Paris.

Dear Charley:—

Our stay here at our present visit will be several days longer than we expected. We have to get clothing and various articles which can be obtained here to more advantage than in England or at home. We have been to some large jewelry establishments and made selections of presents for our absent but remembered friends. One morning we spent very pleasantly at a celebrated depot of glass manufactures. The display was very large, and also brilliant, and we made some pretty selections. The taste of the French is very great, and a large part of this population must live by furnishing the rest of the world with mere matters of bijouterie.

We have had the pleasure to meet several of the doctor's acquaintances from America; and among others whom we have often met have been Rev. Dr. Alexander, Rev. Dr. Ritchie, Hon. H.J. Raymond, Mr. G.P. Putnam, Mr. Bunting, Mr. Herring, Mr. Howard, &c. I have been much gratified in getting acquainted with Mr. Raymond, whom I have met several times. He is quite a young-looking man for one who holds his important position of speaker of the New York House of Assembly. I should not think him to be more than twenty-six or twenty-seven, though perhaps he is thirty. Mr. Putnam is the author of my favorite book, "The World's Progress,"—the book of dates,—and one which I recommend you, Charley, always to keep on your table, within reach, for reference.

If I live to return home, I have much to do that never before appeared to me of so great importance. I want to become thoroughly conversant with English and French history; for, in a certain sense, these countries embody the history of the world. Not to know what happened before we were born, is always to be children; and if my journey has done me no other good, it has very clearly shown me how little I know, and how very much I ought to understand, and must, if I would take my place among intelligent, well-educated men. I am sure, too, that I have acquired on this journey a desire to make improvement. Every where I find the records of intellect and genius, and I cannot, for very shame, be willing to go through life and enjoy the means of improvement, without deriving profit. We have met with very kind attentions from Mr. Hector Bossange, the great bookseller, who invited us to dinner. He is a gentleman of great activity, and seems always engaged; and yet I have noticed that such persons seem to have time for every one and every thing. I have noticed this at home, as well as abroad. Some of these men who have so much to do, and so many persons to see and be polite to, must work very hard at times, or else they understand the way to get through business in a patent method. These busy men seem to have read every thing; and even in new books they keep up with the times. They must do it, I guess, by remembering our old copy, that "spare minutes are the golden sands of life."

George is going to stay here for four or five months, and the doctor is busy in finding him a suitable home and getting him an outfit.

You would perhaps like to hear a little about the Hospital des Invalides, where the old soldiers of France bring up when past labor. It is a vast building, and covers sixteen acres, which, however, enclose fifteen various courts. It is governed and managed by the senior marshal of France, a lieu tenant general, commandant of the hotel, a colonel major, three adjutant majors, three sub-adjutant majors, one almoner, two chaplains, one apothecary and ten assistants, twenty-six sisters of charity, and two hundred and sixty servants. There are about one hundred and seventy officers, and about three thousand fire hundred invalids in all. This is a truly magnificent building, both architecturally considered and in its interior arrangements. The council chamber is very fine, and here are some admirable portraits and the best statue of Napoleon that is extant. The dome is very grand, but is at present invisible, on account of the alterations going on to complete the tomb of Napoleon. This will be the grandest tomb, probably, in the world. The sarcophagus is to rest on a platform, to which the access is by steps of green marble.

Here is a good library and some MSS. of the two prime ministers, Sully and Colbert; a good picture of Napoleon and Louis Philippe; the cannon ball which killed Marshal Turenne, and his equestrian statue in gold and silver.

My favorite stroll here is in the Garden of the Tuileries. I am never weary of this place. Here are the finest flowers, the best walks, the gayest company, the prettiest children, and the densest shade, if you please to go into it, in Paris. Then, too, there are groups of statuary, and fountains with lofty jet, and proud swans in the reservoirs. I would like to have you walking in that thick forest growth; there is no underbrush; I can see from one side to the other. After a long walk, you come to the noble portals, guarded by lions couchant, and just beyond is the spot where Louis XVI. was guillotined. I do not believe there is a nobler view in Europe than now opens to the spectator. There before me is the Obelisk of Luxor, which was brought from Egypt, and now stands in the Place de la Concorde, its history, its removal, its present position, all serve to delight me. In itself it is a noble object, and my eye ever rests on it with pleasure.

Just think, Charley, that you are at my side: turn round, and look at the gardens we have left. There, see the long, low Tuileries, the palace of the Bourbons, the home of Napoleon, the residence of the citizen king, and now the Palace National. Off to the right is the Seine and its long line of quays; here is the bridge; and just across it is the Chamber of the Assembly, with twelve Corinthian columns, I like this building exceedingly. To our left is a long, stately range, known as the Rue Rivoli, in which we reside; it has an arched arcade in front; for foot passengers, and some hundreds of columns to support and adorn it. At this end of it are public offices. Now turn and look at our left; and see, a street cuts through this noble row, and at its end you see the pride of the city, the Madeleine. There it is, all white, and its stately columns tell of Greece. Now, if you turn your back upon the Tuileries, you will gaze upon the open space of the Champs ElysÉes, and look down along through that splendid avenue, and there see the finest thing in France—Bonaparte's triumphal arch. One word about this arch. It is the work of the emperor, who ordered its erection in 1806, when the foundation was laid. In 1814 it was suspended, but in 1823 it was resumed in honor of the Duke d'AngoulÊme's victories in Spain. In 1830 its original intention was adopted, and in 1836 it was completed, and its cost was nearly eleven millions of francs. It is a vast arch, ninety feet high and forty-five feet wide, with entablature and attic. Its total height is one hundred and fifty-two feet, breadth one hundred and thirty-seven feet, depth sixty-eight feet. On the fronts are colossal groups, in which the figures are eighteen feet. All these are historical, and tell of the great man in his fields of glory. You ascend this wonderful work of art by two hundred and sixty steps, and get the best view of Paris. Close by is the Hippodrome, of which some of us have told you, I suppose, during our last visit.

At less than a mile from this place is the Chapel of St. Ferdinand, built on the spot where the Duke of Orleans died, by a fall from his carriage, in 1842. It is a small building of stone, fifty feet long, and is of Gothic style. Here are many interesting objects—the marble group descriptive of the dying prince, and at his head an angel in supplication; this angel was the sculpture of his sister, the Princess Marie. The painted windows are exquisite representations of the patron saints of the royal family. Behind the altar is the room in which the duke died, now used as the sacristy of the chapel. Here, too, is a picture of the death bed. I am glad that I saw this, as the rest of the party were not able to be there.

The great National Library is in the Rue Vivienne. The building is a dark-looking affair, five hundred and forty feet long and one hundred and thirty feet wide. Inside is a court three hundred feet by ninety, and that is flanked with buildings. The library is in five sections: first, manuscripts; second, printed books; third, engravings; fourth; medals, &c.; fifth, marbles. Perhaps the best collection of early printing that Europe can show is in this place. You will be surprised when I tell you that there are here one million five hundred thousand works. I cannot attempt to tell you the curiosities that are to be seen here—gems, cameos, antiques, swords, armors, models, portraits, busts; and then, as for autographs, why, a collector could not fail to break the tenth commandment when he looked at the letters of this collection in glass cases. The engravings alone are a study for months.

I have to see my tailor, Mr. Woodman, who is a capital one; and then I must go to Forr, the boot-maker, of whom let me tell you a story. The doctor went to be measured, when we first arrived, and the man told him it was not necessary, as he had his measure. "How so?" he inquired. "Why, sir," replied the man, "I remember you fifteen years ago, at the Hotel Windsor;" and taking down his book, showed him his name, number of his room, &c. This I think a pretty considerable proof of memory, and equal to what we are told of some of our American landlords, who are said never to forget a face.

These engagements discharged, and I am ready to pack up. We all feel sad at leaving George, who has been a kind and amiable companion; but we hope soon to see him again.

Let me tell you that we are to have a new teacher. Dr. C. has engaged M. Oudin, a graduate of the University of Paris, to return with us. This gentleman is married; and we are all pleased with him and expect, of course, to profit under his instructions.

M. Oudin has taken us to see a very curious manufactory of fruits, fishes, &c. They certainly are lifelike. Then, too, there is a branch of this establishment devoted to the preparation of medical representations of disease, and the skill exhibited is very great. Our next letter will, I fancy, be from Old England. I feel sad at leaving France, for I do like her capital; and then I cannot help a fear that she has dark days not very far off. She talks of liberty at all her corners, but she seems to have none in her conduct of the daily press. There are too many soldiers here to please an American. At home we have all the blessings of government, and do not see the machinery. We have no soldiers to keep us moving along. I shall always think with pleasure of our month in this city; and if I ever come again, I have work chalked out for three months, at least.

Yours affectionately,

james.