In the middle of the afternoon, we reached the Northern Railway Terminus (Embarcadere du Nord) in Paris. This magnificent station covers nearly 10 acres of ground. The arrival and departure sheds in the center are 230 metres long, and 70 metres wide. (The meter is equal to 39.370079 inches). Its facade is 180 metres long, 38 metres (about 125 feet) high and consists of a lofty central arch and two lateral arches. This imposing front is adorned with twenty-three colossal statues of noble female figures, representing the following, principal cities of Europe: Paris, (surmounting the central arch), Londres, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Frankfort, Vienne, Bruixelles, Cologne, Amsterdam, Donai, Dunkerque, Boulogne, Compeigne, St. Quentin, Cambrai, Beauvais, Lille, Armiens, Rouen, Arras, Laon, Calais, Valengiens. (1864).

There are a number of other very fine railway stations in Paris, but we can only take room to define their area. The largest is the Strasbourg Railway Terminus, nearly 13 acres in extent; while the Western Railway Terminus covers an area of 5 acres.

As soon as our train had stopped, I followed my French companion (Prof. S.) into the extensive apartments of the station, and passed muster. I expected to be asked for my "passport," but slipped through unchallenged. On passing out into the yard I was again saluted by my English friends who were about entering a "bus" to drive to a hotel. In bidding each other good-by and god-speed on our journeys, I ran a great risk of losing my Parisian friend, in the great multitude of people that thronged the yard and pavement; but fortunately, I found him again in a few minutes.

Before we reached the street, I was already made to feel that some strange scenes and experiences were undoubtedly in store for me in Paris and likely throughout the rest of my continental tour, for I had already observed one of those strange social habits of the Parisians in a most public place which the nice delicacies of our language and customs forbid to describe.

The French, the Italians, and many of the inhabitants of South Germany and parts of Switzerland--I should say all the sunny lands in Europe--have handed down to our day, manners and customs which speak in a language that cannot be misunderstood, and with a force far louder than a whisper, that it is not very long since man took to dressing himself. In my intercourse with those people, from Paris to Egypt, I nowhere observed any baneful influences exerted over morality by these practices in question, for they are not thought about by those people which are guilty of them, but many an American will be shocked at them, and go home declaring that such indecencies must lead to immoralities, even if they have never gone to the trouble to see whether they actually do. Their pernicious influence upon American tastes and manners may be granted, but that does not prove that foreigners, who are cradled, nursed and brought up in these customs, will be affected in like manner. American and English tourists are alike shocked and provoked at the sight of the innumerable nude statues and paintings, on the, pleasure gardens and in the art galleries, but the ladies of the continent seem to see as little of indecencies or improprieties in those things, as we do in opening our Bibles and seeing saints and apostles represented with bare feet--the toes standing out naked over the sandals, or when we read in the family circle and in the public capacity of teachers and ministers, passages from Scriptures, such as no one would be capable of reading if they were found in a periodical or a newspaper.

During my first month on the continent, I was often vexed to think that much of what I saw, that was not only very interesting and impressive, but which had likewise an important bearing on history, was of such a nature that it would either constitute unfit material for general diffusion, or seem to be incredible to the average reader.

We went down Boulevard (pron. Bool'var') de Magenta about one-third of a mile, to Boulevard de Strasbourg, (pron. Straws'boor'), thence along that avenue (?) to the foot of it (another third of a mile) and continued our walk down Boulevard de Sebastopol to Rue de Rivoli, along which latter street we went half a mile west, where my friend, guide and teacher procured for me a room not far from his home.

[With this gentleman I spent from three to five hours daily, during my first stay of fifteen days, in walking about the city seeing sights and studying French reading and pronunciation].

As soon as I had taken my room, I retraced my steps to the railway station and fetched my sachel; this time, alone. It was not a little task, for the distance from my quarters, which were near the center of Paris, to the station, was over two miles. The names of the Boulevards "Magenta, Strasbourg and Sebastopol," I was constantly repeating in my mind, so that I might not forget the way that I had come with my friend, the first time. It was dark by the time I reached my lodging place the second time, but I had seen and learned enough for one day. Almost two miles of Boulevards and nearly half a mile of Rue de Rivoli (the finest Rue in Paris) thrice walked that afternoon, had presented to me more that was new, than I had expected to see in a week.

The Boulevards,

like a dozen other of the distinguishing features of Paris, are new things to the American; and as they are quite different from anything that I have yet seen of the kind in this country, I shall here take room to note some of their striking characteristics. They are the grandest streets in Paris, sustaining about the same relation to the "Rues" that the avenues in our American cities sustain to the streets. In the French nomenclature, the names applied the different classes of thoroughfares, &c., run as follows: 1st., avenues; 2nd., boulevards; 3rd., rues; 4th., allees or ruelles, and 5th., passages (pron. pahsahjes). In America, the corresponding terms are 1st., avenues; 2nd.,----; 3rd., streets; 4th., alleys, and 5th., passages. It will be observed, that we have here nothing to correspond with the boulevard. In the classification here presented, the term avenue is to designate thoroughfares of great width and shaded with rows of trees on each side, as are the avenues in Washington, D.C. In most American cities, the avenues are diagonal streets or openings connecting distant points of the cities, but this definition loses most of its force when applied to European cities, as they are not built square or rectangular.

Champs Elysees intersects a fine and extensive reservation, (having many of the characteristics of the pleasure garden), extending from the Jardin des Tuileries (Garden of the Tuileries) to the Arc de Triomphe (the Arch of Triumph). Its length is a mile and a quarter, and the garden or park of which it is the grand thoroughfare, is, in one place, about a third of a mile in width. The buildings are consequently a considerable distance off from this carriage-way; but in the boulevards, nothing except the pavement intervenes between the street and the houses. The boulevards of Paris are its widest as well as its noblest streets. The pavements on each side of them, are, in many instances from twenty-five to thirty feet in width. Thick rows of large and elegant shade-trees border them on both sides, and under these are placed numerous wooden settees for the accommodation of the public. Many of the 6,000 cafes which are strewn over Paris, grace these boulevards with their glass fronts. During the summer season, most of the refreshments and meals are served in front of the cafes on the pavements, and grand is the sight of seeing ten thousand gay Parisians seated along these splendid streets, chattering away over their wine and coffee! Paris is about five miles long by four miles wide, and few are the houses in the entire city that are less than five or six stories high. A few only of the outer streets have as low as four and five story houses. These houses are mostly built of stone, having stone floors, even. Each room is arched over from the four walls; upon these arches are placed the flagstones constituting the next floor, and it is in consequence of this arching that each story is so very high. The white sandstone of the Paris basin constitutes the principal building stone. The city is divided into seven sections, and each section is required by law, to either scrape the fronts of their houses once every seven years, so that the walls look new again, or to paint them anew. No proprietor can choose his time, but when the year is come for his section to repair their houses, it must be done. In consequence of this regulation, the streets never look checkered by old and new houses contrasting with each other, but the external appearance of the buildings is made to harmonize, and each street is a unit in appearance. In the finest part of Paris there are few alleys or stables, but splendid rues and boulevards lined with magnificent buildings with elegant fronts, have taken their places. This section is over three miles in length, nearly two in width, and presents scenes of beauty, grandeur and magnificence which are unrivaled by anything that the first other cities of the world have ever brought forth.

Its beautiful balconies, as numerous as the windows, constitute another very charming feature of Parisian scenery. The streets are always kept clean and wet by sweepers and sprinklers, and the broad smooth pavements along the boulevards, free from dust and all manner of rubbish or obstructions, afford a suitable promenade for gayety, wealth and fashion to roam. Here beauty's feet may stray, arrayed in the most showy colors or the stateliest attire, without fear of encountering nasty crossings or of being splashed over and soiled by teams upon muddy streets. Ladies attired in gaudy ball-room dresses with long trails, would scarcely present a contrast in dress with the average promenaders. All dress equally well, on Sundays, and on week-days, so that Paris presents to the foreigner, the appearance of a city celebrating an eternal Sabbath. Even when it rains, the pedestrian can walk for miles about the city, without being in want of an umbrella. In that event he need only confine his course to the

Arcades and Passages.

Webster defines an arcade as "A long, arched building or gallery lined on each side with shops." May the reader not be misled by this definition; for the arcades of Paris do not have shops on both sides. They are a uniform system of porticoes generally from twenty to thirty feet in width. Those on Rue de Rivoli are about a mile in length, and the houses to which they belong have been exempted from taxes for thirty years. From these ramify numerous passages and other arcades, connecting different parts of the city.

A "Passage" (pron. pÄ-sahj) is a street covered with a glass roof, elegantly paved, animals and vehicles excluded or shut off, and lined by the first-class shops in the city. The most remarkable are the Passages des Panoramas, Jouffroy, Verdean, Vivienne, Colbert, Choiseul, Delorine du Saumon, &c. The first of these are the most brilliant and are perhaps not excelled or even equaled by any other in the world, with the solitary exception of Passage des Victor Emanuel of Milan, in Italy. Some of these passages are called

Galleries.

The Galerie d'Orleans in Palais Royal, is a good example. This lofty hall, forty feet wide and 300 feet long, extending between a double range of shops, connects the arcades extending around the other three sides of the inner court of that palace, (now turned into shops, bazaars, etc.)

Many of the grand boulevards and rues of Paris have been built since 1848, and the work of widening and improving old streets and building new ones is still going on with constantly increasing vigor.

There are now in progress of construction, broad boulevards, which can only be constructed at the sacrifice of many acres of some of the finest buildings in Paris; but only beauty and grandeur are regarded anything in this noble city, expenses being but little estimated. Notwithstanding the lavish expenditure of money upon this class of improvements, Paris is, of all cities, perhaps the most prosperous on the globe.

Of the wide-spread destruction of public buildings, occasioned by the late war and the stormy days of the Commune, there are but few marks remaining. The Palace of the Tuileries, Hotel de Ville, and a few other buildings, lie still in ruins; but the thirty or more churches which were either greatly damaged or quite demolished, and numerous other public edifices that have been destroyed, have already been restored--some of them with increased magnificence. Besides this, the French have almost finished paying their immense war-debt, while America, whose war ended seven years before theirs, is obliged to sail into the centennial year, still heavily freighted with the obnoxious burden.

Did heaven ever smile upon a more blessed city than Paris? To give the reader an idea of how buildings are torn down to make room for the purpose of extending fine streets, let us refer to the statistics concerning Rue de Rivoli. This street cost $30,000,000. It is two miles in length, and its establishment caused the demolition of upwards of one thousand houses! Thirty millions of dollars, enough to pay for a tract of land that is twenty miles long and eleven miles wide, bought at the rate of $200 per acre; and all this expended on the improvement of two miles of road!

In the Old World, a strip of three to five or six story houses, several hundred feet wide and a quarter of a mile to upwards of a mile in length, is torn down with as much complacent indifference concerning the destruction, as men manifest in mowing so much grass!

As among the most fashionable places in Paris, may be mentioned, Boulevard des Italiens, Palais Royal, Champs Elysees, Jardin des Tuileries and other pleasure gardens and public squares. Boulevard des Italiens, in fair weather, is densely crowded with ladies and gentlemen seated on chairs hired for two to three sous (cents) each. The city clears over $7,000 a year from this source of revenue. But several hundred steps toward the west of this street stand the Academic de Musique (the most splendid opera-house in the world) and the Grand Hotel--two of the most brilliant edifices in the city.

Palais Royal,

as it now stands, was completed in 1786. This building, like most of the palaces in Europe, is built around a quadrangle, and its plan may be compared to a pupil's slate used for ciphering. The frame corresponds to the form or ground-plan of the buildings, and the slate, to the court or yard which they inclose. This inner court or garden, 700 feet long and 300 feet wide, containing nearly five acres of land, is planted with lime (linden?) trees from end to end, and two flower gardens. In the middle is a fine jet d'eau (a fountain). "The garden was thus arranged in 1799; it contains bronze copies of Diane a la Biche of the Louvre, and the Apollo Belvedere; two modern statues in white marble, one of a young man about to bathe, by d'Espercieux; the other of a boy struggling with a goat, by Lemoine; Ulysses on the sea-shore, by Bra; and Eurydice stung by the snake, by Nanteuil, a fine copy in bronze, but more fitted for a gallery than the place it now occupies. Near this statue is a solar cannon, which is fired by the sun when it reaches the meridian, and regulates the clocks of Palais Royal."

From the privilege of supplying refreshments and from the hiring of chairs, the Government derives an annual rent of $7,000.

The shops under the arcades are chiefly devoted to articles of luxury, and are among the most elegant in Paris. Many restaurants are on the first floor; here, were formerly the gambling-houses which rendered this place so notorious. The best time for visiting Palais Royal is in the evening, when the garden and arcades are brilliantly illuminated and full of people. The shops of the watch-makers and the diamond windows are then particularly brilliant. In the most magnificent windows the articles have no price marks; but in the best windows in which the articles have price marks, I saw lockets priced $200; rings for $900; ear-rings for $1,000 a pair; a pair of diamond studs for $2,800; crosses for $320; and a necklace worth $3,000.

Palais Royal has been called the capital of Paris. During the early part of the first Revolution, its gardens became the resort of the most violent politicians; here, the tri-coloured cockade was first adopted, and the popular party decided on many of its bolder measures.

There is little room for doubt, that the Cafe, one of the characteristic features of French society, is a potent factor in civilizing and refining the human race, in these latter times. Religion and intelligence--moral ideas, moral habits and the collective knowledge of our ancestors--has been transmitted from one generation to another down to our time, by the Church and the Schools, principally. But the affairs of the human race have taken a new turn since the invention of printing, by which the steady development of traditional ideas has been arrested, so that the propriety of retaining the standards of ancient civilization as patterns for the present, is being questioned and discussed everywhere. In this great revolutionary era, the authority of the past and even the respect naturally due to parents is very generally disregarded. This latter sad feature of failing to do homage to the aged, is not more the result of a lack of love and esteem, on the part of children for their parents, than of the want of confidence which parents have in themselves. We can take an illustration from our young ladies. A few generations ago, the traditional white cap constituted the head-dress of the young maidens among the catechumens, when they presented themselves for the first time at the altar; now, in place of having all the heads look alike, every head must present a different phase. We still find sections in the Old World, where all the dresses of the young are "cut out of the same piece," so to say, and made after the same pattern, so that all the individuals of a company are almost as nearly dressed alike, as soldiers in uniform. Rev. Bausman, in his Wayside Gleanings, page 141, in describing the appearance of people at church in a certain section of Germany, portrays one feature in these words: "Very pleasant was it to see every lady, old and young, having her hymn book carefully folded in her white handkerchief." The clergy, and the monks and nuns in Europe display like uniformity in their dress. In every old picture or painting, representing a group or company of persons, it will be observed that all the individuals are dressed and combed after the same fashion.

This incessant yearning and seeking for something new is of recent date, and the key-note of a universal system of revolutions. Every season brings a new style of dress, and what is true of fashion is true of everything else. As it would ill become mothers to leave their family for a time and learn the milliners' trade, she makes choice of one of her daughters to be educated in that trade. This young girl after she has learned dressmaking takes the place of the mother in the matter of providing clothes for the family, and becomes in a large measure the mistress of the house. The same thing happens to the baking department of the family. A score of new kinds of pies and cakes have become fashionable in our day, and it is the daughters that have the greatest opportunity to earn this baking of pastries the quickest. The consequence is that the mother soon turns out to be only a second rate cook! Fully aware that she can neither cook nor make dresses, she resigns her position as head of these departments, respectively to her daughters, who, when once master of the culinary and millinery, affairs, will soon be master of the balance of the household affairs. Need I say that the fathers of this generation are served about the same way by their sons? And it is the same between the teacher and the pupil. "Old fogy teacher" or "he has the old ways yet" are expressions that are too common to require any explanation. Happily, most old teachers have cleared the turf, and yielded their laurels to a host of youngsters, ranging in age from about sixteen to twenty years! Thus all difficulties are surmounted in this line, and "Young America" has the reins to himself! Look at the improvements that have resulted from the efforts of inventive genius, and at the progress that the arts and sciences have made. We are in a new world, so different from that of our forefathers, that their experiences count almost nothing in this new era. It is a sad picture to see the young and the inexperienced thus groping in the dark, but it is the inevitable consequence of the new turn that things have taken since the inauguration of the age of reason [dating from the introduction of printing (?)], Nevertheless, the young would display much greater prudence, if they would bring many of their schemes and purposes to a lower temperature by sitting still when age rises to speak, and were they to take heed of the counsels and admonitions of those who are older than themselves.

This radical change in the affairs of the world being recognized, it becomes apparent how the power and influence of the Church and Schools must abate in a measure, and give scope, for a season, to a class of institutions more fitted for revolutionary times. This transition era will likely be marked as a glacial period in the history of religion, during which time rationalism and infidelity will possibly be rampant in Europe, if indeed they do not even establish their dominion in America, But we may hope for a calm after the storm, when things will be steadied down again to a smooth and even flow. In this our time, the transition era, theaters, operas, cafes and the printing press, will play a very important part; the press for the literary public in general, the theaters and operas for the social benefit of the upper class and the cafe for the middle and large class, the class which give shape and character to the predominant methods of social evolution. The first cafe in Paris was established in 1697 by an Armenian, and like the establishment of the Hippodrome in New York by Barnum, was a success from the beginning. These institutions increased rapidly in number under Louis XV., and became the favorite resort of distinguished individuals. At present, they abound in every quarter, and justly rank among the most remarkable features of the city, being very generally decorated with unrivaled costliness and splendor. Besides coffee, wine, beer and other refreshments, they frequently provide breakfast, and many of them also dinners and suppers. In 1874, there were over 6,000 cafes in Paris, doing business to the amount of $24,000,000 annually, or an average income of $4,000 to each establishment! The furniture of the cafe and the plan of conducting its business resembles that of our fashionable ice-cream saloons more than any other establishment that we are acquainted with. The halls are furnished with little tables or marble-stands surrounded by chairs or costly sofas, and every person that enters, is expected to order some kind of drink or refreshment as soon as he has taken his seat. Both sexes frequent them alike, and a grand sight it is to see a brilliant company of ladies and gentlemen sitting in groups and couples about these gorgeously decorated halls, enjoying their wine and each other's company, thus presenting scenes of gayety and festive pleasure that are seldom outvied, even in the ball-room and the opera in this country. A band of musicians render music from an elevated platform all evening, and an open space in front of the platform is provided for the accommodation of those who delight in the dance. The waiting girls of these cafes are usually ladies of remarkable beauty and refinement, whose elegant dresses, graceful manners and rare accomplishment in conversation and address, are well in keeping with the charming brilliancy of the hall, and the merryand refined company around them.

It is astonishing how cheap these splendid accommodations of the cafe, almost princely in their style, can be rendered. A person may enter a cafe early in the evening, sit down with his friends and acquaintances, order a glass of wine or beer and enjoy the best music and the pleasures of the most refined society for an hour or two, and when he leaves, his purse is only from three to eight cents the poorer for it. A gentleman may take a lady to the cafe five evenings in a week, for between thirty cents and a dollar. He may spent twice as much or even ten or fifty times as much, if he washes to spend his time in a building whose very window sashes and external ornamentations glitter with gold; but such a lavish expenditure of money is not required to be comfortable and happy. These cafes are very orderly houses. It is not fashionable to consume a glass of wine or beer in less than half an hour, and many drink the whole evening at one glass. No one can get drunk at this rate, and any one who would drink fast and should become wild, he would not be tolerated in the cafe, as no lady would remain in his society.

There are some fast drinking-houses even in Paris, and more in some sections of Germany, but even those sent few or no drunk men upon the streets. A fellow that would stagger upon the pavement would be conducted to the station house at once. I did not see a single drunk person in Paris in half a month's stay, and only several in the rest of my tour through Europe. It is an encouraging sign of the times, that the cafe is being introduced in America. May it soon take the place of our gambling-halls and drinking-hells. See what Macaulay says of the Cafe, as he is quoted by Webster in his Unabridged Dictionary under the word Coffee-house.

Champs Elysees,

Champs Elysees, (pron. Shangs-ai-le-zai), a term equivalent to "The Elysian Fields" of the Greeks, is perhaps the most charming place in the world. It is a paradise in reality, as its names implies; and during the summer evenings, when its many thousand gas jets blaze in globes of various colors, and the magnificent illuminations of its grand cafes produce a brilliancy of coloured light intense enough to see pins on its walks and flower-beds, the scenes become grand beyond description. Immense throngs of people gather around the cafes in the evening to see the youths and beauties whirl in the mazy dance, and listen to the bewitching strains of the sweet music there rendered. It is not a rare thing to see spectators go into raptures on these occasions, for I have seen few places where nature and art so harmonize and unite in producing scenes of enchanting beauty and creating feelings of ecstatic delight, as here on Champs Elysees. The atmosphere of Paris, too, is preeminently soft and balmy, and the temperature so even that ladies may sit in the most brilliant attire all evening in the open air under the trees of this pleasure-garden without the least danger of contracting a cold. One of the first evenings that I enjoyed these scenes of indescribable beauty, I could not help but observe to my companion, that the finest poetical descriptions of a celestial Paradise, were not ideal representations of imaginary pleasures, but true word images of the joys and beauties of the "Elysian Fields" (Champs Ely sees) in Paris.

The buildings which front upon this lovely place are among the most elegant in the city, being finely painted, even on the outside, like those in the boulevards. I saw one, whose balconies were all gilt, from the bottom to the attic story, reminding one of the splendor of the foremost royal mansions.

Palais de l'Elysee, lies contiguous to this place and gave origin to its name. It was a favorite residence of Napoleon I. When he returned from Elba, he occupied it until after the defeat of Waterloo. It was also the official residence of Napoleon III. while he was President of the French Republic. At present it is occupied by Marshal MacMahon during the recesses of the National Assembly.

In about the center of Champs Elysees, is the Palais de l'Industrie, the great Exhibition Buildings, in which the World's Fair was held in 1855.

The Avenue des Champs Elysees intersects Champs Elysees, and is a mile and a quarter in length. Its foot-pavements are twelve feet wide, This is the favorite walk of the gay Parisians.

"On sunny winter-days, or cool summer-evenings numerous parties of all classes are seen, enjoying the lively spectacle before them, seated on iron chairs hired for three or four sous, (cents), or on the wooden benches placed at intervals on the sides of the avenue, while elegant carriages roll in procession along the road."--Galignani's Paris Guide.

Place de la Concorde, called Place de la Revolution in 1792, (when the guillotine was erected here), is at the east end of Champs Elysees, adjoining the Jardin des Tuileries. The square is enclosed with balustrades, upon which stand eight colossal statues of the chief provincial cities. In the center of it stands the Obelish of Luxor. This magnificent monument of ancient Egypt, was brought to Paris in 1833 and erected in 1836. It weighs 250 tons, and to transport it from Thebes to the place where it now stands required three years. It is one of two monoliths that stood in front of the great temple of Thebes, where they were erected 1550 years before Christ. Both of them were given to the French Government, by Mehemet All, Viceroy of Egypt, "in consideration of advantages conferred by France on Egypt in aiding to form the arsenal and naval establishment of Alexandria." Only one was removed. It is 72 feet 3 inches high. Its greatest width is 7 feet 6 inches at the base, and 5 feet 4 inches at the top. The pedestal upon which it stands, is 15 feet by 9 feet at the bottom and 8 feet at the top, and weighs 120 tons.

The transportation and re-erection of this obelisk cost the French Government about $400,000. A dear present! No wonder that they did not go to fetch the other one.

Galignani enumerates the following events which occurred here and rendered the Place de la Concorde famous:

"July 12, 1789.--A collision between Prince de Lambesc's regiment and the people became the signal for the destruction of the Bastille.

"Jan. 21, 1793.--Louis XVI. suffered death on this place.

"From Jan. 21, 1793, to May 3, 1795, more than 2,800 persons were executed here by the guillotine.

"Feb. 23, 1848.--The first disturbances that ushered in the memorable revolution of that year took place here.

"Feb. 24, 1848--Flight of Louis Philippe and his family by the western entrance of the Tuileries Garden.

"Nov. 4, 1848.--The Constitution of the Republic was solemnly proclaimed here, in the presence of the Constituent Assembly.

"Sept. 4, 1870.--The downfall of Napoleon III. and the Third Republic proclaimed, after the disaster of Sedan.

"May 22, 1871.--A desperate conflict between the Versailles troops and the Communists, the latter in their retreat setting fire to public and private Bubldings."

Jardin des Tuileries,

A pleasure-garden over fifty acres in extent (containing flower-beds, an extensive orangery, trees, statues and fountains) intervenes between Place de la Concorde and the Palace of the Tuileries, and, in connection with Champs Elysees, constitutes a continuous garden and park whose total length is over a mile and three quarters.

This magnificent reservation penetrates almost to the heart of the city. Its width is in one place nearly half a mile, being about one fifth of a mile wide at the Tuileries on the east, while it tapers down to about 450 feet (the width of Avenue des Champs Elysees) at the Arch of Triumph on the west end of it. The Avenue des Champs Elysees and the principal avenue in the Tuileries Garden are in a perfectly strait line, so that a person standing in the center of the avenue at the Tuileries will see both sides of the Arch of Triumph, nearly two miles away from him; while the center is concealed from his view by the Obelisk of Luxor standing in the center of Place de la Concorde, as above described. Stepping a few yards to either side throws the obelisk out of the way and affords one a perfect view of that noble arch (one of the most stately monuments in existence). The tourist can not approach that imposing monument called

Arc de Triomphe de L'Etoile

to greater advantage than by this avenue, starting out from the ruins of the Tuileries. As some of the finest scenes and most important places in Paris are met with, by this approach, one should allot a whole day to this walk. He will have half a mile to the obelisk in the center of Place de la Concorde, which, with its surroundings, will require him hours to see. Three thousand feet further, is the Rond Point of Champs Elysees. A quarter of a mile short of this, he will have found the Exhibition Buildings on his left and Palais de l'Elysees on his right. Having seen these, he may make his approach of the Arch of Triumph without further interruption. From Rond Point to the Center of the arch, it is about 3,800 feet more. It is only after the visitor comes within half a mile of its base that the monument begins to assume its gigantic proportions. This proud monument was designed by Chalgrin, having been decreed by Napoleon I. in 1806. The work was suspended from 1814 till 1823; labor was resumed then, but it was not completed before 1836. Thus, thirty years of time and over $2,000,000 were bestowed upon the erection of this historic monument, which is perhaps destined to hand down to future generations both the names of the victors and of the numerous vanquished cities that were subject to the authority of Napoleon I. The great central arch is forty-five feet wide and ninety feet high, over which rises a bold entablature and the crowning attic. The transversal arch is twenty-five feet wide and fifty-seven feet high. The total height of the monument being 152 feet; and its breadth and depth 137 feet and 68 feet respectively. The fronts of the structure are towards Champs Elysees and Porte de Neuilly, the city gate near Bois de Boulogne.

The general plan of this imposing monument is borrowed from that of the famous arches at Rome; but the transversal arch is an additional feature, while its reliefs, and inscriptions, and its colossal proportions throw the arches of Rome into comparative insignificance. The interior sides of the piers are inscribed with the names of ninety-six victories; under the transversal arches are the names of generals. A group upon the northern pier of the eastern front represents the departure of the army in 1792:--"The Genius of War summons the nation to arms." The group on the southern front represents the triumph of 1810:--Victory is in the act of crowning Napoleon. History with pencil in hand is about to record his deeds upon a tablet before her; conquered towns are at his feet. Fame surmounts the whole, blowing her bugle of praise. The group on the southern pier of the western front represents the French nation's resistance to the invading army of 1814:--A young man defends his wife, his children and his father; a warrior falls slain from his horse, and the Genius of the Future encourages them to action. Upon the northern pier is represented the peace of 1815:--The warrior sheathes his sword, the farmer has caught a bull with a rope, and is taming him for purposes of agriculture, while a mother with her children is sitting by, and Minerva sheds her protecting influence over them. Every group is 36 feet in height and each figure 18 feet.

A chain fence encircles this proud and noble monument, and shuts off all conveyances. Pedestrians can enter until dusk. An ascent of 272 steps brings the visitor to the platform at the top, from which one of the finest views of Paris and the surrounding country may be enjoyed.

There are three other triumphal arches in Paris. The oldest is that of Porte St. Denis. It was erected by the city of Paris in 1672. The principal arch is 25 feet wide, and 43 feet high; and the total height of the structure is 72 feet. Its reliefs and other representations are superb.

The triumphal arch over Porte St. Martin is 54 feet wide by 54 feet high. The central arch is 15 feet wide by 30 feet in elevation. It was built in 1674, two years after the erection of Porte St. Denis.

The last of the three inferior arches was erected by order of Napoleon in 1806. It has a base of 60 feet by 20 feet, and is 45 feet high. The cost of erection was about $275,000. It stands near the Tuileries at the Place du Carrousel, after which it was named, and which was so called from a great tournament held by Louis XIV. in 1662. The entablature is supported by eight Corinthian columns of marble, with bases and capitals of bronze, adorned with eagles. The attic of this arch is surmounted by a figure of Victory in a triumphal car with four bronze horses hitched to it. These were modelled by Bosio from the celebrated historic horses which Napoleon brought from Venice to Paris in 1797, but which were restored by the allies in 1815, and now stand again in the Piazza of St. Mark at Venice, as they had since 1205. The original (those in Venice) are gilt, but those in Paris are black.

The Tomb of Napoleon I.

The tomb and last burial place of the great Napoleon, which is in Eglise des Invalids, is perhaps the most imposing monument of the kind in the world. I have not found its equal anywhere; nor anything to rival it even, in costliness and splendor, except those of several of the Popes at Rome. The tomb which covers the sarcophagus into which the mortal remains of Napoleon I. brought from St. Helena, were placed April 2nd, 1861, consists of a immense monolith of porphyry weighing 67 tons, brought from Lake Onega in Russia at an expense of $28,000. This tomb, 131/2 feet in height, stands in the center of a circular crypt, and is surrounded by twelve colossal statues representing so many victories. The pavement of the crypt contains a crown of laurels in mosaic, and a black circle upon which are inscribed the names of the following victories: Rivoli, Pyramids, Marengo, Austerlitz, Iena, Friedland, Wagram and Moskowa. A large bouquet of immortelles (everlasting flowers) lying upon the tomb is emblamatic of the immortality of the great soldier's fame. Over the bronze door which leads to the crypt, are inscribed the following words, quoted from the Emperor's will:

"Je desire que mes cendres reposent sur les bordes de la Seine, au milieu de ce peuple Francais que j'ai tant aime."

"I wish my remains to be laid on the banks of the Seine, amongst that French people whom I have loved so much."--P. Simond.

In the center of an adjoining chapel, stands the tomb of Joseph, King of Spain, the eldest brother of Napoleon I. His mortal remains were brought hither in 1864.

The dome which rises over the tomb of Napoleon I. is one of the proudest monuments in Paris, and its gilt and glittering cupola may be seen many miles around. The cross on top of the globe and spire surmounting this dome is 323 feet above the pavement. Leaving Eglise des Invalids from the southern entrance, which leads to the tomb of Napoleon I., a spectacle presents itself to the beholder in the form of a grand fountain throwing its water high into the air. It is at

The Artesian Well of Grenelle.

M. Mulot commenced to bore at this well in 1834, but did not succeed in reaching water until February 26th, 1841, by which time his boring instrument had reached the depth of 1,800 feet, and the water suddenly gushed forth with tremendous force. The whole depth is lined by a galvanized iron tube that is 21 inches in diameter at the top and 7 inches at the bottom. The, amount of water yielded every 24 hours is 170,940 gallons. Its temperature is about 82 degrees Fahrenheit.

Twenty years after the sinking of this well, that is in 1861,

The Artesian Well of Passy,

near the Arch of Triumph, was completed. This yielded at first 5,000,000 gallons in 24 hours; it yields now over 3,000,000 gallons per day. A third artesian well is in Boulevard de la Gare.

There are, besides these artesian wells, 35 monumental fountains, 88 plain fountains and over 2,000 water-plugs in the city.

Notre Dame.

The Cathedral Church of Notre Dame is the grandest church of the rose-window class that I met with in my whole tour of Europe, The length of this edifice is 390 feet, and its greatest width at the transepts 144 feet. It is said to be capable of holding 21,000 persons. The nave is 225 feet long, 39 feet wide and 102 feet in height to the vaulting; the windows are 36 feet high. Its two western towers are each 204 feet high, and the spire about 270 feet. The first thing that arrests the attention of the visitor on approaching it, are the grotesque figures of its antique gargoyles, several hundred in all, which give the church a very odd appearance. The three portals (at the west end) contain about 300 images. Its organ is 36 feet broad, 45 feet high and contains 3,484 pipes. But among the most remarkable features of this magnificent cathedral are its splendid rose-windows, representing a variety of scripture and legendary subjects, and its choir and sacristy. Here, are mitres and crosses glittering with jewels, and the church-utensils and vestments. The most gorgeous are the robes worn by Pius VII. at the coronation of Napoleon I., and several series of brilliant robes profusely embroidered in silver and gold. It seems that the place upon which Notre Dame now stands, was first occupied by a heathen temple erected in the time of the Romans; for, among nine large stones dug up in 1711, one bears the effigy of the Gallic deity Hesus, and the other was a votive altar raised to Jove.

The Pantheon.

About half a mile distant from the island of the Seine upon which Notre Dame stands, on an eminence south of the river, is located the Pantheon, or church of St. Genevieve. This building cost $6,000,000. The six fluted columns of its portico are 6 feet in diameter and 60 feet high. The whole number of Corinthian columns in and about this superb edifice is 258. The arched ceilings of the interior are 80 feet high. The dome is 66 feet in diameter and its height from the pavement to the top is 268 feet. I have seen no other dome in Europe that resembles so closely the dome on the Capitol of the United States, both on account of its fine illumination by natural light, and in its general design. One section of the frescoes in the canopy of the dome on our national capitol, represents the deification of Washington. In the dome of the Pantheon at Paris, Clovis, Charlemagne, St. Louis and Louis XVIII., are represented as rendering homage to Ste. Genevieve, who descends towards them on clouds, and Glory embraces Napoleon. In the heavenly regions are represented, Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, Louis XVII. and Madame Elizabeth.

In 1791, Mirabeau was interred here with great pomp, and in the same year took place, the celebrated apotheoses (deifications) of Voltaire and Rousseau. The remains of Mirabeau and of Marat were afterwards depantheonized, and the body of the latter was thrown into a common sewer.

The vaults are under the western nave. In these the "monuments and funeral urns are arranged like the Roman tombs in Pompeii." There are two concentric passages in the center, where small sounds are repeated by loud echoes. A hand holding a torch issues from one side of Rousseau's tomb, meaning that he is a light to the world even after death.

La Madeleine

is the third and the last of the large churches of Paris to which I can direct particular attention. It is 328 feet long by 138 feet wide, covering over an acre of ground, and its erection cost over $2,500,000. This structure was commenced in 1764, but the work was suspended during the revolution of 1789. Napoleon had once directed Vignon to complete it for a Temple of Glory, but Louis XVIII. restored it to its original destination in 1815. It is approached at each end by a flight of 28 steps, (the same number that constitute the Scala Sancta at Rome), extending along the whole length of the facade; and a Corinthian colonnade of 52 columns, each 49 feet high and five feet in diameter, surrounds it on every side.

There are scores of other churches in Paris that are interesting on account of the various styles of architecture which they represent, but I will only make mention of one more, and that on account of its terrible historical associations. It is the church of St. Germain l'auxerrois (pron. sang jer-mang lo-zher-wa). It was from the belfry of this church, that the signal was given for the commencement of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, August 23rd, 1572. Its bells tolled during the whole of that dreadful night. This church was the theater of another outbreak on the 13th of February, 1831, when everything within the church was destroyed.

The Louvre.

The reader may form an idea of the extent of these buildings, when he reflects that the space covered and inclosed by the Old and New Louvre and the Tuileries, is upwards of sixty acres. The court of the louvre is one of the finest in Europe, and its art galleries are among the richest in the world. The Long Gallery alone covers nearly an acre and a quarter, being 42 feet wide and 1,322 feet long! A person can well spend weeks or even months in the museum of the Louvre, but simply to walk through all of its brilliant galleries will require about three hours! I cannot stop to say more than that its collections of paintings and of sculpture is probably much larger than any other in the world.

Besides what I have already described and enumerated, Paris has its Bois de Boulogne containing large botanical and zological gardens, three race courses, the longest nearly two miles in circuit, lakes and drives; also many other gardens, squares, towers, columns, &c.--all full of beauty or interesting on account of the historical events and incidents associated with them; but I must now devote the remainder of my space to the

Theatres, Operas

and other places of amusement of the great capital of the social world. Places of amusement are the leading feature of Paris, and a boundless variety, adapted to the wants and tastes of every class of society, are strewn in endless profusion all over the city. The concert season lasts almost all the year round, though the highest class are limited to the winter and spring. Masked balls take place throughout the Carnival, in the winter season, and are thus spoken of and described by Galignani: "The most amusing are at the Opera-house, where they begin at midnight and continue till daybreak. No stranger who visits Paris at this season of the year should omit a visit to one of the Bals masques at this theater, for it is difficult to imagine a scene more curious and fantastic than that presented in the Salle of the Grand Opera at a Carnival Ball. On these nights the pit is boarded over and joins the stage; the vast area of the whole theater forming a ball-room of magnificent proportions, which, brilliantly lighted, and crowded with thousands of gay maskers attired in every variety of colour and costume, forms a sight not easily forgotten. Ladies should not go except as spectators in a box and under the protection of their relatives. The ticket costs $2.00. To witness this scene in perfection the visitor should wait until 12 or 1 o'clock, when the company is completely assembled and the votaries of the dance are in full activity. On entering the vast salle at such a moment the effect is scarcely imaginable, the gorgeousness of the immense theater, the glitter of the lights, the brilliancy and variety of the costumes, the enlivening strains of music, the mirth of the browd, and, above all, the the untiring velocity with which the dancers whirl themselves through the mazes of the waltz, polka and mazourka, present an appearance of bewindering gayety not to be described. * * * * On some occasions of special enthusiasm the crowd take up the leader of the orchestra with the most frantic plaudits, and in more than one instance have carried him in triumph round the theater. It is scarcely necessary to add that at these balls the roue (profligate) may find an endless variety of pleasant adventures." On some days during the Carnival, crowds of masked persons, exhibiting all sorts of antics, appear in the streets, and people assemble on horseback, in carriages and on foot, to witness the scene.

"The Carnival was prohibited in 1790, and not resumed till Bonaparte was elected first consul." Great was the joy of the Parisians when the Carnival was again restored!

The Opera-house referred to in the extract above quoted, is the Academie Nationals de Musique, or French Opera-house, also sometimes called the new Opera-house. It is generally admitted to be the finest Opera-house in the world. The space covered by this magnificent building is 140 metres by 122, (about 470 feet by 410), or nearly four and a half acres. It has seats for 2,520 spectators. The staircases, walls and ceiling are of the finest marble. The "house" for the spectators or audience is built entirely of stone and iron, rich in decorations and thick with gold. The stage alone is a quarter of an acre in extent, being 128 feet wide by 85 feet long. Below the stage there is a depth of 47 feet, from which the scenes are drawn up all in one piece. This abyss below the stage was obtained at an immense cost, as the architect had to lay the foundations far below a subterranean body of water, but the advantage thus gained enables them to present scenes that are marvelous. "The singers in this opera are pupils of the Conservatoire, and the corps de ballet consists of the most distinguished dancers of the day. Great attention is paid to costume and general effect." During the matchless performances of a night that I was present, there were at one time nine large horses and a procession of several hundred actors upon the stage, and it was far from being full. One of the most beautiful and astounding performances of the night was the production of a series of transformations that were as sudden and as astonishing in their developments as is the metamorphosis of the gaudy butterfly from the groveling worm. As the curtain rose there stood upon the stage a mighty fortress, massive and strong. We had seen it but long enough to observe how thick and how rough from age its weather-beaten walls were, when there was heard a crash, and the mighty citadel had fallen out of sight; but there still remained a most beautiful castle which must have been contained inside of the citadel but hid from the view by its towering walls. This castle was beautiful beyond description. It was fairer far than the castles of the kings seem to be, except when "distance lends enchantment to their view." But the second scene was as ephemeral as the first. We beheld its fascinating beauties only a few seconds when its four walls again dropped into the abyss below, and there issued from its inner apartment a host of beautiful little actresses such as I did not see upon any other stage in Europe. These little fairy-like beauties, many perhaps not more than from 5 to 10 years of age, all dressed in the most brilliant costumes, at once skipped into a dance "running the ring and tracing the mazy round," to the great satisfaction of the admiring spectators, who were as much delighted by the gayety, grace and accomplishment which they displayed in their performances, as they have been astonished at their sudden and almost miraculous appearance.

At a Ball.

Dancing is the favorite amusement in Paris, and these exercises are conducted on a grand scale, even during the summer season. I attended a Public Ball one evening, when almost the entire floor (covering nearly three fourths of an acre) and the adjoining garden of about the same area, were thronged by thousands of gay and jovial dancers, all wild from the excitement produced by the rhythmical motions and music of that playful exercise.

Incidents.

The reader can not be more curious to know how one that is unacquainted with the French language can get along in Paris, than I was when I first took up my residence there. The first morning I went out to seek some place where I might get fresh milk; Lait is the French name of it as I found it in my conversational guide book. I soon found that name upon a card of pasteboard hanging at the door of a shop where bread and fruits were displayed in the window. On entering the store a clever Frenchman politely addressed me, but he soon discovered that I was none of the loquacious kind, in French. I asked for lait, pronouncing the word as if it was spelt l-a-t-e, but he did not understand me. I could adorn my conversation neither with verbs nor with adjectives, so I repeated the word lait several times with the rising inflection, by which he readily inferred that I wanted something, though what that something was, remained a mistery to him, all the same. By and by, I pointed out the word lait to him, on seeing which, he exclaimed "---- du lÁ!" and gave me what I wanted. Thereafter I visited him from two to five times every day, according to convenience, to get my "du lāit!". Of "du pÄin" (bread) and smoked sausages, I constantly kept a supply in my satchel, so that when I entered a new city, I could well get along until I had become acquainted. Fruits and a very healthy and nutricious kind of nuts, (the Brazilian nuts), I bought in great abundance and exceedingly cheap from such as hawked them about on the streets. Five to ten centimes (1 to 2 cents) would buy 7 or 8 large Brazilian nuts and 6 to 8 fine juicy pears, or as many delicious plums, of which I was extremely fond. By thus reducing the number and variety of my dishes at the regular meals, I only enhanced the pleasures of the palate instead of reducing them; for he who "does not eat but when he is hungry, nor drink except when he is thirsty," will enjoy the humblest meal much more than the pampered dedauchee can relish the richest feast. As beer does not please my palate, and because the water fountains of Paris were often out of my reach when I was thirsty, I soon took fruit to supply the place of drink, and thus, in Paris already, I laid the foundation of a dietary system that ensured me not only health, happiness and convenience of procuring it alike in all countries, but that proved to be very economical too. For from 40 to 60 cents a day, I supplied all the necessaries, and more of the luxuries of life, than most of us are accustomed to, even in voluptuous America.