Paris.

Dear Charley:—

This has been a great day for enjoyment, and has made us all in love with Paris. We have seen, this morning, that which has pleased me more than all else I have looked at in Europe. We spent several hours at the Hotel de Cluny, in the Rue des Mathurins. I am surprised that so many Americans come to Paris and never see this castle of curiosities. To understand our gratification, I must bore you a little with its history, and then you will see what a treat we enjoyed. This venerable pile was erected on the site of the Palais des Thermes, formerly the dwelling-place of the Roman governors of Gaul. Here Julian lived when he was made emperor of Rome, in 360. Of the extraordinary remains of this palace I shall tell you by and by. On this spot, then, in 1480, an abbot of Cluny commenced this building, and it was completed in 1505. This magnificent monastery—the city residence of the monks of Cluny—was often made the residence of royal and distinguished visitors. Here for two years lived Mary, the daughter of Henry VII. of England, and widow of Louis XII. of France, who, while here, married the Duke of Suffolk. Her chamber still exists, and we saw it in high preservation. This marriage, you will remember, laid the foundation for the claim of Lady Jane Grey to the crown. Here, too, for a season, the excellent abbess and the nuns of Port Royal found a refuge. Some forty years ago, it came into the hands of M. Sommerard, a man devoted to antiquarian pursuits, and here he expended a large property in forming a vast collection of all sorts of relics he could gather belonging to the medieval ages. A few years ago, he died, and then the government wisely purchased the hotel and its unrivalled museum for half a million of francs; and additions are constantly made to it of every curiosity that can illustrate the habits and manners of the early history of France and Europe. The building is very striking in its first aspect. It has several Gothic turrets, and very rich windows, and the court yards and garden are all in keeping. What good times those old abbots, and monks must have had in their visits to Paris, in such a palace as this was! You pass from room, to room, all filled with the antique, till you get leg-weary. The floors are exquisitely beautiful—some in fine old black oak, let in, in patterns; others are bricks and tiles, in mosaic. Then the old mantel-pieces are wonderfully fine. We saw plenty of tapestry, old as the hills; and one set of hangings was the history of David and Bathsheba. Some of the bedsteads are very curious. One belonged to Francis I. Perhaps the largest and most valuable collection of carved Wood furniture in the world is here to be seen. Such cabinets, chairs, tables, chests, I never imagined. The work is of the most delicate and complicated character. Then you find a wonderful collection of glass and earthen ware—cups and goblets belonging to men of note of every age in French history. One room is full of ancient armor, another of gems, enamels, &c., another of pictures of the most curious kind; and as to mirrors and looking-glasses, they are in great plenty; and china enough to make some ladies in America whom I know break the commandment.

You can fancy, Charley, what sort of a place this must be, when I tell you that the catalogue of this collection is a volume of two hundred and forty octavo pages, and embraces eighteen hundred and ninety-five particulars. I have the catalogue, and can assure you that it includes some queer antiquities, of which we cannot speak particularly at present.

A word or two about the ruins of Julian's Palace of the Baths. Here is still a vast hall, which was doubtless the place for cold baths. The dimensions are sixty feet by thirty-five. In the cellars are the evident remains of the warm baths. The walls are of immense thickness, and will probably last as long as the earth on which they rest. This hall is the place of deposit for any Roman sculpture that may be found in the excavations of the city.

I am sure that, next to the Crystal Palace, this has been our greatest treat. We enjoyed this morning the more, because we had the company of Mr. George Sumner, who has lived in Paris so long that he is perfectly familiar with every object of interest. I never met with any one who appeared to have so much local knowledge as he possesses. He knows the history of every thing, and he seems at home on all names, dates, and facts of other ages. Whenever we read up, after a walk with him, we find that he knows all that is known; and in truth he talks like a book, but better than most books. The attention of this gentleman has been very great to us boys, and he seems never tired when doing us kindness. But if Mr. S. knows places well, he is no less intimate with men; and probably no American has ever enjoyed his opportunities to cultivate the acquaintance of the best and greatest men in Paris.

We have visited the Church of St. Sulpice, which was begun in 1655, and only completed late in the last century. The portico is very grand, and is a double row of Doric pillars, forty feet high. It has two towers, which are over two hundred feet high, and on which are telegraphs. The church forms a cross, and is four hundred and thirty-two feet in length, one hundred and seventy-four in width, and ninety-nine in height. The organ is finely carved, and is more elaborate in its work than any I have seen yet. The statuary, both in bronze and marble, here, is beautiful, and the candelabra are greatly admired. As to pictures, I can only say they are many and fine. The marble monument and statue to Languet de Gergy, the former curÉ of this parish, and who mainly contributed to its erection or completion, is much admired, and on this tomb is the most elegant inscription of modern times. But I cannot insert it here. Directly in front of the church, in an open square, is a very fine fountain, which partakes of the ecclesiastical in its style—having in four niches the statues of Bossuet, Massillon, FlÉchier, and FÉnÉlon.

In our walk we were all struck with an immense wooden pile, which we found was the BibliothÈque St. GeneviÉve. The front is very chaste, and has very many arched windows. The library is more than three hundred feet in length, and is covered on the exterior with the names of all the great authors of every age and nation. We saw the names of many of our countrymen—Washington, Franklin, Rumford, Clinton, Cooper, Prescott, Irving, &c. We were unable to enter, as repairs were in progress, but were told that the library has two hundred thousand volumes, and several thousand MSS.

We have all been much gratified with the Church of St. Etienne du Mont. It boasts an antiquity that dates back to 1131, and its tower and turret are known to be as early as 1222. The exterior is remarkable for a strange mixture of architecture, and some of the details are very beautiful. The interior cannot fail to interest a thoughtful person, I think. The pictures are very fine indeed, and some of the marbles are of the highest excellence. We went into the little Chapel of St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, where is the tomb of the saint. The tomb was literally stuck over with small tallow candles, and looked like a piece of meat larded. The room was filled with worshippers, all on their knees; and two women had as much anguish in their faces as I ever saw. All the people kneeling at this tomb seemed far more intent and in earnest than the hundreds at grand mass in the church proper. Just as we stepped outside this chapel, we found on the wall the monuments of Racine and Pascal, who are both buried in this church. The church was full of people, and in one little chapel the priest was baptizing an infant. We went in and looked on. It was the first time I had ever witnessed this monstrous mummery in the Catholic church; and I called in the Dr. and Mr. S., who were looking at some statuary. The priest was hardly decent at his work. He did it all in a hurry,—put oil and something else on the child, fore and aft,—and how men and women could stand and let the stupidity take place on their children, I cannot understand. After seeing Pascal's grave, and thinking of his immortal works, it was poor preparation for the mountebank exhibition, and awkward work of making Christians, that we witnessed. You know, Charley, that I am not a lover of Romanism, but I never felt so thankful as on that day for being a Protestant.

The pictures of this church are very well worthy of careful notice—especially two, said to have been given by the city to the saint, who caused a famine to stay its ravages, and restored a sick king by intercession.

Now, pray, do not think me church mad if I carry you once more to another old one. I am sure, if you had seen it, that it would cause you to talk about it often. Well, it is the Church St. Germain des Pres. This is regarded as the oldest in Paris, and was originally an abbey. There was a church here as early as 560. This was probably built about the middle of the ninth century, and its completion was in the twelfth; for it was consecrated by Pope Alexander III. In this church was the tomb of Childebert, the founder of the first edifice. The abbey had a refectory, cloisters, &c., was surrounded by a moat, and had been fortified. A large open field, close by, was the resort of duellists, and many a bloody affray has there occurred. Casimir, King of Poland, was an abbot of this church. The revolution was sadly injurious to this fine sanctuary, and it was for a time converted into a saltpetre manufactory. Charles X. repaired it, and after him Louis Philippe carefully superintended its restoration. The inside of the church is a cross, with a circular choir; and the arches are semi-circular, and indicate great antiquity. The restoration of the nave and choir has been most carefully done, at immense expense. The roof of the choir is painted deep blue, with stars. The capitals of the columns are richly gilt, and the shafts are painted in red stripes—exact copies of the old devices. Nothing can be finer than the marble altar and the carved stalls of the choir. Nor does the church lack for historical names among its dead. Here are the tombs of Earl Douglass, Descartes, Mabillon, Montfaucon, and Casimir of Poland, who died, abbot, in 1672. Every thing here in ecclesiastical architecture is so different from all that we have in our country, that I examine these noble relics with great pleasure, and do not know but I shall soon become as antiquarian in my taste as-you know who.

Yours affectionately,

james.