti, on the spot where the old Hotel de Conti stood. This building has truly a magnificent appearance, like all public buildings in Paris, and contains an immense collection of valuable ancient coins and medals. This collection formerly was placed at the Palace of the Louvre. Every medal struck in France has an impression preserved in the Hotel des Monnaies. There is also to be seen in this building, gratis, a gallery of portraits, of great historical interest, which the tourist, if he be a connoisseur, must not forget.

The Palais des Beaux Arts is another public building to be visited by the tourist, and should he be at the Louvre, by crossing over the Seine by the Pont des Arts, which leads from the Quai Louvre, he will be in a few minutes standing near the chaste towering column in its front, surmounted by a statue of bronze, which cannot fail of catching the tourist's eye in crossing the bridge from the Louvre. On leaving the Palais des Beaux Arts, one square will bring the tourist to Rue de Seine, which will lead him directly in front of the magnificent palace and gardens of Luxembourg, all of which can be visited gratis, and should by all means be examined, and its fairy-like gardens roamed through at leisure, to see the exquisite taste of the French in olden times. From these delightful gardens the tourist will see the superb dome

of the Pantheon towering above all surrounding objects, but two squares off, and can be visited at the same time with but little trouble, which he will not regret. To visit the Legion d'Honneur, the tourist, by crossing the Seine, near the Tuileries by the Pont Royal to the Quai d'Orcay, and turning to the right he will stand at its portal, and all the pass he will require to enter, will be to say to the sentinel or the orderly on duty, "I'm an American citizen." The reply will be, with a salute, "Tres bien, passe Monsieur, S'il vous plait."

The Ecole Militaire is near the Hopital des Invalides, and adjoining Champ de Mars, both of which places can be visited while in that section of Paris. The military school at West Point is conducted on the same principle, with one exception only, and that is, the Cadets in the French school are obliged to serve the country for a certain number of years, and are not permitted, after receiving their education at the expense of the nation, to resign, as is so often the case with those educated at West Point, a year or two after leaving the Academy. On the Rue de Rivoli, opposite the gardens of the Tuileries, stands those two much-admired splendid government palaces of the Ministers of Finance and Marine, and facing them, on the opposite side of the Seine, stands in majestic grandeur the Palace of the Minister of the Interior; this last government building, in an architectural point of view excels all others in Paris; it is but a very short distance from the Chamber of Deputies, faces on the Seine, same as the latter, and from the Tuileries has a beautiful appearance.

The Jardin du Roi is also pro bono publico, and a garden of great attraction and resort, about a mile from the Tuileries, down the Seine, and its entrance fronts the Pont d'Austerlitz, which here crosses the river, and will lead the tourist to Place la Bastile.

The Hospitals are very numerous in Paris, and all conducted, it would seem, on the same excellent plan as the Hotel Dieu, opposite the Notre-Dame, which, for its judicious management, and kind treatment of the invalids cannot be surpassed in the world, which is acknowledged by all who visit it. The Hospital des Menages, La Salpetriere, Incurables Femmes des Enfans, Maladies de la Charite, Saint Antoine, &c., &c., should not escape notice of the tourist, and all can be visited in one day, with common industry, and without a commissionaire, by referring to the pocket map of the city, which no tourist should be without for a moment, while wending the streets of Paris, and give him information far more correct than inquiring of persons in the streets for the place you wish to visit, particularly so if you do not speak or understand French.

The agent for the Cunard line of steamers to Boston is Mr. Emerson; his office is No. 14 Boulevard Perssonniere, in a small

court, up stairs; on passing into the court his name will be seen among others who transact business there. Mr. Emerson is from New England, and all Americans will find pleasure and information at his office, as all the English and American papers are regularly received by the steamers, and all letters and packages are transmitted from this office to the United States, via Liverpool; and for an American, while in Paris, it is pleasant to have a place where all the daily news is communicated, and read American papers but two weeks from the press. Should the tourist have any business in England, of any kind, even to the taking out of a patent, or business in any part of Europe, of a pecuniary nature, by calling on Mr. Okey, Counsellor to the British Embassy, No. 39 Rue Faubourg St. Honore, he will have all accomplished promptly to his entire satisfaction; and so elevated is Mr. Okey's position in Paris, that his name alone, as a reference, is a passport to the first society. Mr. Okey, like all English gentlemen when abroad, seems to court the society of well-informed Americans, who, while travelling in Europe, take a pride in hailing as their native country the birth-place of Washington, the only true Republic on the globe, whose proud flag floats in triumph in every port, and whose canvass whitens every sea. Respected at home and abroad, blessed with every climate, America may in truth be called the land of milk and honey, and so is termed by the old world, which causes its thousands and tens of thousands yearly, to make America their adopted home, where, under their own vine and fig tree, they sink the subject, and hail as free and independent citizens.

Every stranger coming to Paris, is absolutely obliged to speak French, almost whether he can, or cannot. A very considerable proportion of the educated Parisians, both male and female, read English, and often appear to enter very ably into the spirit of English and American authors; but there is not one in fifty of these who will venture to pronounce a single word of the language in conversation. Though they endure with a polite gravity imperturbable, the very drollest blunders of which language is capable, they cannot endure to run the risk of making blunders in return. Every thing connected with the externals of good society, in the Parisian circles, is held sacred by the members of it, and if they shrink from offending la bienseance, by laughing at the mistakes of others, they avoid, with at least an equal degree of caution, the unpardonable offence of committing any themselves.

The American tourist, with a determination while abroad to represent the American gentleman, with a suavity of manners to all he is compelled by circumstances to associate with while on his tour, will seldom or never have cause to be put out of temper, and will always, most invariably command the respect and esteem of all classes. True genuine politeness costs us nothing, and acts as