The American gentlemen here, many of them, wear eagles in their hats. The emblem is mistaken for that of Napoleon, and hence terrible fracas frequently arise. One occurred this morning at the gate of the gardens of the Tuileries. The sentinel on duty snatched at the eagle, to tear it from his hat, as the American passed. The American thereupon planted his clenched fist in the soldier's face-a scuffle ensued-they fell-others came to mingle in the fray, and words and blows were dealt unsparingly, by more than the original combatants. What was the issue I have not heard. There can be little doubt, however, but that the American would obtain redress, for the action of the scntinel must be considered as a violation of both decency and duty. All this happened just under the windows of the palace.

We took horses, and rode this morning to the heights of Montmartre, a name and a spot big

which he held up to the view of the gendarme, who immediately made his obeisance to him, and departed. Now the fact is, that he himself was a superintendent of these spies. The waiter at the tavern was in the pay of Government-he made the observation respecting the head of the emperor in the hearing of the waiter to prove his vigilance he was true to his charge, and directly apprised one of the gendarmes of the seditious and treasonable words that had escaped from the stranger's lips. He then tempted the gendarme with those liberal offers, and finding him faithful, his object was accomplished, and informing him by the card which he carried about him, and which bore the secret sign, who he was, there the matter ended, to the satisfaction of all the parties concerned. Who would live in such a land as this!

with disgrace and infamy to France, and which they would gladly obliterate for ever from the annals of their history, and the surface of their soil. From the top of the telegraph, which we ascended for the sake of the prospect, is a magnificent view of the city with its adjacent woods and gardens, and highly-cultivated fields and orchards, on the one hand, and on the other, immense plains, stretching to an almost imperceptible horizon, with the venerable towers of St. Denis, the ancient burying place of the kings of France, in the distance. We found the man who keeps the telegraph, intelligent and communicative; but you will feel as little interested in reading, as I should be in writing, could I correctly record it, all he told us of the movements of the allied armies, whose advance to the gates of Paris, by this place, fixed an indelible stain upon the military character of France, and, at the same time, put the FINIS to the career of the usurper's glory. For the afterpiece, which terminated on the plains of Waterloo, and whence the actor retired to his lonely dwelling on the occan, had more the appearance of a galvanic struggle, a convulsive after-pang, than the cool and steady efforts which expresss the functions, and bespeak the influence of a principle of life. The houses about Montmartre are mean, though it is to Paris, what Everton is to Liverpool, or Highgate to London. But the houses of the wealthy here are all immured in courts, and shut in from the view of every object, by enormous gates, just like Burlington House, in

Piccadilly-only that the courts are far less spacious, and the streets far less wide. They seem but partially to appreciate the beauties of prospect, the advantages of situation, or the salubrity of the air. They have nothing like our neat country boxes-and genteel and pleasant villages, scattered here and there, within a few miles round the city-to which the wealthy tradesman might repair, to enjoy, in domestic retirement, a sweet seclusion from the noise and bustle of the great metropolis. But they all live-princes and peers-artists and literati-tradesmen and merchants--crowded together in tall and thickly-inhabited houses--close and narrow streets, filled with perpetual bustle and incessant din, with no relaxation, but a stroll in the Champs-Elysées, or the public gardens-and no amusement or variety, but that which is derived from the café or the theatre-the cards or the dice--the light and airy forms of dissipation that flutter in the boulevards, or the more desperate and determined fiends of vice, that brood in the deep recesses of the Palais Royal. And even if they leave the city, and ramble a few miles into the adjacent country, it is to some one of those scenes of pleasure or receptacles of vice, with which the environs abound, and without which, even the beauties of nature, and the freshness of the air, would have but little to captivate and charm them !*

*What I have here written is from my own observation, and the observation of others, better informed than myself. Marchant's

Perhaps the secret of all this, in a great measure, is, that there is nothing like domestic life in Paris. You will hardly find a comfortable family circle there. Marriages are, for the most part, contracts formed for convenience and not for love. From such connexions, what can be expected but alienation and distance-infidelity and adultery. Accordingly, I am informed, it is no uncommon thing in Paris, for a married woman to have what is called L'ami de maison, who visits her as often as he pleases, without any interruption from the lady's lawful husband-to whom the boudoir of his mistress is always sacred-and who is so necessary an evil in the house, a thing so generally tolerated, that, in many cases, he actually bears his part in the expences of the establishment. The lady, of course, allows to her husband the liberty she takes, and he is sent abroad to find a similar post of honour, in some other house, to that which he suffers the beloved of his wife to occupy in his own. From such a state of things, therefore, every shadow of domestic intercourse and association is excluded.

guide to Paris, indeed, informs us of a few villages, remarkable for their commanding prospects and the beauty of their villas, to which the merchants of the capital resort. They must bear, however, a very small proportion to the population of the city, and be very different in their character to the generality of buildings which I have seen in its neighbourhood. I am still of opinion, that, in the vicinity of Paris, the neat, snug, compact cit's country box, which bespeaks domestic comfort, and the rational enjoyment of well-earned competence, is utterly unknown.

CHARACTER OF THE PARISIANS.

71

A family table is seldom spread—a family circle is seldom gathered. They repair to the restaurateurs to dine-to the cafés for coffee, and to the theatre, or even worse resorts, for the evening's occupation and amusement. Thus they live in public-eat and drink in public and one might almost imagine, from their fondness for publicity, that they would sleep in public-or never sleep at all. Pleasure, exhi-, bition, and intrigue, seem to be the great ends of their existence. To the nobler pursuits and occupations, that become a rational, accountable, and immortal creature, they seem utterly lost. With the being of a God, or a future state, there is nothing, above ground, in Paris, that has the remotest connexion, except, indeed, the churches, which are the haunts of the deadliest superstition, and consecrated to the pompous worship of the image of the beast. From the classic air of the public edifices, and the mingled superstition and impurity of the people, one might almost fancy one's self in ancient Athens, surrounded by a thousand temples and a thousand altars, consecrated to the deities of lust and pleasure; and a population, the fundamental maxim of whose practical, if not avowed atheism, is ever present to their mind, and ever operative in their conduct,-Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die!

But I have been, almost unconsciously, led to the same disgusting topic, upon which, I fear, I have