I had great difficulty in procuring a room, but persisted in my inquiries until I succeeded. The traveler will learn quicker than any other person that perseverence is the only road to success. He must often see everything go contrary for a whole hour, and even sometimes for half a day in succession. Such reverses frequently occasion a "blue-Monday" in the middle of the week.

My first walk, after I had found a home in London, was to the Post-Office, to look for letters from my friends in America, This was about three miles off. I returned a different way, and took a look at the exterior of St. Paul's. As the Covent Garden Theater (the finest in London) was already full before I reached it, I went on to the Oxford Street Music Theater and spent my first evening there. The next day (Wednesday, July 14th,) I entered



St. Paul's Cathedral,

the noblest building in England in the Classic style. Its length from east to west is 550 feet and its height to the top of the cross 370 feet. Under the dome is an area affording seats for 5,000 persons. Here 5,000 charity children are collected on the first Thursday in June every year, to unite their voices in songs of praise. Besides the dome, St. Paul's has two other towers, each 222 feet high. In one of these is the clock and the great bell upon which it strikes.

The length of the minute-hand of the clock is eight feet, and its weight seventy-five pounds; the length of the hour-hand is five feet five inches, and its weight forty-four pounds. The bell is ten feet in diameter and weighs 11,474 pounds. "It is inscribed, 'Richard Phelps made, me, 1716,' and is never used except for striking the hour, and for tolling at the deaths and funerals of any of the Royal Family, the Bishops of London, the Deans of St. Paul's, and the Lord Mayor, should he die in his mayoralty."

It requires a man three quarters of an hour every day to wind the clock, the striking weight alone weighing 1,200 pounds.

The dome constitutes a very remarkable whisper gallery, the slightest whisper being transmitted from one side to the other with the greatest distinctness.

This Cathedral contains many fine monuments interesting from the persons they commemorate. Among them are those to the Duke of Wellington, to Nelson, to Lord Cornwallis, to Sir Charles Napier, to Sir William Jones, the Oriental scholar, and numerous others.



Crystal Palace,

which is outside of the city, is perhaps the grandest Exposition Building in the world, and possibly the only structure of the kind in existence, since the destruction, by fire, of Crystal Palace, in New York. This Great Exhibition Building was first built upon Hyde Park, covering nearly nineteen acres of ground. It was visited by upwards of 6,000,000 persons during the twenty-four weeks that it was open, or about 40,000 persons daily. The receipts amounted to over $2,000,000.

It was re-erected and enlarged at Sydenham, in Kent, 1853-4, at a cost of over $7,000,000.

It must be over a quarter of a mile long, and about one-fourth as wide. The entire sides and the whole of the immense arched roof are of glass, admitting all the light except what little is intercepted by the sashes, thus affording an illumination quite equal to that outside, under the clear canopy of heaven.

The exterior gardens and water-works are magnificent. Among the attractions about the yard, is a glass tower about forty-five or fifty feet in diameter and over 200 feet high. Beautiful indeed is this magnificent crystal tower.

A clock with sixty-nine faces shows the times of so many different places on our planet. For the accommodation of such as are astronomically inclined, I render the following record as I entered it upon my diary, July 16th: Civil Middle Time, 12:40 p.m.; Astronomical Middle Time, 12:391/2 p.m.; Sidereal Time, 19:493/4; True Time, 12:381/2 p.m.

Around its great organ, there is seating accommodation for a choir of 2,000 singers.

For seeing the building only, one could well afford to go a great distance; but there are also constantly on exhibition a large collection of curiosities of every description, while extensive bazars expose for sale the richest and finest goods and wares of all kinds, and from the stores of every quarter of the globe.

There is also on exposition a large collection of plants, and a magnificent art gallery of paintings, sculpture, &c. Concert every day.

London has much fog and rain. I had but two fair days out of the eight I spent there. One very rainy morning I started out to see the Houses of Parliament. On my way thither I came to Trafalgar Square. In the center stands the magnificent Nelson Column, surrounded by statues and fountains. In order to-shield myself from the rain, and to enjoy the view of the grand square before me, and of the Parliamentary Buildings in the distance, I took refuge upon the portico of the National Gallery of Paintings. Here I incidentally met and formed the acquaintance of the brother of Miss Rosie Hersee, a songstress, who had lately made herself popular in this country. After accompanying me through the Art Gallery, he changed his programme for the afternoon, and had the kindness to spent the balance of the day with me, showing me through the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. The tourist should constantly be on the lookout for some suitable companion who is well posted at the place that he proposes to visit. Without such a person to point out things and explain them, one will miss more than he sees. I had just taken leave of a gentleman who had given me considerable assistance, but whose course so differed from my programme, that I was in fear of losing time should I accompany him longer. My new companion was a short-hand reporter of one of the London papers, and thoroughly acquainted in Westminster.



The Houses of Parliament.

This is one of the largest buildings ever erected continuously in Europe—perhaps the largest Gothic edifice in the world. It stands upon the bank of the Thames, occupying the site of the old Royal Palace of Westminster, burnt down in 1834, and covers nearly eight acres. This building has 100 staircases, more than two miles of corridors, and 1,100 apartments! The cost of erection was some $14,000,000, or a little more than that of the Capitol of the United States.

Having procured tickets we entered by the Royal Entrance under the Victoria Tower, one of the most stupendous structures of the kind in the world. It is 340 feet high and seventy-five feet square. The entrance archway is sixty-five feet high, and the vault is a rich and beautiful grained roof of elaborate workmanship, while the interior is decorated with statues of her present Majesty, supported by Justice and Mercy, and the statues of the patron saints of England, Scotland and Ireland.

The first apartment that we entered, was the Robing Room. From this room, after the ceremony of robing, her Majesty on her way to the Throne passes through a magnificent hall 110 feet long, forty-five feet wide and forty-five feet high, called the Victoria Gallery. It contains two magnificent frescoes of events in the history of England, covering large sections of the two side-walls. One represents the death of Nelson, and the other the meeting of Wellington and Bluecher after the Battle of Waterloo.

The House of Peers, ninety-seven feet long, forty-five feet wide, and forty-five high, is one of the richest and most magnificent chambers in the world. To the left of the entrance is the Throne on which her Majesty sits when she attends the House, and beside it, the chair of the Prince of Wales. Rich in carvings and lavishly gilt, this noble chamber presents a view of great grandeur.

The subdued light, admitted by the stained glass of its windows, does not dazzle the eye as would a perfect illumination of such giltings, but what is lost in splendor, is perhaps gained in modest grandeur.

"The arrival of her Majesty is announced within the House by the booming of the cannon. Her entrance is preceeded by the Heralds in their rich dress, and by some of the chief officers of state in their robes. All the peers are in their robes. The Speech is presented to her Majesty by the Lord Chancellor, kneeling, and is read by her Majesty or by him; the Royal Princes and Princesses with the Mistress of the Robes and one of the ladies of the bed-chamber standing by her side on the dais. The return to Buckingham Palace is by three at the latest."

The old custom of examining the cellars underneath the House of Lords, some hours before her Majesty's arrival, is still observed. This custom had its origin in the infamous Gunpowder plot of 1605.

The House of Commons is sixty-two feet long by forty-five feet broad and forty-five feet high; to which England and Wales return 500 members, Ireland 105, and Scotland 53, making in all 658 members.

St. Stephens Hall 95 feet long, 30 feet wide, and 56 feet high to the apex of the stone groining, is lined by twelve "statues of Parliamentary statesmen who rose to eminence by the eloquence and abilities they displayed in the House of Commons," Fox and Pitt are here placed on opposite sides of the hall, "facing" each other after the manner they were wont to in the House of Commons.

Westminster Hall is 290 feet in length, 68 feet in width, and 110 feet in height. "It is the largest apartment not supported by pillars in the world." Let the reader picture to himself the scenes of the events which history records as having taken place in this venerable Hall. "Here were hung the banners taken from Charles I., at the battle of Naseby; from Charles II. at the battle of Worcester; at Preston and Dunbar; and, somewhat later, those taken at the battle of Blenheim. Here, at the upper end of the Hall, Oliver Cromwell was inaugurated as Lord Protector, sitting in a robe of purple velvet lined with ermine, on a rich cloth of state, with the gold sceptre in one hand, the Bible richly gilt and bossed in the other, and his sword at his side. Here, four years later, at the top of the Hall fronting Palace-yard, his head was set on a pole, with the skulls of Ireton on one side, of Bradshaw on the other. Here, shameless ruffians sought employment as hired witnesses, and walked openly in the Hall with a straw in the shoe to denote their quality; and here the good, the great, the brave, the wise, and the abandoned have been brought to trial. Here (in the Hall of Rufus) Sir William Wallace was tried and condemned; in this very Hall, Sir Thomas More and Protector Sommerset were doomed to the scaffold. Here, in Henry VIII.'s reign (1517), entered the City apprentices, implicated in the murders on 'Evil May Day' of the aliens settled in London, each with a halter round his neck, and crying 'Mercy, gracious Lord, Mercy,' while Wolsey stood by, and the King, beneath his cloth of state, heard their defense and pronounced their pardon—the prisoners shouting with delight and casting up their halters to the Hall roof, 'so that the King,' as the chroniclers observe, 'might perceive they were none of the descreetest.' Here the notorious Earl and Countess of Somerset were tried in the reign of James I. for the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury. Here, the great Earl of Stafford was condemned; the King being present, and the Commons sitting bareheaded all the time. The High Court of Justice which condemned King Charles I. sat in this Hall, the upper part hung with scarlet cloth, and the King sitting underneath, with the Naseby banners suspended above his head. Lilly, the astrologer, who was present, saw the silver top fall from the King's staff, and others heard Lady Fairfax exclaim, when her husband's name was called over, 'He has more wit than to be here.' Here, in the reign of James II., the seven bishops were acquitted. Here Dr. Sacheverel was tried and pronounced guilty by a majority of seventeen. Here the rebel Lords of 1745, Kilmarnock, Balmerino, and Lovat, were heard and condemned. Here, Warren Hastings was tried, and Burke and Sheridan grew eloquent and impassioned, while Senators by birth and election, and the beauty and rank of Great Britain, sat earnest spectators and listeners of the extraordinary scene. The last public trial in the Hall was Lord Melville's in 1806; and the last coronation dinner in the Hall was that of George IV., when, according to the custom maintained for ages, and for the last time probably, the King's champion (Dymocke) rode into the Hall in full armor, and threw down the gauntlet, challenging the world in a King's behalf. Silver plates were laid, on the same occasion, for 334 guests,"—Murray.

The Central or Octagon Hall is an elegant and well lighted apartment eighty feet in height. It is covered by a groined roof ornamented with 250 bosses.

The Clock Tower is forty feet square and 320 feet high. The Palace Clock in this tower is an eighty-day clock, striking the hours and chiming the quarters upon eight bells. Its four dials on the tower are each thirty feet in diameter.

From the Houses of Parliament we went over to see Westminster Abbey, which is on the opposite side of the street. The contrast between those buildings is so striking, that old Westminster seemed to be quite an ordinary edifice. As I looked at its weather-beaten and moss-covered walls, and its small proportions as compared with the grand edifice which we had just left; I speculated what the old stable-like building might look like on the inside. We had not entered long before I observed that it was somewhat larger than I had imagined. It is 416 feet long, 203 feet across the transepts, and 101 feet 8 inches to the roof.

Back of the high altar is Edward the Confessor's Chapel containing the graves and monuments of nine kings and queens. In this chapel are the two Coronation Chairs upon which all the sovereigns of Great Britain have been crowned since the death of Henry III., (by whom Westminster Abbey was built), beginning with the coronation of his son? Edward I., and Queen Eleanor, October 19th, 1274. One of these chairs has for a seat the venerable stone on which the Scottish kings had been crowned at Scone from time immemorial; but which together with the regalia of Scotland, Edward I. brought with him as trophies in 1296. "This stone is 26 inches long, 16 inches wide, and 11 inches thick."

In the "Poet's Corner" we joined a party and were guided through the chapels.

In Henry VII.'s Chapel we found a very beautiful effigy of the Princess Sophia lying in an alabaster cradle. This infant princess was the daughter of James I., and is not mentioned by some historians, having died at a very tender age.

This chapel contains many royal tombs. Among others are the altar-tomb, with effigy of the mother of Lord Darnley, husband of Mary, Queen of Scots; tomb, with effigy of Queen Elizabeth (her sister, Mary, being buried in the same grave); and the tomb, with a fine effigy of Mary, Queen of Scots, erected by her son, King James IV., of Scotland, (being James I. of England). The face of this image is very beautiful, and generally recognized as a genuine likeness of the Queen. Oliver Cromwell's bones were speedily ejected from this chapel at the Restoration.

In the E. aisle of the North Transept is a remarkable monument to Mr. and Mrs. Nightingale. Death represented in the ghastly form of a sheeted skeleton has just issued from a dark aperture in the lower part of the monument, and aims his dart at the sick lady who has sunk affrighted into her husband's arms. "This dying woman," says Cunningham, "would do honor to any artist."

In another part of the church, we found a fine monument to "Major John Andre, who raised by his merit, at an early period of life, to the rank of Adj. General of the British forces in America, and employed in an important but hazardous enterprise, fell a sacrifice to his zeal and his king and country on the 2nd of October, A.D., 1780, aged 29 years, universally beloved and esteemed. His gracious sovereign, King George the Third, has caused this monument to be erected. The remains of Major John Andre were on the 10th of August, 1821, removed from Tappan by James Buchanan, Esq., his Majesty's consul at New York, under instruction from his Royal Highness, the Duke of York, and with the permission of Dean and Chapter finally deposited in a grave contiguous to this monument on the 28th of November, 1821."

There are altogether between twenty-five and thirty kings and queens buried in this Abbey, besides a host of England's most famous statesmen, soldiers, poets and other eminent persons that have flourished within the last five or six centuries, a mere catalogue of whose names would fill whole pages.

It seems odd enough to an American to find large graveyards in the interior of churches and cathedrals, and to see monuments, tombs and altar-tombs, with the effigies of persons lying in state having all kinds of animals (their crests) lying at their feet; but a day in Westminster will accustom one to such scenes.



Arms and Crests.

In England, it is very common to place the crests of the nobility with their effigies upon their tombs. Thus Mary, Queen of Scots, has the lion lying at her feet, and in St. Mary's, at Warwick, I learned that the Muzzled Bear is the Earl of Warwick's crest, while the Marquis of Northampton has the Black Swan, and Richard Beauchamp the Bear and Griffin. Even literary characters were not without them, Shakespeare for example, had adopted the Falcon rising argent, supporting a spear, in pale.



Sunday in London.

On Sunday morning, July 18th, I started out at random to find a church where religious service was held. Before going far I came to a large church edifice (St. Pancras) where numbers of people were assembling from all directions and gradually filling up that capacious building which has seats for about 3,000 worshipers. Upon the portico I met the Superintendent of the Mission House, who had accompanied the Vicar of St. Pancras on a visit to Canada, some years ago, and who seemed as much pleased to meet an American as I was benefited by his kind attentions and accommodations. For three-fourths of an hour, he answered me questions and explained the organization of the Church of England, which by the way, is quite as complicated as the organization of the civil government of a nation. Arch-bishops, bishops, vicars, canons, deans, chapters, curates, &c., constitute a list of ecclesiastical dignitaries whose functions are not very easily defined and comprehended by a stranger. Just before service commenced, he conducted me to a seat near the pulpit. Rev. Thorold, the officiating clergyman, is a very able speaker, and made the first attempt at argument in his discourse that I had yet listened to in England. Preaching, in England, like the reciting of prayers, is all so much blank assertion—no more, and no less. I had never before so felt the force of unquestioned authority as I learned to feel and appreciate it in the services of the Episcopal Church of England. The very fact of arguing a question is in itself a compromise of its one-sidedness and of the infallibility of the position the preacher may have taken; but let the clergy of an entire nation read the same mass and recite the same prayers in all their congregations, and let them refrain from discussing scriptural texts, and all give one and the same answer to each and every question, and there will soon be an end of sectarianism. The best reasoning has always provoked more doubt than it has established faith, and in consequence, ever been more fruitful of contention than of peace. So long as a people are one-minded they will be peaceful and contended even if they are bound in wretched slavery, but the tide of revolution has set in at London, and the church begins to tremble, and the clergy to argue. In the afternoon, the weather being very fair, I went to



Hyde Park.

This park has an area of 388 acres, upon which may be seen all the wealth and fashion and splendid equipages of the nobility and gentry of England. A meeting of the Radicals had been announced and placarded over the city, inviting all workingmen to be present and enter their protest against Parliament appropriating any money to the Prince of Wales for defraying the expenses of his contemplated trip to India. The novelty of seeing a political meeting on Sunday, and that too on the part of the Republicans in monarchial England, was enough to entice me thither, so I went early and spent an hour with a silver-haired clergyman, upon a settee under the shade of a tree not far from "The Reform Tree," around which, as this gentleman informed me, the nucleus of Radical meetings is always formed. On my way to the park, I was accompanied for some distance by a certain policeman, (whose acquaintance I had formed during the week); to him I expressed my surprise at seeing Great Britain compromise the sacredness of the Sabbath with radical Republicanism and Rationalism! "Well," said he, "If we let them have their own way, they will come here and hold their meetings and after they have listened to their leaders awhile and cheered right lustily, they will scatter and that is the end of it, but when we interfere, there is no telling where the matter will end. In 1866, we once closed the park against them, and the consequence was a riot in which the police suffered severely from brick-bats, and the mob finally took hold of the iron fence and tore it away for a long distance along the park, made their entry, and took their own way." "Well could you not have punished those offenders according to due process of law?" I asked. "Yes," he rejoined, "we might, but their number was so great that we could never have finished trying them all!" Thus it often happens that what is criminal for one or several to do, goes unpunished when a thousand offend, and besides they open the way to new privileges and greater liberties.

At 3:00 o'clock a mighty flood of the Reform Party, headed by Bradlaugh and Watts, marched into the park and, soon a large meeting of many thousands was formed, which increased in numbers as long as the speakers continued to address them. It is a striking feature of these reform agitations, perhaps of every revolutionary movement that has ever been undertaken and accomplished, that they are headed and lead by men whose personal influence embodies the whole power of the organizations, and whose word and command are their supreme law. This meeting was variously estimated at between 20,000 and 50,000 persons, and this immense concourse of people was us perfectly under the control of Chas. Bradlaugh as the best organized army can be under its general. This harmony must be attributed to the fact that the movement is a spontaneous one in which each member participates because he likes the leader and his principles. It is an encouraging feature of these reformers that they do not despise everything that the past has handed down to our time, as the hot-blooded Communists of Paris seemed to be inclined to do in the late crisis. The dress of these agitators speak nothing about bloody revolution as did the "red cap" and slouch hat of the political reformers of Europe of earlier times.

Bradlaugh, for an example, wears a black dress coat, silk dress hat, lay-down collar and black necktie, and carries a cane. The great majority of the meeting wore also the fashionable "stove-pipe." These things and the sound judgment of the leaders promise "peaceable reforms" but the boundless enthusiasm of the mass of them when imflammatory remarks are made, betray the existence of feelings that are akin to pent up volcanoes, and may break out in violent eruptions when least expected. There is certainly fire enough in European Republicanism to impel them on to mighty efforts when the proper time comes. The part played by several ladies in this movement has a salutary influence for moderation and order. Mrs. Besant and the two daughters of Mr. Bradlaugh are always accompanying him wherever he lectures in London. A table was placed in the center of a circle formed around the leaders, and upon this Mr. Bradlaugh took his stand in addressing the meeting. His voice is far more powerful than that of any other man that I have ever heard, and by the use of medicine which his elder daughter (Alice) reaches up to him very frequently during his speeches, he keeps it perfectly clear to the end; though in these open air meetings he often, stands in the face of 10,000 to 100,000 persons, speaking by the hour with a force quite equal to the roaring of a lion. This violent exercise of his vooal organs, he sometimes repeats several times every day for a month in succession, displaying powers of endurance which are perhaps not equaled by any other living orator. It is an exciting scene to behold acres of hats beclouding the sky while "cheers rend the air," and to see a field white with hands when votes are taken. Only three persons in this entire meeting voted in favor of granting the Prince of Wales the $700,000 asked for, while some acres of people voted against it.

It should be remembered that this was a meeting of the extreme branch of the Republican party in London. There is a more moderate party headed by leaders who only despise royalty, but abide with the Church and the Christian religion, and which is said to be far more numerous than the extremists are. In the evening the Radicals had a meeting in the Hall of Science, where Mr. Bradlaugh addressed them on the subject of religion and social ethics. His discourses here are generally very abtruse. None but a very intelligent audience, and educated in his system of philosophy would understand his logic or appreciate his wit and humor at the expense of royalty and Christianity. The hall will hold about 1,500 adults and his congregation (?) is a mixed one comprising both sexes, just like all church organizations; after which, it is a copy. There is no praying, but the Miss Brad laughs render music upon a melodian or organ both before and after the lecture. In place of the "collection," they charge a small admittance, which becomes a source of considerable revenue; as the hall is crowded at almost every meeting. I must here record, one more feature which implies, besides the oratorical powers and progressive originality of the father, an intensity of interest on the part of a daughter, in her father's views, such as is seldom witnessed. Miss Alice B. will, from the beginning to the end of every lecture, keep the eye of her father, watching every change of his countenance from the flush of a glowing enthusiasm to the pallor of bitter contempt, catching every syllable he utters, reflecting with beaming smiles every happy hit he makes, and sinking down to the paleness of utter disdain with him, when he comes to the recital of the heartless oppressions of the aristocracy; continually following his remarks with such an interest as if she was seeing and hearing him for the first time in her life.

I have given a somewhat lengthy account of these Radical meetings and rationalistic sentiments, not on account of their popularity in England, for though hundreds of thousands endorse the movement in London and a number of other cities in Great Britain, still they are by far in the minority, at least when the question of religion is taken; but upon the continent of Europe—in France, Germany, and I had almost added Switzerland and Italy, the case is already different or fast becoming so. Rationalism is rampant, and the reader should constantly bear in mind, as I may not often return to this topic, that the majority of the intelligent people in most places are of the camp that I have described as holding these meetings on Hyde Park and in the Hall of Science in London.

Those Radical societies have their own hymn-books, and even their children are baptised and the dead buried, according to their own forms and ceremonies, of unbelief.

Of the numerous other parks in London, I have no room to make mention. Of the British Museum, comprising a collection of books, works of art, antiquities, and curiosities, larger than that of any other museum contained under one roof in the world, costing in the aggregate $12,000,000, and the building $5,000,000, and of the South Kensington Museum fast approaching the British Museum in the vastness of its collection, I can only add, that a complete catalogue of their collections would fill several large volumes, and to examine all their contents would require many weeks. There are numerous other museums and galleries of art strewn over the great metropolis, each more comprehensive than the pride and boast of many other cities of pretention in the world, but in London they are only regarded as second rate collections.

If a tourist has only a few days to devote to London, he should not fail to pass through Park Lane (along Hyde Park, at the foot of which lives the son of Arthur, the Duke of Wellington, Commander at Waterloo) thence along Piccadilly, passing Charing Cross, Trafalgar Square, the Strand and Fleet Street, and, having visited Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's Cathedral, will now find



The Tower of London.

next in importance. This ancient citadel is the most celebrated in England, and dates back to the time of William the Conqueror (A.D., 1066) at least; but tradition refers it even to Caesar's time. It covers over twelve acres, and its walls are about three-fifth of a mile in circuit. The outer walls of the White Tower, which stands within the fortifications, are fifteen feet thick.

"This Tower" (The Tower of London) "is a citadel to defend or command the city; a royal palace; a prison of state for the most dangerous offenders; the armory for warlike provisions; the treasury of the ornaments and jewels of the Crown; and general conserver of most of the records of the King's courts of justice at Westminster."—Stow.

The Bloody Tower, so called because within it was committed the murder of the princes, Edward V. and Duke of York, sons of Edward IV., by order of Richard III. In this Tower is the Jewel-house containing the regalia and the Crown jewels. Among these, are St. Edward's Crown which was made for the coronation of Charles II., (A.D., 1649), and used in the coronations of all the sovereigns since his time. The Crown made for the coronation of Victoria, consisting of a purple velvet cap enclosed by hoops of silver, and studded with diamonds. It weighs 13/4 pounds. This Crown is estimated at L111,900 (about $550,000). The Crown of the Prince of Wales, of pure gold, unadorned by jewels. The Queen Consort's Crown, of gold adorned with precious stones. The Queen's Diadem. Besides, staffs, sceptres, spurs, the Ampulla of the Holy Oil, the Coronation Spoon, the Golden Salt-cellar of State, in the shape of a castle, Baptismal Font, used at the Christening of the Royal Children, a Silver Wine Fountain, maces, swords, bracelets &c.,—all arranged upon a large table, enclosed by a glass case and shielded by iron palings. These treasures are estimated at $17,000,000!

The Horse Armory is contained in a hall 150 feet long and 33 feet wide. In the center, is a line of equestrian figures, 22 in number, clothed in the armor of the various reigns from the time of Edward I. to James II. (1272-1688). When armory had reached its height, just before the introduction of gunpowder, the suits of armor were so heavy and covered the bodies of the soldiers and horses so completely, that a knight in full armor looked much like a turtle sitting upon an armadillo. I saw a suit of armor that weighs 112 pounds, and a spear 18 feet in length. In those days physical strength carried almost everything, while intelligence frequently counted nothing. Looking at those mailed figures makes one almost feel ashamed of his ancestry. Besides one of the blocks upor which were beheaded both the innocent and the guilty in former times, there are also on exhibition the Collar of Torture, 14 pounds in weight, the Thumb-screw, the Stocks, &c., a collection of instruments of torture well calculated to restore in the mind of the beholder, a vivid picture of the dark and wretched past, when man's greatest and most dangerous enemy was his brother. It seemed then to be the best policy of kings, queens, and of all noblemen, to get rid of brothers and sisters at the earliest convenience!

On our way to Beauchamp Tower, the Prison of Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey, we passed Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey and Catherine Howard, three queens, were beheaded.

This is the place where King Henry VIII. had several of his six wives dispatched, which he could not well have got rid of, by divorce.

I had intended to touch in these remarks a number of other points about London, and especially the almost boundless resources of England's welthy Lords, but I can only present a single example, and must then hurry on with my account to Continental Europe. The wealthiest nobleman whose home and dwelling-place I passed, is the Duke of Maclew (a Scotchman) whose annual income is estimated at L350,000 or about $1,700,000. He lives at White Hall, near Westminster Bridge.



Chapter VII.

London to Paris.



On Wednesday, July 21st, the eight day of my stay in London, I went to Charing Cross Station and procured a ticket for Paris. Before leaving however, I exchanged my English currency for French money. The rate of Exchange is 25 francs for one sovereign. The exchange clerk explained to me the relative values of the French coins which I found to be much easier to understand than English money.

The table runs thus: 100 centimes equal one franc; and 20 francs, one napoleon. The coins are: napoleons, (20L), 10 franc and 5 franc pieces in gold; francs and half-franc coins in silver; and 10 centime, 5 centime, (the sou), and 1 centime copper and nickle coins, though the centime is not in general circulation now, being equal to but one fifth of a cent in our money. It was a great consolation to me to know that I would understand the French money perfectly, especially as I expected not to be able to speak with anybody in Paris, except, now and then, with a stray German or Englishman. Soon after entering the train at Charing Cross I met a Frenchman (Prof. P. Simond who could speak English fluently, having occupied his time in England in teaching French, and was on his way to Paris to spend his vacation there. He offered at once, very kindly, to assist me in Paris, and I felt from that moment that I should be ten-fold luckier in making my entry into Paris than I had thus far had reason to expect. The train left London at 6:35 p.m., and was to make connection with a steamer for Calais, (pron. Kăl'ĭ), thence by rail to Paris, reaching the latter place the next afternoon. The "through ticket" 3rd Class, from London to Paris, cost 21 shillings. Distance 262 miles.

Soon after leaving London, I discovered that I was surrounded by the family of an English merchant, who, having retired from business, had taken his wife and daughters to make a trip to the Continent, with a view to see France and Germany. The mother expressed great delight on learning that I was an American, remarking that "Americans are not so stiff in their intercourse." It was lot long before I felt that I was in a fair position to spend the day and night en route from London to Paris pleasantly, even if we were to be confined to the cars and the boat with the exception of a few hours.

We crossed the Strait of Dover at about midnight, though not unawares!

As I had no fears of getting sea-sick upon the Strait of Dover, I took my seat on the deck in confidence of a pleasant voyage. Mrs. L. soon asked me whether I did not expect to get sick, stating that she was in great fear of it. I replied that I hoped our passage was too short for getting sick, as the waves were not apt to rise very high in such a narrow strait. But I was mistaken; the sick were soon moaning in every direction. My gay companions all disappeared except the old gentleman and his younger daughter. A large steamship of 3,000 tons burden would probably show more dignity, but the little steamer upon which we had taken passage, was as fiercely knocked about by the waves, and made fully as much ado about it, as the old "Manhattan" ever did in the middle of the Atlantic. The young lady was keeping close to her father and had already ceased to laugh, when I asked him the last time about their health. He was well, but the young lady was also becoming dizzy from the rocking, and turning pale at the terrors of the sea. I hastened to the cabin below and sought relief in lying down. Being both weary and giddy I soon fell into a sleep, from which I did not wake until we reached Calais.

The train for Paris was not to leave until the next morning, so I tried to find rest and sleep in the Waiting Room, but without success. By and by a gentleman came round and offered to conduct us to lodging places. I followed him into the city, through strange streets into a strange house, and was shown to retire in a strange room. Everything seemed in its place, however, so that I had no occasion for feeling uneasy. The next morning I rose at break of day and took a long walk through the city of Calais, to look about and see as much, as possible before I had to leave. This was my first walk on the Continent of Europe.

I looked about where I might get breakfast, but as most of the business houses were not yet open, I stood a poor chance. Into the saloons I would not go, as I could not have asked for what I wanted on account of my inability to speak French; my only hope, therefore, was to find a shop or store that displayed in the window what I wanted, so that I could make my purchase by gestures. I had provided myself with a Conversational Guide Book, in London, containing the French, Italian and German equivalents of English words and phrases, most necessary to the tourist; but the French pronunciation is so difficult that I could after all not make myself understood except by pointing out these French words to the shop-keepers. To give the reader an idea of what mistakes an American is apt to make in pronouncing French, I offer the names of two of the most common articles of food. They are pain (bread) pronounced pae, and lait (milk) pronounced lā. I succeeded, however, later in the morning, when the shops were generally open, to procure a breakfast, whereupon, after having visited a very antique church and examined the strong fortifications of the city, I started for the railway station.

On my way thither I passed the open door of a saloon in which Mr. and Mrs. L., whose friendship I had formed the previous day, sat at coffee. It was a pleasant surprise, and I took my seat with them, drinking coffee for the benefit of the milk (du lait) which I poured into it. This done, Mr. L. invited me to accompany him to their hotel to "see what a nice place they had found last night!" It was a excellant hotel, and as we approached the beautiful flower-beds which lined the path leading to the entrance, their daughter came down the walk, and greeted us, the old gentleman remarking that they had been inquiring last night what had become of me. It is very pleasant and agreeable to fall into such society, and to behold the cloth spread and the China and glass ware set with an excellent breakfast (a regular home-fashion scene) after one has spent several hours in lingual conflicts for a breakfast, and seen nothing but the outside of old weather-beaten houses.

I took my seat with the English party and my French friend (Prof. P.S.) in the same car, and left Calais at 7:20 a.m. Everything looked strange again; even more so than when I first came to England. Everybody, except our English company, spoke French, and the cars, the buildings, and the tickets and conductors, seemed all different from what I was accustomed to in England. The houses which we saw from the train, were small and covered with tiles like those which I had seen in northwestern England. We soon passed burial grounds in which the graves were headed with crosses, in place of marble slabs, for tombstones. Large quantities of peat and the white stone quarries in the chalk formations, next arrested our attention. Though it was the 22nd of July, haying was not yet finished. Some of the farmers were, however, engaged in reaping both their wheat and barley. At 8:34 a.m., the English Channel came again into view. Thus we passed along enjoying the scenery of "belle France," (beautiful France), but by and by we became tired of watching landscapes.

To see odd styles of architecture, and watch the strange ways about a people, may afford a pleasant diversion for a time; but the eyes, too, become tired of looking. A striking feature about the agriculture is the smallness of many of the fields; there being no fences, the fields are distinguished by their crops. Some of them are but several rods in extent. The various colors which the different kinds of vegetables assume in their progress of growth and ripening, make the landscape look like an immense expanse of checkered carpet, exceedingly beautiful to behold.

When these scenes seemed no longer to be charming, or we had become too fatigued to appreciate them, we commenced to amuse ourselves in games, joking and tricks, of which the traveler sees and enjoys his fill.

Gambling; which is such a wide-spread social evil in America, is prohibited or restricted to certain fixed days of the year, in some countries of Europe; but games of various kinds are played, by the best society, almost everywhere. Notwithstanding all the arguments that may be advanced in favor of games at chess and back-gammon, as exercises in mental gymnastics, and of playing cards as affording pleasant diversion for mixed parties, the diligent tourist, like the industrious student, should not squander much of his time at it.



Chapter VIII.

Paris.



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. pae-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.