CHAPTER XV.

"Monin, tondit et coupeles chiens la chatteet sa femme——vat en ville."

Which runs in this ridiculous manner in english:

"Monin shears and cutsdogs and cats and his wife——goes on errands."

As I had no time to return to my hotel to dress, I was initiated into a mode of expeditiously equipping myself, by a young friend who was with me, to which I was before a stranger, and which shows in the most trifling matters, that the french are good adepts in expedition and accommodation. In passing through the Palais Royal, we entered the little shop of a boot cleaner. In a moment I was mounted upon a dirty sopha, to which I ascended by steps, and from which I had a complete commanding view of the concourse of gay people, who are always passing and repassing in this idle place; the paper of the day, stretched upon a little wooden frame was placed in my hand, each foot was fixed upon an iron anvil, one man brushed off the dirt, and another put on a shining blacking, a third brushed my clothes, and a fourth presented a basin of water and towel to me. The whole of this comfortable operation lasted about four minutes. My dirty valets made me a low bow for four sols, which, poor as the recompense was, exceeded their expectations by three pieces of that petty coin.

In the evening, I had the happiness of being introduced to Monsieur S——. Under his noble and hospitable roof, amidst his affectionate, beautiful, and accomplished family, and in the select circle of his elegant and enlightened society, I passed many happy hours. Monsieur S—— was of a noble family, and previous to the revolution was one of the fermiers generaux, and possessed a very noble fortune. In discharging the duties of his distinguished and lucrative office, he conciliated the affections of every one, who hadthe good fortune to be comprehended within the compass of his honourable authority, and when the revolution stripped him of it, it found his integrity without a stain, except what, in the bewildered interpretation of republican fury, adhered to him from his connection with the old established order of things. In the general, and undistinguishing cry for blood, which yelled from the remorseless assassins of Robespierre, this admirable man was consigned to a dungeon, and doomed to the scaffold. Two hours before he was to suffer, the remembrance of the noble victim, and of a series of favours, of kindness, and of generosity, flashed, with momentary but irresistible compunction, upon the mind of one of his sanguinary judges, who, suspending the bloody proceedings which then occupied the court, implored the compassion of his fell associates. He pleaded until he had obtained his discharge, and then at once forgetting the emotions of mercy, which had inspired his tongue with the most persuasive eloquence, he very composedly resumed the functions of his cruel occupation, and consigned to the fatal instrument of revolutionary slaughter, other beings, whose virtues were less renowned, or less fortunate in their sphere of operation. Monsieur S—— had reached his sixty-eighth year, but seemed to possess all the vivacity and health of youth. His lady was a very amiable, and enlightened woman. Their family consisted of a son, and three daughters, all of them handsome, and very highly accomplished. The eldest, Madame E——, excelled in music; the second, Madame B——, in poetry and the classics; and the youngest,Mademoiselle Delphine, in drawing and singing. I shall, perhaps, be pardoned for introducing a little impromptu compliment, which the pure, and unassuming merits of the youngest of the family, drew from my pen, in consequence of the conversation one evening, turning upon the indecorum of the tunic dress, amongst the elegantes of Paris.

Whilst art array'd intunicrobe,Tries over fashion's gaudy globe,To hold resistless force,Thy merits shall impede her course,For grace and nature gain in thee,A chaste, decisive victory.

From the general wreck of property Monsieur S—— has been fortunate enough to save a considerable portion of his former fortune. A similar favourable circumstance has, in general, rewarded the fortitude and constancy of those who, in the political storm, refused to seek a dastard safety by flight. Influenced by the reputation of the integrity, talents, and experience of Monsieur S——, the first consul has deservedly placed him at the head of the national accounts, which he manages with great advantage, and honour to the government. I was pressed to make this charming house my home. Upon a noble terrace, which communicated with the drawing room, and commanded a view of all the gayety, and fashion of the Italien Boulevard, whichmoved below us, in the circle of some of the most charming people of Paris, we used to enjoy the refreshing coolness of the evening, the graceful unpremeditated dance, or the sounds of enchanting music. In this happy spot all parties assembled. Those who had been divided by the ferocity of politics, here met in amiable intercourse. I have in the same room observed, the once pursuing republican conqueror, in social converse with the captive vendeean general, who had submitted to his prowess, and to the government. The sword was not merely sheathed—it wasconcealedin flowers. To please, and to be pleased; to charm, and to enlighten, by interchanges of pleasantry, and politeness, and talents, and acquirements, seemed alone to occupy the generous minds of this charming society. The remembrance of the hours which I passed under this roof, will afford my mind delight, as long as the faculty of memory remains, or until high honour, and munificent hospitality have lost their value, and genius and beauty, purity and elegance have no longer any attractions.

Civility of a Sentinel.—The Hall of the Legislative Assembly.—British House of Commons.—Captain Bergevet.—The Temple.—Sir Sydney Smith's Escape.—Colonel Phillipeaux.

One morning, as I was entering the grand court of the hall of the Legislative Assembly, I was stopped by a sentry. I told him I was an Englishman. He politely begged my pardon, and requested me to pass, and called one of the housekeepers to show me the apartments.

This magnificent pile is in the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and was formerly the palace of the Bourbons. After passing through a suite of splendid apartments, I entered, through lofty folding doors, into the hall, where the legislators assemble. It is a very spacious semicircular room, and much resembles, in its arrangements the appearance of a splendid theatre before the stage. The ascent to the seat of the president is by a flight of light marble steps; the facing of his bureau is composed of the most costly marble, richly carved. On each side of the president's chair are seats for the secretaries; and immediately below them is the tribune, into which the orator ascends to address the House. On each side of the seat of the president are antique statues of eminent patriots and orators, which are placed in niches in the wall. Under the tribune, upon the centre of the floor, is the altar of the country, upon which, in marble, is represented the book of the laws, resting uponbranches of olive. Behind it, upon semicircular seats, the legislators sit, at the back of whom are the boxes of the embassadors, and officers of state, and immediately above them, within a colonnade of corinthian pillars, the public are admitted. Round the upper part of the cornice, a beautiful festoon of lilac coloured cloth, looped up with rich tassels, is suspended, for the purpose of correcting the vibration of the voice. The whole is very superb, and has cost the nation an immense sum of money. The principal housekeeper asked me "whether our speakers had such a place to declaim in," I told him, "that we had verygreatorators in England, but that they were content to speak in very little places." He laughed, and observed, "that frenchmen never talked to so much advantage as when their eye was pleased."

This man I found had been formerly one of the door keepers of the national assembly, and was present when, after having been impeached by Billaud, Panis, and their colleagues, Tallien dischargedhispistol at Robespierre, whom he helped to support, until the monster was finally dispatched by the guillotine, on the memorable 9th of Thermidor.

The french are amazingly fond of finery and stage effect. The solicitude which always first manifested itself after any political change in the course of the revolution, was the external decoration of each new puppet who, arrayed in the brief authority of the fleeting moment, was permitted to "play his fantastic tricks before high Heaven."

The poor battered ark of government was left overturned, under the protection of an escort of assassins, in the ensanguined mud, upon the reeking bodies of its former, headless, bearers, until its new supporters had adjusted the rival pretensions of silk and satin, and had consulted the pattern book of the laceman in the choice of their embroidery. On one side of the arch which leads into the antiroom of the legislative assembly, are suspended patterns and designs for tickets of admission to the sitting, elegantly framed, and near the same place, in a long gallery which leads to the dressing-rooms of the legislators, are boxes which contain the senatorial robes of the members. The meetings of our house of commons would inspire more awe, and veneration, if more attention was paid to decorum, and external decoration. A dignified and manly magnificence would not be unsuitable to the proceedings of the sanctuary of british laws, and the seat of unrivalled eloquence. What would a perfumed french legislator say, accustomed to rise in the rustling of embroidered silks, and gracefully holding in his hand, a cap of soft and showy plumes, to address himself to alabaster statues, glittering lustres, grecian chairs, festoons of drapery, and an audience of beings tricked out as fine as himself, were he to be suddenly transported into a poor and paltry room, meanly lighted, badly ventilated, and inconveniently arranged, and to be told that, in that spot, the representatives of the first nation in the world, legislated for her subjects? What would he say, were he to see and hear in the mean attire of jockeys and mechanics, such orators as Greece and Rome never saw or heard in the days of their most exalted glory; unfolding with the penetration of a subordinate Providence, the machinations of a darkand deep conspiracy, erecting elaborate laws to shelter the good, against the enemies of repose, or hurling the thunder of their eloquence against the common foes of their country. The astonished frenchman would very likely say, "I always thought that the english were a strange set of beings, but they now exceed the powers of my comprehension, they can elicit wit in the midst of gloom, and can say such things in a plain unbrushed coat ofbluecloth, as all the robes, plumes, and finery of the republic, in her gaudy halls of deliberation, cannot inspire."

From the legislative assembly I went to pay my respects to the gallant captain Bergeret, to whom I had letters of introduction. It will be immediately remembered, that this distinguished hero, in the Virginie, displayed the most undaunted courage, when she was engaged by sir Edward Pellew, in the Indefatigable, to whose superior prowess and naval knowledge, he was obliged to strike the tricolour flag. His bravery and integrity have justly entitled him to the admiration and lasting friendship of his noble conqueror, and to the esteem of the british nation. When sir Sidney Smith was confined in the Temple, and captain Bergeret a prisoner in England, the latter was sent to France upon his parole, to endeavour to effect the exchange of sir Sidney. The french government, which was then under the direction of some of the basest and meanest of her tyrants, refused to listen to the proposal; and at the same time resisted the return of their own countryman.

The gallant Bergeret was resolved to preserve his word of honour unsullied, or to perish in the attempt. Finding all hisefforts to obtain the liberation of the illustrious captive unavailing, menaced with death if he departed, and invited by promised command and promotion if he remained, he contrived to quit his own country by stealth, and returned a voluntary exile to his generous and confiding conquerors.

From captain B——'s hotel I went to the Temple, so celebrated in the gloomy history of the revolution. It stands in the Rue du Temple, in the Fauxbourg of that name. The entrance is handsome, and does not much impress the idea of the approach to a place of such confinement. Over the gates is a pole, supporting a dirty and tattered bonnet rouge, of which species of republican decoration there are very few now to be seen in Paris. The door was opened to me by the principal gaoler, whose predecessor had been dismissed on account of his imputed connivance in the escape of sir Sidney Smith. His appearance seemed fully to qualify him for his savage office, and to insure his superiors against all future apprehension, of a remission of duty by any act of humanity, feeling, or commiseration. He told me, that he could not permit me to advance beyond the lodge, on account of a peremptory order which he had just received from government. From this place I had a full command of the walk and prison, the latter of which is situated in the centre of the walls. He pointed out to me the window of the room in which the royal sufferers languished. As the story of sir Sidney Smith's escape from this prison has been involved in some ambiguity, a short recital of it will, perhaps, not prove uninteresting.

After several months had rolled away, since the gates of hisprison had first closed upon the british hero, he observed that a lady who lived in an upper apartment on the opposite side of the street, seemed frequently to look towards that part of the prison in which he was confined. As often as he observed her, he played some tender air upon his flute, by which, and by imitating every motion which she made, he at length succeeded in fixing her attention upon him, and had the happiness of remarking that she occasionally observed him with a glass. One morning when he saw that she was looking attentively upon him in this manner, he tore a blank leaf from an old mass book which was lying in his cell, and with the soot of the chimney, contrived, by his finger, to describe upon it, in a large character, the letter A, which he held to the window to be viewed by his fair sympathizing observer. After gazing upon it for some little time, she nodded, to show that she understood what he meant, sir Sidney then touched the top of the first bar of the grating of his window, which he wished her to consider as the representative of the letter A, the second B, and so on, until he had formed, from the top of the bars, a corresponding number of letters; and by touching the middle, and bottom parts of them, upon a line with each other, he easily, after having inculcated the first impression of his wishes, completed a telegraphic alphabet. The process of communication was, from its nature, very slow, but sir Sidney had the happiness of observing, upon forming the first word, that this excellent being, who beamed before him like a guardian angel, seemed completely to comprehend it, which she expressed by an assenting movement of the head. Frequentlyobliged to desist from this tacit and tedious intercourse, from the dread of exciting the curiosity of the gaolers, or his fellow prisoners, who were permitted to walk before his window, sir Sidney occupied several days in communicating to his unknown friend, his name and quality, and imploring her to procure some unsuspected royalist of consequence and address sufficient for the undertaking, to effect his escape; in the achievement of which he assured her, upon his word of honour, that whatever cost might be incurred, would be amply reimbursed, and that the bounty and gratitude of his country would nobly remunerate those who had the talent, and bravery to accomplish it. By the same means he enabled her to draw confidential and accredited bills, for considerable sums of money, for the promotion of the scheme, which she applied with the most perfect integrity. Colonel Phelipeaux was at this time at Paris; a military man of rank, and a secret royalist, most devoutly attached to the fortunes of the exiled family of France, and to those who supported their cause. He had been long endeavouring to bring to maturity, a plan for facilitating their restoration, but which the loyal adherent, from a series of untoward and uncontrollable circumstances, began to despair of accomplishing. The lovely deliverer of sir Sidney, applied to this distinguished character, to whom she was known, and stated the singular correspondence which had taken place between herself and the heroic captive in the Temple. Phelipeaux, who was acquainted with the fame of sir Sidney, and chagrined at the failure of his former favourite scheme, embraced the present project with a sort of prophetic enthusiasm, by which he hoped to restore, to the british nation, one of her greatest heroes, who, by his skill and valour, might once more impress the common enemy with dismay, augment the glory of his country, and cover himself with the laurels of future victory. Intelligent, active, cool, daring, and insinuating, colonel Phelipeaux immediately applied himself to bring to maturity, a plan at once suitable to his genius, and interesting to his wishes. To those whom it was necessary to employ upon the occasion, he contrived to unite one of the clerks of the minister of the police, who forged his signature with exact imitation, to an order for removing the body of sir Sidney, from the Temple to the prison of the Conciergerie: after this was accomplished, on the day after that on which the inspector of gaols was to visit the Temple and Conciergerie, a ceremony, which is performed once a month in Paris, two gentlemen of tried courage and address, who were previously instructed by colonel Phelipeaux, disguised as officers of the marechaussee, presented themselves in a fiacre at the Temple, and demanded the delivery of sir Sidney, at the same time showing the forged order for his removal. This the gaoler attentively perused and examined, as well as the minister's signature. Soon after the register of the prison informed sir Sidney of the order of the directory, upon hearing which, he at first appeared to be a little disconcerted, upon which the pseudoofficers gave him every assurance of the honour and mild intentions of the government towards him, sir Sidney seemed more reconciled, packed up his clothes, took leave of his fellow prisoners, and distributed little tokensof his gratitude to those servants of the prison, from whom he had experienced indulgencies. Upon the eve of their departure, the register observed, that four of the prison guard should accompany them. This arrangement menaced the whole plan with immediate dissolution. The officers, without betraying the least emotion, acquiesced in the propriety of the measure, and gave orders for the men to be called out, when, as if recollecting the rank and honour of their illustrious prisoner, one of them addressed sir Sidney, by saying, "citizen, you are a brave officer, give us your parole, and there is no occasion for an escort." Sir Sidney replied, that he would pledge his faith, as an officer, to accompany them, without resistance, wherever they chose to conduct him.

Not a look or movement betrayed the intention of the party. Every thing was cool, well-timed, and natural. They entered a fiacre, which, as is usual, was brought for the purpose of removing him, in which he found changes of clothes, false passports, and money. The coach moved with an accustomed pace, to the Faubourg St. Germain, where they alighted, and parted in different directions. Sir Sidney met colonel Phelipeaux at the appointed spot of rendezvous.

The project was so ably planned and conducted, that no one but the party concerned was acquainted with the escape, until near a month had elapsed, when the inspector paid his next periodical visit. What pen can describe the sensations of two such men as sir Sidney and Phelipeaux, when they first beheld each other in safety? Heaven befriended the generous and gallant exploit. Sir Sidney and his noble friend, reachedthe french coast wholly unsuspected, and committing themselves to their God, and to the protective genius of brave men, put to sea in an open boat, and were soon afterwards discovered by an english cruising frigate, and brought in safety to the british shores.

The gallant Phelipeaux soon afterwards accompanied sir Sidney in the Tigre to Acre, where, overwhelmed by the fatigue of that extraordinary campaign, in which he supported a distinguished part, and the noxious influence of a sultry climate, operating upon a delicate frame, he expired in the arms of his illustrious friend, who attended him to his grave, and shed the tears of gratitude and friendship over his honoured and lamented obsequies. But ere the dying Phelipeaux closed his eyes, he received the rewards of his generous enterprise. He beheld the repulsed legions of the republic, flying before the british banners, and the irresistible prowess of his valiant companion; he beheld the distinguished being, whom he had thus rescued from a dungeon, and impending destruction, by an act of almost romantic heroism, covered with the unparticipated glory, of having overpowered a leader, who, renowned, and long accustomed to conquest, saw, for the first time, hisinvincible troopsgive way; who, inflamed to desperation, deemed the perilous exposure of his person necessary, to rally them to the contest, over bridges of their slaughtered comrades, but who at length was obliged to retire from the field of battle, and to leave to the heroic sir Sidney, the exclusive exultation of announcing to his grateful and elatedcountry, that he had fought, and vanquished the laurelled conqueror of Italy, and the bold invader of Egypt.

Sir Sidney has no vices to conceal behind his spreading and imperishable laurels. His public character is before the approving world. That peace which his sword has accelerated, has afforded us an undisturbed opportunity of admiring his achievements in the field, and of contemplating his conduct in the retired avenues of private life, in which his deportment is without a stain. In him there is every thing to applaud, and nothing to forgive.

Yet thus glorious in public, and thus unsullied in private, the conqueror of Bonaparte, and the saviour of the east, owes the honours,which he adorns, to foreign and distant powers.

To thegratefulgovernment of his own country, he is indebted for an ungracious paltry annuity, inadequate to the display of ordinary consequence, and wholly unequal to the suitable support of that dignity, which ought for ever to distinguish such a being from the mass of mankind.

The enemies of sir Sidney, for envy furnishes every great man with his quota of such indirect eulogists, if they should honour these pages with a perusal, may, perchance, endeavour to trace the approving warmth with which I have spoken of him, to the enthusiasm of a friendship dazzled, and undiscriminating; but I beg to assure them, that the fame of sir Sidney is better known to me than his person, and that his noble qualities have alone excited the humbletribute which is here offered to one, for whom delighted Nature, in the language of our immortal bard,

"—————————————might stand up,and say to all the world, thisisa man——"

A fashionable Poem.—Frere Richart.—Religion.—Hôtel des Invalides.—Hall of Victory.—Enemies' Colours.—Sulky Appearance of an English Jack and Ensign.—Indecorum.—The aged Captain.—Military School.—Champ de Mars.—The Garden of Mousseaux.

The conversation whilst I was at Paris, was much engaged by a poem, describing the genius and progress of christianity written in imitation of the style of Ossian, which excited very considerable curiosity. From the remarks of some shrewd acquaintances of mine, who had perused the work, I learnt that the principles of the poem seemed strongly tinctured with the bewildered fancies of a disordered mind, conveyed in very heavyprosaicblank verse. "It was the madness of poetry, without the inspiration."

This composition may be considered as a curiosity, from other reasons than those which mere criticism affords. The poem was bad, the readers were many. The subject was sacred, the author a reputed atheist, and the profits which it produced exceeded two thousand pounds sterling. The fortunate writer relieved himself from the jaws of famine by this strange incomprehensible eulogy on the charms and advancement of christianity, which has been received in Paris, with a sort of fashionable frenzy. Another pseudobard has announced his intention very shortly of issuing from the press,a work which he conceives will be more saleable and a greater favourite with the public, in which he intends ironically to combat the doctrine of the Trinity, by gravely resembling it to the Deity taking snuff between two looking glasses, so that when he sneezes, two resemblances of him are seen to sneeze also, and yet that there are not three sneezers, but one sneezer.

Some other outlines of this work were imparted to me at Paris, but the pen turns with disgust and detestation, from such low and nauseous profanation. I have only condescended to mention the composition, and the last anecdote, to show how much the world is deluded, by the received opinion that the french are become a new race of exemplary devotees. The recoil from atheism to enthusiasm, is not unusual, but the french in general have not, as yet, experienced this change. That they are susceptible of extraordinary transitions, their history and revolution have sufficiently manifested. In the Journal de Paris, written in the reigns of Charles VI and VII, is preserved rather a curious account of the velocity with which religious zeal has, in former periods, been excited. "On the 4th day of April, 1429," says the journal, "the duke of Burgundy came to Paris, with a very fine body of knights and esquires; and eight days afterwards there came to Paris, a cordelier, by name Frere Richart, a man of great prudence, very knowing in prayer, a giver of good doctrine to edify his neighbour, and was so successful, that he who had not seen him, was bursting with envy against those who had. He was but one day in Paris, without preaching. He beganhis sermon about five o'clock in the morning, and continued preaching till ten or eleven o'clock, and there were always between five and six thousand persons to hear him preach. This cordelier preached on St. Mark's Day, attended by the like number of persons, and on their return from his sermon, the people of Paris were so turned, and moved to devotion, that in three or four hours time, there were more than one hundred fires lighted, in which they burnt their chess boards, their back gammon tables, and their packs of cards."

To this sort of fanaticism, the parisians are unquestionably not arrived. A more eloquent man than the Frere Richart, must appear amongst them, before such meliorations as are recorded in the Paris journal, can be effected in the dissolute and uncontrolled habits of that gay and voluptuous city. I do not mean, from any previous remark which I have made, to infer that there are not many good and very pious people in France, and it has been a favourable circumstance to the ancient religion ofthe country, that the revolution never attempted any reform in it, or to substitute another mode of worship. That great political change in the ebullition of its fury, prostrated the altars of the old church, without raising others of a new, or improved construction. It presented a hideous rebellion against the glorious author of all good, and declared an indiscriminate war of extermination against his ministers and followers, and every principle of the Gospel and morality. Every form of faith, every mode of adoration, fell indiscriminately under the proscriptions of its unsparing wrath.The towering abbey and humble oratory, were alike swept away in the general tornado, and mingled their ruins together. But the race of the good were not all expelled from this scene of havoc and outrage. The voice of piety still found a passage to her God. The silent prayer pierced through the compact covering of the dungeon, and ascended to Heaven. Within the embowering unsearchable recesses of the soul, far beyond the reach of revolutionary persecution, the pure unappalled spirit of devotion erected her viewless temple, in secret magnificence, sublime, and unassailable!

The child who had never heard the bell of the sabbath sound, who had never beheld the solemn ceremonies of authorized adoration, was told that those awful and splendid piles, which filled his eyes with wonder, and his mind with instinctive reverence, were raised for other purposes than those of becoming auxiliary to the ferocity of war. That genius and taste, and toil and cost, had not thus expended their unrivalled powers, and lavished their munificent resources, in erectinggothicmagazines of gunpowder, andsaxonsheds for the accommodation of atheistic fabricators of revolutionary cannon balls.

The young observer in private, and by stealth imbibed, from parental precept or example, the sentiment of a national religion, suppressed, not extinguished, or in the gloomy absence of all indications of it, remained unsolicited by any rival mode of worship to bestow his apostacy upon an alien creed. Thus the minds of the rising generation, who were engaged in favour of the catholic persuasion, during thefrightful period of its long denunciation, by stolen, secluded and unfinished displays of its spirit and form, contemplated its return with animated elation, or beheld its approach, unimpressed with those doubts or prejudices which religious, as well as secular competitions, very frequently excite; in that auspicious hour, when the policy, if not the piety of a powerful government, restored it to the French people. The subject is highly interesting; but I must resign it to abler pens for more ample discussion.

I was much gratified by being presented to the celebrated philosopher Mons. Charles, by Madame S——. He has a suite of noble apartments in the Louvre, which have been bestowed upon him by the government, as a grateful reward for his having presented to the nation his magnificent collection of philosophical apparatus. He has also, in consideration of his ability and experience, been constituted the principal lecturer on philosophy. In these rooms his valuable and costly donation is arranged. In the centre of the dome of the first apartment, called the Hall of Electricity, is suspended the car of the first balloon which was inflated with inflammable air, in which he and his brother ascended in the afternoon of the 1st of December, 1783, in which they continued in the air for an hour and three quarters; and after they had descended, Mons. C—— rose alone to the astonishing height of 10,500 feet. In the same room are immense electrical machines and batteries, some of which had been presented to him by Madame S——.

In this room, amongst many other fanciful figures, which are used for the purpose of enlivening the solemnity of a philosophical lecture by exciting sentiments of innocent gayety, was a little Cupid. The tiny god, with his arrow in his hand, was insulated upon a throne of glass, and was charged with that electric fluid which not a little resembles the subtle spirit of his nature. The youngest daughter of Madame S——, who accompanied us, was requested to touch it. In a moment it discharged its penetrating spark—"Oh! how that little god has alarmed me!" said the recoiling fair one, whose youthful countenance surprise had imbued with new beauties; "but yet," said she, recovering herself, "he does not hurt." This little sally may be considered as a specimen of that playful sprightliness which is so much the characteristic of the french female.

In the centre of another room, dedicated to optics, as we entered, we saw a beautiful nosegay in a vase, which appeared to be composed of the rarest flowers. I approached it with an intention of inhaling its fragrance, when, lo! my hand passed through it. It was an exquisite optical illusion. "Ah!" said my elegant and moralising companion, Madame S——, smiling, "of such flowers has Happiness composedherwreath: it is thus she gladdens with it the eye of Hope; but the hand of Expectation can never grasp it."

The graceful moral deserves a more lasting record than it will find in these few and perishable pages.

In the other rooms are all sorts of apparatus for trying experiments in the various branches of that department of science, over which Mons. C—— so ably presides.

The merit of Mons. C—— has no rival but in his modesty. Considering the rank and estimation which he bears in the republic, his external appearance is singularly unassuming. I have been with him in the gardens of the Thuilleries, when they were thronged with the fashion and gayety of Paris, where he has appeared in a suit of plain brown cloth, an old round hat with a little national cockade in it, under which he presented a countenance full of character, talent and animation. In this homely puritan garb, he excited more respectful curiosity, wherever he moved, than some generals who paraded before us in dresses upon which the tailor and embroiderer had long laboured, and who added to their stature by laced hats entirely filled with gaudy buoyant plumes.

From Mons. Charles we went to the church of St. Rocque, in the Rue St. Honorè. As we entered, the effect of a fine painting of our Saviour crucified, upon which the sun was shining with great glory, placed at the extremity of the church, and seen through several lessening arches of faint, increasing shade, was very grand. This church has been more than once the scene of revolutionary carnage. Its elegant front is much disfigured, and the doors are perforated, in a great number of places, by the ball of cannon and the shot of musketry. Mass was performing in the church; but we saw only few worshippers, and those were chiefly old women and little girls.

From St. Rocque we proceeded to the Hôtel des Invalides, the chapel and dome of which are so justly celebrated. The front is inferior to the military hospital atChelsea, to which it bears some resemblance. The chapel is converted into the Hall of Victory, in which, with great taste, are suspended, under descriptive medallions, the banners of the enemies of the republic, which have been taken during the late war, the numbers of which are immense. The same decoration adorns the pilasters and galleryofthe vast, magnificent dome at the end of the hall.

My eye was naturally occupied, immediately after we had entered, in searching amongst the mostbatteredof the banners, for the british colours: at last I discovered the jack and ensign of an english man of war, pierced with shot-holes, and blackened with smoke, looking very sulky, and indignantly, amongst the finery, and tawdry tatters of italian and turkish standards.

In the course of this pursuit, I caught the intelligent eye of Madame S——. She immediately assigned to my search the proper motive. "Ah!" said she, laughingly, and patting me on the arm with her fan, "we are, as you see, my dear Englishman, very vain; and you are very proud."

A stranger to the late calamitous war, unable to marshal in his mind the enemies of the republic, might here, with a glance of his eye, whilst contemplating this poor result of devastation, enumerate the foes of France, and appreciate the facilities or difficulties of the victory.

In observing, amidst this gaudy show of captive colours, only two hardworn banners of their rival enemy, he would draw a conclusion too flattering and familiar to an English ear, to render it necessary to be recorded here.

Upon the shattered standards of Austria he would confer the meed of merited applause for heroic, although unprevailing bravery.

To the banners of Prussia he would say, "I know not whether principle or policy, or treachery, or corruption, deterred you from the field—Your looks exhibit no proofs of sincere resistance—However, you never belonged to cowards."

The neapolitan ensign might excite such sentiments as these: "You appear for a short time to have faced the battle—You were unfortunate, and soon retired."

To the gaudy drapeaus of the italian and turkish legions, which every where present the appearance of belonging to the wardrobe of a pantomimic hero, he would observe, "The scent of the battle has not perfumed you; its smoke has not sullied your shining, silky sides. Ye appear in numbers, but display no marks of having waved before a brave, united and energetic band."

In this manner might he trace the various fate of the war. Upon several of the staffs only two or three shreds of colours are to be seen adhering. These are chiefly Austrian. On each side of the chapel are large, and some of them valuable paintings, by the french masters, representing the conquests of the french armies at different eras.

It is a matter not unworthy of observation, that although the revolution with a keen, and savage eye, explored too successfully, almost every vestige of a royal tendency, the beautiful pavement under the dome of the invalides has escaped destruction. The fleur de lis, surmounted by the crown of France,still retains its original place, in this elegant and costly marble flooring. The statues of the saints have been removed; and their places are supplied by the new order of revolutionary deities; but the names of the ancient figures have not been erased from the pedestals of the new ones: to which omission the spectator is indebted for a smile when contemplating the statue of Equality, he reads, immediately below his feet, "St. Louis."

There is here a costly monument erected to the memory of the brave marshal Turenne, who was killed by a cannon ball in 1675. In my humble opinion, it is too much in the false taste of french statuary. A groupe of weeping angels surround the recumbent hero, in the attitudes of operatic figurantes, in whose faces, and forms, the artist has attempted, too laboriously and artificially, to delineate the expressions of graceful grief. On each side of the vast arch which divides the dome from the chapel, are raised the tablets of military honour, on which, in characters of gold, the names of those soldiers are recorded who have distinguished themselves for their achievements in the late war. As we were contemplating a painting upon a very large scale, in which, amongst other figures, is an uncovered whole length of a warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of desperation, after having very attentively beheld it with her glass for some time, observed to her party, that there was a great deal of indecorum in the picture. Madame S—— very shrewdly whispered in my ear, that the indecorum was in the remark.

When we were just leaving the chapel, we overheard a sun-browned soldier, who had lost both his legs, observe to his companion, to whom he was explaining the colours, pointing to the banners of the turkish cavalry, the tops of whose staffs were surmounted with horses' tails, "Look at those ribbands; they are not worthy of being worn when won." This military hospital is capable of accommodating 3,000 soldiers. The bedrooms, kitchens, refectory and outoffices are very capacious, and, what is rather unusual in France, clean and comfortable. The day before we were there, the first consul paid a visit to its veteran inhabitants. Amongst them, he recognised an old, and very brave soldier, whose exploits were the frequent theme of his aged comrades. The young general told him that he should die a captain, took him in his carriage to dine with him at Mal Maison, presented him with a medallion of honour, and conferred upon him the rank of a captain, in one of the most distinguished regiments.

From this place we went to the military school adjoining, in which Bonaparte received the rudiments of that education which was destined to form the foundation of his future glory. The building is large and handsome, and is, from a very natural sentiment, in high favour with the first consul. There is nothing in it particular to describe. The grounds and gardens are very spacious and fine. In the front of the military school is the celebrated Champ de Mars, which is an immense flat space of ground. On each side are rising terraces of earth, and double rows of trees; and at the further end, the river Seine flows. On days of great national celebrations, this vastplain is surrounded with Gobelins tapestry, statues, and triumphal arches. After contemplating these objects of public curiosity, we returned to Mons. S—— to dinner, where we met a large party of very pleasant people. Amongst them I was pleased with meeting a near relative of an able and upright minister of the republic, to whose unwearied labours the world is not a little indebted for the enjoyments of its present repose.

After dinner we drove to the beautiful garden of Mousseau, formerly the property of the duc d'Orleans. It is laid out with great taste, and delights the eye with the most romantic specimens of improved rural beauty. It was originally designed by its detestable owner for other purposes than those of affording to a vast and crowded city the innocent delights and recreations of retired and tasteful scenery. In the gloom of its groves, all sorts of horrible profanations were practised by this monster and his midnight crew, at the head of whom was Legendre the Butcher. Every rank recess of prostitute pollution in Paris was ransacked to furnish materials for the celebration of their impure and impious orgies. The ode to Atheism, and the song of Blasphemy, were succeeded by the applauding yells of Drunkenness and Obscenity.

At the time we visited this garden it belonged to the nation, and was open, on certain days, to well-dressed people. A few days afterwards, it was presented, as a mark of national esteem, to Cambaceres, the second consul.

Here we rambled till the evening. The sun was setting. The nightingales were singing in great numbers. Not a cloudto be seen. A breeze, blowing through a plantation of roses, refreshed us with its coolness and fragrance. In a sequestered part of this beautiful ground, under the embowering shades of Acacia trees, upon the ruins of a little temple, we seated ourselves, and were regaled by some charming italian duets, which were sung by Madame S—— and her lovely daughter, with the most enchanting pathos. I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing some lines which were written upon our return, by an enthusiastic admirer of merit and music.

In Mousseau's sweet arcadian dale,Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;She charms the list'ning nightingale,And seems th' enchantress of the plain.Blest be those lips, to music dear!Sweet songstress! never may they moveBut with such sounds to soothe the ear,And melt the yielding heart to love!May sorrow never bid them pourFrom the torn heart one suffering sigh,But be thy life a fragrant flow'r,Blooming beneath a cloudless sky.

In Mousseau's sweet arcadian dale,Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;She charms the list'ning nightingale,And seems th' enchantress of the plain.

Blest be those lips, to music dear!Sweet songstress! never may they moveBut with such sounds to soothe the ear,And melt the yielding heart to love!

May sorrow never bid them pourFrom the torn heart one suffering sigh,But be thy life a fragrant flow'r,Blooming beneath a cloudless sky.

Curious Method of raising Hay.—Lucien Bonaparte's Hôtel.—Opera.—Consular Box.—Madame Bonaparte's Box.—Feydeau Theatre.—Belle Vue.—Versailles.—The Palace of the Petit Trianon.—The Grounds.

The people of Paris, who keep horses in stables at the back of their houses, have a singular mode of keeping their hay in the lofts of their dwelling houses. At the top of a spacious and elegant hotel, is to be seen a projecting crane in the act of raising loads of winter provision for the stable. When I first saw this strange process, my surprise would scarcely have been increased, had I beheld the horse ascending after the hay.

I must not forget to offer some little description of the opera, where, during my stay, through the politeness of Madame H——, I had free access to a private box.

This spacious and splendid theatre is lighted from above by an immense circular lustre of patent lamps. The form of this brilliant light is in the antique taste, and it is said to have cost two thousand pounds sterling. The effect which it produces in the body of the theatre, and upon the scenery, is admirable. It prevents the sight from being divided, and distracted by girandoles. This establishment is upon so vast a scale, that government, which is the proprietor, is always a loser upon balancing the receipts and disbursements of each night. Thestage and its machinery have for many years occupied a great number of the subordinate classes of people, who, if not employed in this manner, would in all probability become burdensome, and unpleasant to the government. To this circumstance is attributable the superiority of the machinery, and scenery, over every other theatre which I ever saw. In the english theatres, my eye has often been offended at the representations of the internal parts of houses, in which not a chair, or table is introduced, for the purpose of carrying on the ingenious deception. Upon the stage of the french opera, every scene has its appropriate furniture, and distinctive appendages, which are always produced as soon as the scene drops, by numerous attendants. From this attention to the minute circumstances of the drama, the illusion becomes enchanting. The orchestra is very fine, and is composed of ninety eminent musicians. The corps de ballet consists of between eighty and ninety fine dancers, of whom Monsieur Deshayes is the principal. His movements are more graceful, his agility more surprising, and his step more light, firm, and elastic, than those of any dancer whom I have ever seen. He is very justly considered to be the first in Europe. The first consul has a private box here, on one side of which, a lofty, hollow, decorative column rises, the flutes of which are open, and through which he views, [printing unclear: unseen,] the audience and performers. The beholder might be almost inclined to think that this surprising man had borrowed from our immortal bard, his notions of exciting the impression of dignity, by a rare, and well timed display of his person.

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