PARIS,

FROM

PERE LA CHAISE.

RECOLLECTIONS OF A SOLITARY TRAVELLER.

IT was on a winter evening, about ten years since, that after wandering through the Faubourg St. Antoine, I reached the gate of the cemetery of St. Louis, or Pere La Chaise. It was one of those evenings in which that cold, sullen season seems scarcely to display itself, and yet the thin haze that floated around, and the occasional chilliness of a passing blast, warned me that the clear blue sky above, and the bright glittering of the declining sun, are not always the signs of summer. My feelings harmonized strongly with the scene; never had I visited this silent, peaceful, unprofaned retreat, where virtue may repose uninjured, and glory rest unenvied, with deeper feelings of sadness than those with which I now entered it. A