from the windows of the palace terminate, must lose much of their loveliness, as imagination and memory ever interpose the headless trunk of their unhappy predecessor. Moreover, it seems to me, that the consciousness that they sit upon a precarious throne, and, probably, are only sheltered by the bayonets of foreigners from a similar fate, must be another bitter ingredient in their cup of royalty.—Who, that values his repose of mind, would wish to share it with them!

But 'tis time to change the scene and abandon these reflections. Here, in this immense area, TE DEUM was sung, for the triumph of the Allies, and the restoration of the Bourbons, when the principal Monarchs of Europe were present at the ceremony. This must have been a most sublime and imposing spectacle. No place can be conceived more suited to such a purpose. The buildings and the gardens that surround it are in the highest style of classic elegance and grandeur, while the recollections of the spot at once marked it as appropriate, and must have contributed greatly to the effect, and enthusiasm of the ceremony.-But the Place Louis XV. is now all life and gaiety. It appears to be a favourite resort of the Parisians. Those recollections, seem by no means to

if, in deed, they occur at all, diminish the pleasure which the beauty and the bustle of the scene impart.-No stranger to their history, that pauses, and observes the gay and ani

mated groups that pass across it now, would imagine that, in the memory of many of them, it had been a theatre of horror and of blood, and that, but yesterday, a foreign army had encamped in the adjacent woods. But the history of Paris, for the last thirty years, has been like the ebbing and the flowing of the sea-the impressions of one revolution, however deep, have been rapidly effaced by the quick succession of another-and whether the tide has ccased its dreadful alternations, is, with some, a doubtful question, but one by which the majority of the people are, perhaps, but little troubled.— Let them have their amusements and their pleasures, and it is enough for them-the Theatrethe Palais Royal-and the Boulevards, absorb and captivate them.-The dice or the amour afford sufficient occupation for the mind--and with pursuits like these they are content and happy, if, indeed, the artificial gaiety which they awaken can deserve the name of happiness, till the voice of some commanding intellect arouse them, and they turn from their pleasures to abet the schemes of his ambition, or to follow in hi career of blood.

Your's, &c.

LETTER IX.

Paris.

MY DEAR

WE have been much gratified this morning with a visit to the Luxembourg, the most perfect and beautiful of all the palaces in Paris. I shall not weary you with its description-suffice it to say that it is distinguished by the boldness of its design, and the symmetry of its proportions: more uniform than the Thuileries, and more finished than the Louvre-its general aspect is extremely chaste and elegant. It is built upon the model of the Palace de Piti at Florence, by Desbrosses, an Italian architect. Its name was derived from the Duke of Luxembourg, who had an hotel upon the spot, and from whom the land was purchased by Maria de Medicis, the founder of the present edifice. It became the property of Louis XIV. by purchase from the Duchess of Guise, and was given by the unfortunate Louis XVI. to Monsieur, his brother, the present monarch. Like most of the royal edifices of this city, the scenes of revolu tionary fury have disgraced it. It was used as a

D

prison during the reign of terror, and the Senate held their sittings within its walls.

Within this palace is the Chamber of Peers. The throne on which Napoleon sat is still standing-but a most ridiculous and contemptible metamorphose has been made on a grand emblematical painting which covers nearly one side of the hall. The figure of Buonaparte formerly appeared in it as the Genius of France; the head of the Ex-Emperor, however, has been taken away, and that of Henry the Fourth put in its place. You may well imagine how ridiculous the head of the Bourbon looks upon the Corsican's shoulders.-Surely there is a childishness in this which must excite the pity and contempt of surrounding nations. If the image of the usurper was an offensive object to the present monarch, viewed from that very throne on which he sat during so many of his years of exile, why did he not re-. move the piece immediately from the hall. But if his vanity was flattered by the possession of so fine a production of the pencil, why, in the eyes of an observant and susceptible nation, betray that weakness, and suspicion, and doubt, which such a measure as the displacing of the head of Buonaparte indicates; as though the demon of anarchy still haunted his troubled mind, and he feared lest the usurper should exceed the former miracle of his uninterrupted march from the coast to the capital, and start from the very canvass, again to dispossess him of his throne.

The apartments of the Luxembourg are most superb, and the paintings in the galleries extremely fine. They have been considerably thinned of late, of the works of the old masters, to supply the deficiencies in the Louvre. The living artists are doing their utmost to fill up the vacancies which thus occur. There are already many pictures from the pencil of David-whose works are universally and deservedly admired. His subjects are, chiefly, classical, and his figures and draperies exceedingly appropriate-while there is a sobriety in his colouring, which is well adapted to the antiquity and majesty of the scenes and transactions he delineates. It struck me, however, that there was too much stateliness in his figures, and that the effect would, in many cases, have been much finer, if a little more ease had been given to the form, and a little less formality to the drapery. But you will suppose that the air of Paris has had the same effect upon me, as upon many of my countrymen, who were quite as unpromising subjects for such a change, and that I am actually turning connoisseur-but, if I am, the metamorphose is still far from complete, and I fear that you will smile at the awkwardness of my first attempt in so new and different a character.

There is one picture, however, in the Luxembourg, which has haunted me ever since I saw it, and the impression of which I shall not easily lose. Its subject is the flight of Cain. There is a