Indians at Madame Greene’s party—Their ideas of waltzing—The Doctor’s admiration of the young ladies—The King’s fÊte, first of May—Indians in the Palace—Royal Family in the balcony—Grand and sublime scene on the river—Indians in a crowd of nobility in the Duc d’Aumale’s apartments—Messenger to Indians’ apartments with gold and silver medals—Medals to the women and children—Consequent difficulties—Visit to the Hospital of Invalids—Place Concorde—Column of Luxor—The fountains—Visit to the Triumphal Arch—Jim’s description of an ugly woman—Victor Hugo—Madame Georges Sands—Indians visit the Louvre—M. de Cailleux—Baron de Humboldt—Illness of the wife of Little Wolf—A phrenologist visits the Indians—The phrenologist’s head examined—Two Catholic priests visit the Indians—Indians visit the Garden of Plants—Alarm of the birds and animals—The “poor prisoner buffalo”—Visit to the Salle aux Vins—Astonishment of the Indians—The war-whoop—Chickabobboo—CafÉs explained—Indians visit PÈre la Chaise—A great funeral—A speech over the grave—Hired mourners—Visit the School of Medicine—and “Dupuytren’s Room”—Excitement of the Doctor—Visit to the Foundling Hospital—Astonishment and pity of the Indians—Entries in Jim’s note-book, and Doctor’s remarks—Visit the Guillotine—Indians’ ideas of hanging in England, and beheading in France—Curious debate—Visit to the Dog Market—Jim’s purchase and difficulty—The Dog Hospital—Alarm of the “petites malades”—Retreat—Bobasheela arrives from London—Great rejoicing—Jim’s comments on the Frenchwomen—The little foundlings and the little dogs.

Having thus commenced upon our operations in the Salle Valentino, it was thought best to change the lodgings of the Indians to some point more near to the place of their exhibitions, and rooms were at length procured for them in the same building with their hall, and communicating with it. To these apartments they were removed, and arrangements were made for two open carriages to drive them an hour each day for their recreation and amusement. By this arrangement we had the sights of Paris before us, and easily within our reach, to be visited at our leisure. Our exhibitions were given each night from eight to ten, and each afternoon from one to three o’clock; so that they had the mornings for sight-seeing, and their evenings, from ten to twelve, to visit the theatres or parties, whenever they were invited and felt disposed to attend.

The first evening-party they were invited to attend in Paris was that of the lady of Mr. Greene, the American banker. They were there ushered into a brilliant blaze of lamps, of beauty, and fashion, composed chiefly of Americans, to whom they felt the peculiar attachment of countrymen, though of a different complexion, and anywhere else than across the Atlantic would have been strangers to.

They were received with great kindness by this polite and excellent lady and her daughters, and made many pleasing acquaintances in her house. The old Doctor had luckily dressed out his head with his red crest, and left at home his huge head-dress of horns and eagles’ quills, which would have been exceedingly unhandy in a squeeze, and subjected him to curious remarks amongst the ladies. He had loaded on all his wampum and other ornaments, and smiled away the hours in perfect happiness, as he was fanning himself with the tail of a war-eagle, and bowing his head to the young and beautiful ladies who were helping him to lemonade and blanc-mange, and to the young men who were inviting him to the table to take an occasional glass of the “Queen’s chickabobboo.” Their heavy buffalo robes were distressing to them (said the Doctor) in the great heat of the rooms, “but then, as the ladies were afraid of getting paint on their dresses, they did not squeeze so hard against us as they did against the other people in the room, so we did not get so hot as we might have been.”

It amused the Doctor and Jim very much to see the gentlemen take the ladies by the waist when they were dancing with them, probably never having seen waltzing before. They were pleased also, as the Doctor said, with “the manner in which the ladies showed their beautiful white necks and arms, but they saw several that they thought had better been covered.” “The many nice and sweet and frothy little things that the ladies gave them in tea-saucers to eat, with little spoons, were too sweet, and they did not like them much; and in coming away they were sorry they could not find the good lady to thank her, the crowd was so great; but the chickabobboo (champagne), which was very good, was close to the door, and a young man with yellow hair and moustaches kept pouring it out until they were afraid, if they drank any more, some of the poor fellows who were dancing so hard would get none.”

The scene they witnessed that night was truly very brilliant, and afforded them theme for a number of pipes of gossip after they got home.

It has been said, and very correctly, that there is no end to the amusements of Paris, and to the Indians, to whose sight every thing was new and curious, the term, no doubt, more aptly applied than to the rest of the world. Of those never-ending sights there was one now at hand which was promising them and “all the world” a fund of amusement, and the poor fellows were impatient for its arrival. This splendid and all-exciting affair was the King’s fÊte on the 1st of May, his birthday as some style it, though it is not exactly such, it is the day fixed upon as the annual celebration of his birth. This was, of course, a holiday to the Indians, as well as for everybody else, and I resolved to spend the greater part of it with them.

Through the aid of some friends I had procured an order to admit the party of Indians into the apartments of the Duke d’Aumale in the Tuileries, to witness the grand concert in front of the Palace, and to see the magnificent fireworks and illumination on the Seine at night. We had the best possible position assigned us in the wing of the Palace, overlooking the river in both directions, up and down, bringing all the bridges of the Seine, the Deputies, and Invalides, and other public buildings, which were illuminated, directly under our eyes. During the day, Mr. Melody, and Jeffrey, and Daniel had taken, as they called it, “a grand drive,” to inspect the various places of amusement, and the immense concourse of people assembled in them. Of these, the BarriÈres, the Champs ElysÉes, &c., they were obliged to take but a passing glance, for to have undertaken to stop and to mix with the dense crowds assembled in them would have been dangerous, even to their lives, from the masses of people who would have crowded upon them. The Indians themselves were very sagacious on this point, and always judiciously kept at a reasonable distance on such occasions. It was amusement enough for them during the day to ride rapidly about and through the streets, anticipating the pleasure they were to have in the evening, and taking a distant view from their carriages, of the exciting emulation of the May-pole, and a glance at the tops of the thousand booths, and “flying ships,” and “merry-go-rounds” of the Champs ElysÉes.

At six o’clock we took our carriages and drove to the Tuileries, and, being conducted to the splendid apartments of the Duke d’Aumale, who was then absent from Paris, we had there, from the windows looking down upon the Seine and over the Quartier St. Germain, and the windows in front, looking over the garden of the Tuileries and Place Concorde, the most general and comprehensive view that was to be had from any point that could have been selected. Under our eyes in front, the immense area of the garden of the Tuileries was packed with human beings, forming but one black and dotted mass of some hundreds of thousands who were gathered to listen to the magnificent orchestra of music, and to see and salute with “Vive le Roi!” “Vive la Reine!” and “Vive le Comte de Paris!” the Royal Family as they appeared in the balcony. Though it appeared as if every part of the gardens was filled, there was still a black and moving mass pouring through Rue Rivoli, Rue Castiglione, Rue Royale, and Place Concorde, all concentrating in the garden of the Tuileries. This countless mass of human beings continued to gather until the hour when their Majesties entered the balcony, and then, all hats off, there was a shout as vast and incomputable as the mass itself of “Vive le Roi!—Vive le Roi!—Vive la Reine!—Vive le Comte de Paris!” The King then, with his chapeau in his hand, bowed to the audience in various directions; so did her Majesty the Queen and the little Comte de Paris. The band then struck up the national air, and played several pieces, while the Royal Family were seated in the balcony, and the last golden rays of the sun, that was going behind the Arc de Triomphe, was shining in their faces. Their Majesties then retired as the twilight was commencing, and the vast crowd began to move in the direction of the Seine, the Terrace, and Place Concorde, to witness the grand scene of illumination and “feu d’artifice” that was preparing on the river.

As the daylight disappeared, the artificial light commenced to display its various characters, and the Indians began to wonder. This scene was to be entirely new to them, and the reader can imagine better than I can explain what was their astonishment when the King’s signal rocket was fired from the Tuileries, and in the next moment the whole river, as it were, in a blaze of liquid fire, and the heavens burst asunder with all their luminaries falling in a chaos of flames and sparkling fire to the earth! The incessant roar and flash of cannons lining the shore of the river, and the explosion of rockets in the air, with the dense columns of white, and yellow, and blue, and blood-red smoke, that were rising from the bed of the river, and all reflected upon the surface of the water, heightened the grandeur of its effect, and helped to make it unlike anything on earth, save what we might imagine to transpire in and over the deep and yawning crater of a huge volcano in the midst of its midnight eruption.

This wonderful scene lasted for half an hour, and when the last flash died away, all eyes like our own seemed to turn away from the smoking desolation that seemed to be left below, and the dense mass was dividing and pouring off in streams through the various streets and avenues, some seeking their homes with their little children, and hundreds of thousands of others, to revel away the night amidst the brilliant illuminations and innocent amusements of the Champs ElysÉes.

We turned our eyes at that moment from the scene, and, in turning around, found ourselves blockaded by a phalanx of officers in gold lace and cocked hats, and ladies, attachÉs of the royal household, Deputies, Peers of France, and other distinguished guests of the Royal Family, who had been viewing the scene from other windows of the Palace, and had now gathered in our rooms to look at “les Peaux Rouges.” My good friend M. Vattemare was present on this occasion, and of great service to us all, as there were in this crowd the incumbents of several high offices under the Crown, and others of distinction with whom he was acquainted, and to whom he introduced us all, converting the rooms and the crowd in a little time into a splendid soirÉe, where conversation and refreshments soon made all easy and quite happy.

The servants of the Duke’s household conducted us into the several apartments, explaining the paintings and other works of art, and also took us into the Duke’s bedchamber, where were the portraits of himself and the Duchess, and others of the Royal Family. There was, we learned, in another part of the Palace, a grand bal on that evening, and that accounted for the constant crowds of fashionable ladies and gentlemen who were pouring into our apartments, and who would have continued to do so in all probability for the greater part of the night had we not taken up the line of march, endeavouring to make our way to our carriages on our way home. This was for some time exceedingly difficult, as we had a succession of rooms and halls to pass through before we reached the top of the staircase, all of which were filled with a dense mass of ladies and gentlemen, who had got information that the Ioway Indians were in the Duke’s apartments, and were then making their way there to get a peep at them. We crowded and squeezed through this mass as well as we could, and were all laughing at Jim’s remarks as we passed along. He thought the people had all left the King and Queen to see the Indians. “Come see Ingins” (said he in English) “at Salle Valentino—see em dance—better go back, see King, see Queen—Ingins no good.” Mr. Melody gave the poor fellow the first idea that his words were thrown away, as these people were all French, and did not understand English; so Jim said, “I spose em no buy Bible then?” and began to whistle. We soon descended the grand escalier, and, taking our carriages, were in a few minutes entering the Indians’ apartments in Salle Valentino.

Jim got home a little provoked, as the Doctor was showing a very handsome eyeglass which had been presented to him: two or three of the women had also received presents in money and trinkets, but Jim’s wife, as well as himself, was amongst the neglected or overlooked. He then took out of his pouch and throwing it down upon the table one of his beautiful gilt bound little Bibles, and said, “Me no sell em.” “Did you try, Jim?” “Yes, me try em, but me no sell em—folks call em Onglaise. Onglaise no good, I guess, I no sell em.” Poor Jim! he looked quite chapfallen at the moment, and much more so when Daniel afterwards told him that he ought to have had an auction or other sale of his Bibles before he left England, for the French didn’t care much about Bibles, and if they did they wouldn’t buy his, for they were in the English language, which they could not read. Jim’s regrets were now very great, to think they had so little oversight as to come away without thinking to make some conversion of them into ready cash. Daniel told him, however, that he thought there would be nothing lost on them, as they would sell better in America than they would have sold in England, and he had better pack them away until they went home.

The conversation running upon Bibles, Jim was asked, as there was some sympathy expressed for him, how many he and his wife had, to which he replied, “I no know—I guess a heap.” It was in a few moments ascertained more correctly from his wife, who had the immediate charge of them, that they had twenty-eight, and the account soon returned from the whole party, that in all they had received about 120 since they arrived in England.

They took their suppers, which were ready when they got back, and their chickabobboo (vin rouge) with their pipe, and engaged M. Vattemare for some time to explain the meaning of the many beautiful decorations they had seen worn on the breasts and shoulders of the officers they had met in the palace. The explanations of these things pleased them very much: as to the fireworks, they said that was such great medicine to them, that they did not care about talking on the subject until they had taken more time to think.

Just as M. Vattemare and I were about to leave the room, I found Jim and the Doctor interrogating Daniel about the “big guns that spoke so loud: they thought they must have very large mouths to speak so strong,” and were anxious to see them. Daniel told them that those which made the loudest noise were at the Hospital of the Invalides, and it was then agreed that they should go there the next day to see them.

Jim said they had all been delighted at what Daniel read in his paper about their going before the King and Queen, and that he must be sure to bring the paper at an early hour the next morning, to let them hear what was said about the Indians being in the palace the second time, and in the rooms of the Duke, to see the fireworks.

The rest of their evening was taken up in “thinking” on what they had seen, and the next morning, as he had promised, Daniel came in with the paper and read a long account of the amusements of the day and evening, and also of the hundreds of thousands in the crowd who moved along in front of the Duke d’Aumale’s apartments to look at the Indians, in preference to look at the King and the Queen. It was decided (as he read) that the crowd was much more dense and remained at a much later hour in front of that wing of the palace than in front of the balcony, where the Royal Family and the orchestra of music were. This pleased them all very much; and after their breakfasts, while they were yet in this cheerful train of feelings, the young man who had brought them the money from the King made his appearance, and I was instantly sent for. On arriving I was informed by him that he had come from his Majesty with the gold and silver medals, to be presented in his Majesty’s name to each one individually. This announced, the Indians of course put all other occupations aside, and, being all seated on the floor, at the request of the chief, the medals were called out by the inscriptions on them and presented accordingly. The first presented was a gold medal to White Cloud, the chief: the inscription on the back of it read thus:—

“DonnÉ À Mu-hu-she-kaw, par le Roi: 1845.”

The next presented was to the War-chief—a gold medal of equal size, and inscription in the same form. Silver medals, of equal size with inscriptions, were then presented to all the warriors and women and children. This last part of the list, women and children, seemed to startle them a little. The idea of women and children receiving medals was entirely new to them, and put them quite at a stand. There was no alternative but to take them, and be thankful for them; but it seemed curious enough to them—a subject not to be named, however, until the messenger had departed with their thanks to his Majesty for his kindness. This was done by the War-chief, and the gentleman departed.

The old Doctor and Wa-ton-ye, the two unmarried men of the party, were the only ones who seemed to show anything like decided dissatisfaction in their faces, though Jim and Little Wolf were fumbling theirs over in their fingers, evidently in a struggle of feeling whether to be dissatisfied or not. The Little Wolf was a warrior of decided note, who had taken several scalps, and his wife had never taken one, and yet her medal was equal to his own; however, by the operation he had got two medals instead of one. Jim felt a little touched, and, though never having done much more in war than his squaw had, was preparing to make a great harangue on the occasion, and even rolled over on his back, and drew up his knees, for the purpose, but, taking the shining metal from his wife’s hands, and placing it by the side of his own, he thought they would form a beautiful ornament, both hanging together, symbolic of an affectionate husband and wife, and he was silent. The poor old Doctor, though, who had taken one prisoner certain, and possibly some scalps, and (as the old War-chief had one day told him) undoubtedly “many lives,” who could only dangle one medal (having no wife), and that one no better than those given to the women and children, lost all traces of the complaisant smiles that had shone on his face a little time before, and, rising suddenly up, and wrapping his robe around him, he found his way to the house-top, where he stood in silent gaze upon the chimneys and tiles, more suited to the meditations that were running through his troubled mind. Wa-ton-ye, in the mean time, with smothered feelings that no one ever heard vent given to, hung his with its tri-coloured ribbon upon a nail in the wall just over his head, and, drawing his buffalo robe quite over him, hid his face, and went to sleep.

White Cloud and the War-chief sat during the while, with their families hanging about their shoulders and knees, well pleased, and smiling upon the brightness of his Majesty’s familiar features in shining gold, as they turned their medals around in various lights. Theirs were of a more precious metal, and each, from the number of his family with him, became the owner of three, instead of one, over which the poor Doctor was yet pondering on the house-top, as he stood looking off towards the mountains and prairies.

When their carriages were at the door, to make their visit to the HÔpital des Invalides, as promised the night before, the Doctor was unwilling to break the charm of his contemplations, and Wa-ton-ye could not be waked, and the rest drove off in good cheer and delight. They hung their medals on their necks, suspended by their tri-coloured ribbons, the meaning of which having been explained to them, and they were soon at the mouths of the huge cannon, whose “big mouths” had “spoken so loudly” the night before.

After taking a good look at them, and getting something of their curious history, they entered that wonderful and most noble institution, an honour to the name of its founder and to the country that loves and upholds it, the Hospital of Invalids. Nothing on earth could have struck these people as more curious and interesting (a race of warriors themselves) than this institution, with its 3800 venerable inmates, the living victims of battles, wounded, crippled, fed, and clothed, and made happy, the living evidences of the human slaughter that must have taken place in the scenes they had been through. If this scene convinced them of the destructiveness of civilized modes of warfare, it taught them an useful lesson of civilized sympathy for those who are the unfortunate victims of war and carnage.

The moral that was drawn from this day’s visit was an important one to them, and I took the opportunity, and many others afterwards, to impress it upon their minds. It pleased them to hear that these old veterans, with one leg and one arm, were the very men who were chosen to come to the big guns, and fire them off, on the day of the King’s fete—the same guns that they fought around, and over, when they were taking them from the enemies.

Returning from the “Invalides,” our carriages were stopped in Place Concorde for a view of the beautiful fountains playing, which pleased and astonished them, as they do all foreigners who pass. The Egyptian obelisk column of Luxor, of seventy-two feet, in one solid piece of granite, and brought from Egypt to Paris, was shown and explained to them, and our carriage driven to the ground where the guillotine had stood on which the blood of Kings and Queens had been shed, and where the father of Louis Philippe was beheaded. These extraordinary and almost incredible facts of history, and that so recent, filled their minds with amazement, and almost with incredulity. Our drive that day was continued through the broad avenue of the Champs ElysÉes to the triumphal arch at the BarriÈre d’Etoile, and our view from the top of it was one of the finest they thought in the world. We were not quite as high as when we were on the tower of the York cathedral, but the scene around us was far more picturesque and enchanting.

When we returned we found the old Doctor and Wa-ton-ye seated upon their buffalo robes, and playing at cards, quite in good humour, and their medals put away, as if nothing had happened to put them out. They were much amused at the descriptions of what the others had seen, and particularly so at Jim’s description of an ugly woman he saw on top of the Arc de Triomphe, and who followed him around, he said, and looked him in the face until he was frightened. Here the Doctor, who had been out of humour, and was disposed to be a little severe on Jim, replied that “it was laughable for such an ill-looking, big-mouthed fellow as him to be talking about any one’s ill looks, and to be alarmed at any one’s ugliness, looking out over such a set of features as he had on the lower part of his face.” Jim, however, having two medals, took but little notice of the Doctor’s severity, but proceeded to tell about the ugly woman he saw. He said, “her eyes had all the time two white rings clear around them, and the end of her nose turning up, as if she had always smelled something bad, had pulled her upper-lip up so high that she could not shut her mouth or cover her teeth. She had two great rows of teeth, and there was black all between them, as if a charge of gunpowder had gone off in her mouth, and her skin was as white as snow, excepting on her cheeks, and there it was quite red, like a rose.” “Stop, stop, Jim,” said I, “let me write that down before you go any further.”

But this was all. He said he could not bear to look at her, and therefore he did not examine her any further. He also made some fun about two English ladies, who were up there when they were on the Arc de Triomphe. He said, “he had sat down by the side of the railing with his wife, where these ladies came to them. One of them asked if they could speak English, to which he made no reply, but shook his head. He said they had a great many things to say about him, and one of them wanted to feel his face (his chin, he supposed), to see if he had any beard; and when she did not find any, she said something which he did not understand, but he said it tickled them very much, and then he said she put her hand on his shoulder, which was naked, and took hold of his arm, and said several things, about which they had a great deal of laugh, which he understood, and which he would not like to mention, for his wife did not understand them, and he did not wish her to know what they were laughing about.”

The hour having approached for their afternoon’s exhibition, the conversation was here broken off. I was, however, obliged to delay a few minutes for some account they wished me to give them of the guillotine, which I had spoken of while in the Place Concorde. I briefly described it to them, and they all expressed a wish to go some day and see it, and I promised to take them.

The exhibition in the afternoon was attended by many more fashionable ladies and gentlemen than that of the evening; and so many carriages driving up to the door, in a pleasant day, was always sure to put the Doctor into the best of humour, and generally, when he was in such a mood, there would be wit and drollery enough in him, and his good friend Jim, to influence the whole group. They were usually in good spirits, and, when so, were sure to please; and thus were they on that, the first of their morning’s entertainments; and it happened luckily, for we had in the rooms some of the most fashionable and literary personages of Paris—amongst these, the famous writers, Victor Hugo, Madame Georges Sands, and several others, to whom the Indians and myself were personally introduced.

The old Doctor was told by M. Vattemare, who was again there, to do his best, and all did their parts admirably well, and much to the astonishment of the ladies, several of which old dames I found had really supposed, until now, that the “sauvages” were little more than wild beasts. After the Indians had finished their amusements and retired from the rooms, I was left lion again and “lord of all the visitors were now surveying.” Then it was that my embarrassment came, losing in a great measure the pleasure that I could have drawn from the society of such persons who came to praise, by not speaking the French language.

However, I had generally the benefit of my friend M. Vattemare or others around me ready to help me through the difficulty. It gave me daily pleasure to find that my works were highly applauded by the press, as well as by personal expressions in the room, and in all the grades of society to which I was then being invited.

Our second evening soon approached, and we found the hall fashionably filled again, and of course the Indians, though in a strange country, in good spirits and gratified, as their very appearance while entering the room got them rounds of applause. After their exhibition was over in the usual way I got my applause, and so our mutual efforts were daily and nightly made to instruct and amuse the Parisians, which I shall always flatter myself we did to a considerable extent.

While our exhibitions were now in such a train, we were studying how to make the most valuable use of our extra time, by seeing the sights of Paris and its environs.

The Louvre was one of the first objects of our attention; and having procured an order from the Director to visit it on a private day, we took an early hour and made our entry into it. We were received by the Director with kindness, and he conducted the party the whole way through the different galleries, pointing out and explaining to them and to us the leading and most interesting things in it.

The Director, M. de Cailleux, had invited several of his distinguished friends to meet him on the occasion, and it was to them, as well as to us, interesting to see the Indians under such circumstances, where there was so much to attract their attention and calculated to surprise them. M. Vattemare was with us on this occasion, and of very great service in his introductions and interpretations for us. Amongst the distinguished persons who were present, and to whom I was introduced on the occasion, was the Baron de Humboldt. He accompanied us quite through the rooms of the Louvre, and took a great deal of interest in the Indians, having seen and dealt with so many in the course of his travels. I had much conversation with him, and in a few days after was honoured by him with a private visit to my rooms, when I took great pleasure in explaining the extent and objects of my collection.

The view of the Louvre was a great treat to the Indians, who had had but little opportunity before of seeing works of art. In London we thought we had showed them all the sights, but had entirely forgotten the exhibitions of paintings; and I believe the poor fellows had been led to think, before they saw the Louvre, that mine was the greatest collection of paintings in the world. They had a great deal of talk about it when they got home and had lit their pipe. The one great objection they raised to it was, that “it was too long—there were too many things to be seen; so many that they said they had forgotten all the first before they got through, and they couldn’t think of them again.” There was one impression they got while there, however—that no length of room or number of pictures would easily eradicate from their memories, the immense number of marks of bullets on the columns of the portico, and even inside of the building, shot through the windows in the time of the Revolution of July. This appalling scene was described to them on the spot by M. Vattemare, which opened their eyes to an historical fact quite new to them, and of which they soon taxed him and me for some further account.

The poor fellows at this time were beginning to sympathize with the noble fellow the Little Wolf, whose wife had been for some weeks growing ill, and was now evidently declining with symptoms of quick consumption. The buoyant spirits of the good and gallant fellow seemed to be giving way to apprehensions; and although he joined in the amusements, he seemed at times dejected and unhappy. There were days when her symptoms seemed alarming, and then she would rally and be in the room again in all the finery of her dress and trinkets, but was evidently gradually losing strength and flesh, and decided by her physician to be in a rapid decline. She was about this time advised to keep to her chamber and away from the excitement of the exhibition and sight-seeing, in which the rest of the party were daily engaged.

By this time the Ioways had made so much noise in Paris that they were engaging the attention of the scientific, the religious, and the ethnologic, as well as the mere curious part of the world, and daily and almost hourly applications were being made to Mr. Melody and myself for private interviews with them for the above purposes. We were disposed to afford every facility in our power in such cases, but in all instances left the Indians to decide who they would and who they would not see.

Amongst those applicants there was a phrenologist, who had been thrusting himself into their acquaintance as much as possible in their exhibition rooms, and repeatedly soliciting permission to go to their private rooms to make some scientific examinations and estimates of their heads, to which the Indians had objected, not understanding the meaning or object of his designs. He had become very importunate however, and, having brought them a number of presents at different times, it was agreed at Mr. Melody’s suggestion, one day, as the quickest way of getting rid of him, that he should be allowed to come up. We conversed with the Indians, and assured them that there was not the slightest chance of harm, or witchcraft, or anything of the kind about it, and they agreed to let him come in. They had a hearty laugh when he came in, at Jim’s wit, who said to him, though in Indian language that he didn’t understand, “If you will shut the door now, you will be the ugliest-looking man in the whole room.” This was not, of course, translated to the phrenologist, who proceeded with his examinations, and commenced on Jim’s head first. Jim felt a little afraid, and considerably embarrassed also, being the first one called upon to undergo an operation which he knew so little about, or what was to be the result of. Stout, and warlike, and courageous as he was, he trembled at the thought of a thing that he could not yet in the least appreciate, and all were looking on and laughing at him for his embarrassment. The phrenologist proceeded, feeling for the bumps around his head, and, stopping once in a while to make his mental deductions, would then run his fingers along again. Jim’s courage began to rally a little, seeing that there was to be nothing more than that sort of manipulation, and he relieved himself vastly by turning a little of his wit upon the operator, for a thing that looked to him so exceedingly ridiculous and absurd, by telling him “I don’t think you’ll find any in my head; we Indians shave a great part of our hair off, and we keep so much oil in the rest of it, that they won’t live there: you will find much more in white men’s heads, who don’t oil their hair.” This set the whole party and all of us in a roar, and Jim’s head shook so as to embarrass the operator for a little time. When he got through, and entered his estimates in his book, Jim asked him “if he found anything in his head?” to which he replied in the affirmative. Placing his fingers on “self-esteem,” he said there was great fulness there. “Well,” said Jim, “I’m much obliged to you: I’ll set my wife to look there by and by. And now,” said Jim, “take the old Doctor here: his head is full of em.” By this time Jim’s jokes had got us all into a roar of laughter, and the Doctor was in the chair, and Jim looking on to see what he could discover. White Cloud thought Jim had cracked his jokes long enough, and as they had all laughed at them, he considered it most respectful now to let the man go through with it. So he finished with the Doctor and then with White Cloud and the War-chief, and when he came to the women they positively declined.

Jim, having been rebuked for laughing too much, had stopped suddenly, and, instantly resolving to try his jokes upon the poor man in another mood, assumed, as he easily could, the most treacherous and assassin look that the human face can put on, and asked the phrenologist if he was done, to which he replied “Yes.” “Now,” said Jim, “we have all waited upon you and given you a fair chance, and I now want you to sit down a minute and let me examine your head;” at the same time drawing his long scalping knife out from his belt, and wiping its blade as he laid it in a chair by the side of him. The phrenologist, having instantly consented, and just taking possession of the chair as he was drawing his knife out, could not well do otherwise than sit still for Jim’s operations, though he was evidently in a greater trepidation than he had put Jim into by the first experiment that was made. Jim took the requisite time in his manipulations to crack a few jokes more among his fellow Indians upon the quackery of his patient, and then to let him up, telling him, for the amusement of those around, that “his face looked very pale” (which by the way was the case), “and that he found his head very full of them.”

The phrenologist was a good-natured sort of man, and, only partially understanding their jokes, was delighted to get off with what he had learned, without losing his scalp-lock, which it would seem as if he had apprehended at one moment to have been in some danger. As he was leaving the room, Daniel came in, announcing that there were two Catholic clergymen in the room below, where they had been waiting half an hour to have some talk with the Indians. “Let them up,” says Jim; “I will make a speech to them:” at which the old Doctor sprang up. “There,” said he, “there’s my robe; lay down quick.” The Doctor’s wit raised a great laugh, but, when a moment had blown it away, Mr. Melody asked the chief what was his wish, whether to see them or not. “Oh yes,” said he (but rather painfully, and with a sigh); “yes, let them come in: we are in a strange country, and we don’t wish to make any enemies: let them come up.” They were then conducted up and spent half an hour in pleasant conversation with the chiefs, without questioning them about their religion, or urging their own religion upon them. This pleased the Indians very much, and, finding them such pleasant and social good-natured men, they felt almost reluctant to part company with them. Each of them left a handsome Bible as presents, and took affectionate leave.

After they had left, the Indians had much talk about them, and were then led to think of “the good people,” the Friends, they had seen so many of in England and Ireland, and asked me if they should find any of them in Paris. I told them I thought they would not, at which they were evidently very much disappointed.

One of the next sight-seeing expeditions was to the Jardin des Plantes, to which our old friend M. Vattemare accompanied us. The animals here, from a difference of training, or other cause, were not quite so much alarmed as they were in the menagerie in London; but when the doctor breathed out the silvery notes of his howling totem, the wolf at once answered him in a remote part of the garden. Jim imitated the wild goose, and was answered in an instant by a cackling flock of them. The panthers hissed, and the hyÆnas were in great distress, and the monkeys also: the eagles chattered and bolted against the sides of their cages, and the parrots lost their voices by squalling, and many of their feathers by fluttering, when the Indians came within their sight. They pitied the poor old and jaded buffalo, as they did in London, he looked so broken-spirited and desolate; and also the deer and the elks; but the bears they said didn’t seem to care much about it. They were far more delighted with the skins of animals, reptiles, and fishes in the museum of natural history; and I must say that I was also, considering it the finest collection I ever have seen.

The garden of plants was amusement enough for an hour or so, and then to the Halle aux Vins in the immediate neighbourhood. This grand magazine of chickabobboo has been described by many writers, and no doubt seen by many who read, but few have seen the expression of amazement upon the brows of a party of wild Indians from the forest of America, while their eyes were running over the vast and almost boundless lines of 800,000 casks of wine under one roof, and heard the piercing war-whoop echoing and vibrating through their long avenues, raised at the startling information that 20,000,000 of gallons of this are annually drawn out of this to be drunk in the city of Paris; and few of those who heard it knew whether it was raised to set the wine running, or as a note of exultation that they had found a greater fountain of chickabobboo than the brewery they were in, in London. However true the latter was, the first was supposed to have been the design, and it must needs have its effect. A few bottles, in kindness and hospitality cracked, cooled all parched and parching lips, and our faithful timepieces told us our engagement with the public was at hand, and we laid our course again for the Salle Valentino.

“Oh! what a glorious country,” said Jim, as we were rolling along; “there’s nothing like that in London: the chickabobboo is better here, and there’s more of it too.” Poor ignorant fellow! he was not aware that the brewery they saw in London was only one of some dozens, and that the wine in all those casks they had just seen was not quite as delicious as that with which his lips had just been moistened.

With their recollections dwelling on the scenes they had witnessed in London, they were naturally drawing comparisons as they were wending their way back; and they had in this mood taken it into their heads that there were no gin-shops in Paris, as they could see none, which was quite mysterious to them, until I explained to them the nature of the cafÉs, the splendid open shops they were every moment passing, glittering with gold and looking-glasses. They were surprised to learn that the delicious poison was dealt out in these neat “palaces,” but which they had not known or suspected the meaning of. They admitted their surprise, and at once decided that “they liked the free, and open, and elegant appearance of them much better than those in London, where they are all shut up in front with great and gloomy doors, to prevent people from looking into them, as if they were ashamed.”

The cemetery of PÈre la Chaise was next to be seen as soon as there should be a fine day: that day arrived, and half an hour’s drive landed us at its entrance.

This wonderful place has been described by many travellers, and therefore needs but a passing notice here. This wilderness of tombs, of houses or boxes of the dead, thrown and jumbled together amidst its gloomy cypress groves and thickets, is perhaps one of the most extraordinary scenes of the kind in the world: beautiful in some respects, and absurd and ridiculous in others, it is still one of the wonders of Paris, and all who see the one must needs visit the other. The scene was one peculiarly calculated to excite and please the Indians. The wild and gloomy and almost endless labyrinths of the little mansions of the dead were pleasing contrasts to their imprisonment within the dry and heated walls of the city; the varied and endless designs that recorded the places and the deeds of the dead were themes of amusement to them, and the subject altogether one that filled their minds with awe, and with admiration of the people who treated their dead with so much respect.

We wandered for an hour through its intricate mazes of cypress, examining the tombs of the rich and the poor so closely and curiously grouped together—a type, even in the solitudes of death, of the great Babylon in which their days had been numbered and spent. Whilst we were strolling through the endless mazes of this sub-rosa city, we met an immense concourse of people, evidently bearing the body of some distinguished person to the grave. The pompous display of mourning feathers and fringes, &c., with hired mourners, was matter of some surprise to the Indians; but when a friend of the deceased stepped forward to pronounce an eulogium on his character, recounting his many virtues and heroic deeds, it reminded the Indians forcibly of the custom of their own country, and they all said they liked to see that.

We took them to the patched and vandalized tomb of Abelard and Eloisa; but as there was not time for so long a story, it lost its interest to them. They were evidently struck with amazement at the system and beauty of this place, and from that moment decided that they liked the French for the care they took of their old soldiers and the dead.

The poor fellows, the Indians, who were now proceeding daily and nightly with their exciting and “astonishing” exhibitions, were becoming so confounded and confused with the unaccountable sights and mysteries of Paris which they were daily visiting, that they began to believe there was no end to the curious and astonishing works of civilized man; and, instead of being any longer startled with excitement and wonder, decided that it would be better to look at everything else as simple and easy to be made by those that know how, and therefore divested of all further curiosity. This they told me they had altogether resolved upon: “they had no doubt there were yet many strange things for them to see in Paris, and they would like to follow me to see them all; but they would look with their eyes only half open, and not trouble us with their surprise and their questions.”

With these views, and their eyes “half open,” then, they still took their daily drives, and Mr. Melody or myself, in constant company, stopping to show them, and to see ourselves, what was yet new and wonderful to be seen. There was still much to be seen in Paris, and the poor Indians were a great way from a complete knowledge of all the tricks and arts of civilization.

A drive to the School of Medicine and the HÔpital des Enfans TrouvÉs was enough for one morning’s recreation. The first, with “Dupuytren’s Room,” was enough to open the old Doctor’s eyes, and the latter, with its 6000 helpless and parentless infants added to it annually, sufficient to swell the orbs of Jim, and make him feel for his note-book. The School of Medicine, with Dupuytren’s Room, forms one of the most surprising sights to be seen in Paris, and yet, save with the Doctor, there seemed to be but little interest excited by the sight. The Doctor’s attitude was one of studied dignity and philosophic conceit as he stood before those wonderful preparations, not to be astonished, but to study as a critic, while he fanned himself with his eagle’s tail. The expression of his face, which was the whole time unchanged, was one of a peculiar kind, and, as it was not sketched at the time, must be for ever lost.

The novel and pitiful sight of the thousands of innocent little creatures in the Foundling Hospital seemed to open the “half-closed eyes” and the hearts of the Indians, notwithstanding the resolutions they had made. When it was explained to them how these little creatures came into the world, and then into this most noble institution, and also that in the last year there had been born in the city of Paris 26,000 children, 9000 of whom were illegitimate, their eyes were surely open to the astounding facts of the vices of civilized society, and of the virtue of civilized governments in building and maintaining such noble institutions for the support of the fatherless and helpless in infancy, as well as for the veterans who have been maimed in the fields of glorious battle. When I told them that, of those thousands of little playful children, not one knew any other parent than the Government, they groaned in sympathy for them, and seemed at a loss to abhor or applaud the most, the sins of man that brought them into the world, or the kind and parental care that was taken of them by the Government of the country. Jim made a sure demand upon Daniel’s kindness for the entry of these important facts, which he soon had in round and conspicuous numbers in his note-book, to teach to the “cruel and relentless Indians.”

The sentimentalism and sympathy of the poor old Doctor were touched almost to melancholy by this scene; and in his long and serious cogitations on it he very gravely inquired why the thousands of women leading and petting little dogs in the streets could not be induced to discharge their dogs, and each one take a little child and be its mother? He said, if he were to take a Frenchwoman for his wife, he would rather take her with a little child, even if it were her own, than take her with a little dog.

The guillotine, which happened to be in our way, and which they had been promised a sight of, they thought was more like a Mississippi saw-mill than anything else they had seen. It drew a murmur or two when explained to them how the victim was placed, and his head rolled off when the knife fell, but seemed to have little further effect upon them except when the actual number was mentioned to them whose heads are there severed from their bodies annually, for their crimes committed in the streets and houses of Paris. Our stay before this awful and bloody machine was but short, and of course their remarks were few, until they got home, and their dinner was swallowed, and their chickabobboo, and, reclining on their buffalo robes, the pipe was passing around.

Their conversation was then with Daniel, who had been but the day before to see the very same things, and they gained much further information than we did, which he communicated to them. He entered in Jim’s book, as he had desired, the numbers of the illegitimates and foundlings of Paris, which seemed to be a valuable addition to his estimates of the blessings of civilization; and also the number of annual victims whose heads roll from the side of the guillotine. His book was then closed, and a curious discussion arose between the Indians and Daniel, whether the gallows, which they had seen in the prisons in England and Ireland, was a preferable mode of execution to that of the guillotine, which they had just been to see. They had no doubt but both of them, or, at least, that one or the other of them was absolutely necessary in the civilized world; but the question was, which was the best. Daniel contended that the punishment which was most ignominious was best, and contended for the gallows, while the Indians thought the guillotine was the best. They thought that death was bad enough, without the Government trying to add to its pang by hanging people up by the neck with a rope, as the Indians hang dogs. From this grave subject, which they did not seem to settle, as there was no umpire, they got upon a somewhat parallel theme, and were quite as seriously engaged, when I was obliged to leave them, whether it would be preferable to be swallowed whole by a whale, or to be chewed. Daniel was referring to Scripture for some authority on this subject, by looking into one of Jim’s Bibles, when Mr. Melody and I were apprised of an appointment, which prevented us from ever hearing the result.

The next promise we had to keep with them was the one that had been made to take them to see the fountain of all the pretty and ugly little dogs and huge mastiffs they saw carried and led through the streets of Paris—the “Dog Market.”

The Dog Hospital, being en route, was visited first; and though one could scarcely imagine what there could be there that was amusing or droll, still the old Doctor insisted on it that it must be very interesting, and all resolved to go. It was even so, and on that particular occasion was rendered very amusing, when the Doctor entered, with Jim and the rest following. The squalling of “There! there! there!” by the frightened parrots in Cross’s Zoological Gardens bore little comparison to the barking and yelling of “les petits pauvres chiens,” and the screams of the old ladies—“Ne les effrayez pas, Messieurs, s'il vous plaÎt! ils sont tous malades—tous malades: pauvres bÊtes! pauvres bÊtes!” It was soon perceived that the nerves of the poor little “malades,” as well as those of the old women their doctors, were too much affected to stand the shock, and it was thought best to withdraw. The old Doctor, getting just a glance at the sick-wards, enough to convince him of the clean comforts these little patients had, and seeing that their physicians were females, and also that the wards were crowded with fashionable ladies looking and inquiring after the health of their little pets, he was quite reluctant to leave the establishment without going fairly in and making his profession known, which he had thought would, at least, command him some respect amongst female physicians. He had some notion for this purpose of going in alone, but sarcastic Jim said the whole fright of the poor dogs had been produced by his appearance; to which the Doctor replied that they only barked because Jim was coming behind him. However, our visit was necessarily thus short, and attention directed to the Dog Market, for which Jim was more eager, as he had a special object. This was a curiosity, to be sure, and well worth seeing; there was every sort of whelp and cur that could be found in Christendom, from the veriest minimum of dog to the stateliest mastiff and Newfoundland; and, at Jim and the Doctor’s approach, hundreds of them barked and howled, many broke their strings, some laid upon their backs, and yelled (no doubt, if one could have understood their language) that they never saw before in their lives so ill-looking and frightful a couple, and so alarming a set as those who were following behind them. Jim wanted to buy, and, the business-meaning of his face being discovered, there were all sorts of offers made him, and every kind of pup protruded into his face; but the barking of dogs was such that no one could be heard, and then many a poor dog was knocked flat with a broom, or whatever was handiest, and others were choked, to stop their noise. No one wanted to stand the din of this canine Bedlam longer than was necessary for Jim to make his choice, which the poor fellow was endeavouring to do with the greatest despatch possible. His mode was rather different from the ordinary mode of testing the qualities he was looking for, which was by feeling of the ribs; and having bargained for one that he thought would fit him, the lookers-on were somewhat amused at his choice. He made them understand by his signs that they were going to eat it, when the poor woman screamed out, “Diable! mange pas! mange pas!—venez, venez, ma pauvre bÊte!”

The crowd by this time was becoming so dense that it was thought advisable to be on the move, and off. The Doctor became exceedingly merry at Jim’s expense, as he had come away without getting a dog for their Dog Feast, of which they had been for some time speaking.

On their return from this day’s drive, they met, to their very great surprise, their old friend Bobasheela, who had left his business and crossed the Channel to see them once more before they should set sail for America. He said he could not keep away from them long at a time while they were in this country, because he loved them so much. They were all delighted to see him, and told him he was just in time to attend the Dog Feast, which they were going to have the next day. The Doctor told him of Jim’s success in buying a dog, and poor Jim was teazed a great deal about his failure. Bobasheela told them all the news about England, and Jim and the Doctor had a long catalogue to give him of their visit to the King—of their medals—their visits to the great fountain of chickabobboo and the Foundling Hospital, all of which he told him he had got down in his book. All this delighted Bobasheela, until they very imprudently told him that they liked Paris much better than London. They told him that the people in Paris did not teaze them so much about religion; that there were fewer poor people in the streets; and that as yet they had kept all their money, for they had seen nobody poor enough to give it to. Their chickabobboo was very different, but it was about as good. The guillotine they were very well satisfied with, as they considered it much better to cut men’s heads off than to hang them up, like dogs, by a rope around the neck. This, and keeping men in prison because they owe money, they considered were the two most cruel things they heard of amongst the English.

Bobasheela replied to them that he was delighted to hear of their success, and to learn that they had seen the King, an honour he should himself have been very proud of. He told them that he never had seen the King, but that, while travelling in Kentucky many years ago, he was close upon the heels of the King, and so near him that he slept on the same (not bed, but) floor in a cabin where the King had slept, with his feet to the fire, but a short time before. This was something quite new to the Indians, and, like most of Bobasheela’s stories of the Far West, pleased them exceedingly.

Jim, who was a matter-of-fact man, more than one of fancy and imagination, rather sided with Bobasheela, and, turning to his round numbers last added to his book, of “9000 illegitimate children born in Paris in the last year,” asked his friend if he could read it, to which he replied “Yes.” “Well,” said Jim, in broad English, “some fish there, I guess, ha? I no like em Frenchwomen—I no like em: no good! I no like em so many children, no fader!” We all saw by Jim’s eye, and by the agitation commencing, that he had some ideas that were coming out, and at the instant he was turning over on to his back, and drawing up his knees, and evidently keeping his eyes fixed on some object on the ceiling of the room, not to lose the chain of his thoughts, and he continued (not in English, for he spoke more easily in his own language), “I do not like the Frenchwomen. I did not like them at first, when I saw them leading so many dogs. I thought then that they had more dogs than children, but I think otherwise now. We believe that those women, who we have seen leading their dogs around with strings, have put their children away to be raised in the great house of the Government, and they get these little dogs to fill their places, and to suck their breasts when they are full of milk.”

“Hut—tut—tut!” said Melody, “you ill-mannerly fellow! what are you about? You will blow us all up here, Jim, if you utter such sentiments as those. I think the French ladies the finest in the world except the Americans, and if they heard such ideas as those, advanced by us, they would soon drive us out of Paris.”

“Yes,” said Jim (in English again), “yes, I know—I know you like em—may be very good, but you see I no like em!” In his decided dislike, Jim’s excitement was too great for his ideas to flow smoothly any further, and Mr. Melody not disposed to push the argument, the subject was dropped, and preparations made for the day exhibition, the hour for which was at hand.