with that of York Minster, and other English cathedrals, but it has a lighter and more cheerful appearance. It is abundantly decorated with paintings, some of which are very superior. A company of priests were chanting in the choir, in the most doleful manner imaginable. Ascended by four hundred steps to the top of the towers, from which there is a fine view of Paris and the environs. The clearness of the atmosphere renders the view much better than that from Saint Paul's. The Palais de Justice, where the courts, etc., are held, is near Notre Dame, on the Ile de Citè. The Court of Cassation are now engaged in the trial of persons lately arrested for supposed treasonable plots. Poor Louis Phillipe! thine is a throne of thorns! Thou darest not show thyself in public, lest thy life should be forfeited! Who does not envy thee! And yet, I have never learned that the king has merited these attempts on his life. The government, in spite of some severe laws, has been as liberal as the character of the people would justify. The Bibliothèque du Roi contains eight hundred thousand volumes, the largest library in the world. I noticed a work on the topography, etc., of France, alone, in two hundred and nine large folio volumes! Connected with the library, is an immense collections of prints, and of antique medals, cameos, gems, etc. I saw the armour of the Duke of Sully, Henry IV., and several of the French generals; manuscript original letters of Racine, Molière, Bossuet, Boileau, Voltaire, Fenelon, Rousseau, etc.; manuscripts written in the third, fourth, and fifth centuries, beautifully illuminated; manuscripts in Turkish, Arabic, Coptic, Egyptian, etc., and paintings from the ruins of Thebes, probably done before Christ. THE papers announced a review of the troops before the Tuilleries, by the king, and the King of Naples, but it was changed to the Champs Elysées, and the King of France was not present. He is said to be very courageous himself, and it is only the urgent entreaties of his family and his ministers whch keep him so close. He wished to have the review on the 29th, but they would not permit him. Just as I was leaving the Garden of the Tuilleries, the king arrived in a coach-and-six, preceded by a courier, and escorted by a party of dragoons. He looked out of the carriage and bowed, and I had a good opportunity to see him. The face was quite natural, and very much like the prints. This afternoon I visited one of the most curious and interesting sights in Paris, the manufactory of the celebrated Gobelin Tapestry, where those copies of the Cartoons of Raphael, exhibited in NewYork, were made. The operation appears perfectly simple, and yet I cannot understand it. The picture to be copied is hung on the wall behind the loom; the weaver sits with his back to it, and works on the back of the tapestry. It is done entirely by hand, and of course it is very slow work, six years being spent on one piece. There are about ten or twelve rooms, some of them containing two or three looms. Several of the pieces now on the looms are very beautiful, and they are, therefore, very expensive. None but kings and millionaires can afford them. Annexed to the tapestry rooms, there is a manufactory of carpets, of a most princely description, uniting the thickness and durability of the Turkey carpets, with the softness and elegance of the Wilton. The colors and patterns are really superb. The carpets are always made in one piece. These, also, are such as the most wealthy only can buy. THE PANTHEON, once called the Church of Saint Genevieve, is a sort of national monument. It is an elegant building, in the form of a cross, supported within and without by Corinthian pillars. The dome is particularly lofty and beautiful. On the walls, are four gilt tablets, on which are inscribed the names of two hundred and eighty-seven citizens, killed in the revolution of 1830. The crypt is fitted for the purpose of receiving monuments of distinguished persons. Our guide, with a lantern, escorted us to this subterranean region, where we 'meditated among the tombs.' Suddenly he came to a statue, and raising the lantern to the face, discovered to us features expressing a scornful sneer, which made me start. It was a statue of Voltaire. While there, another party came in, preceded by the guide and lantern, and dodging every now and then from behind the pillars of the crypt, it seemed like being in the regions of the dead. In the evening, went to see the celebrated Taglioni, at the Académie Royale de Musique, being her first appearance for some time. The house was as full as it could be packed, and I could hardly get a peep; but I saw such dancing as I never beheld before. It is most appropriately called the 'poetry of motion. Visited an exhibition of Sevres porcelain; should like to send home a set, but it rather exceeds my purse. The Hotel des Invalides, is the largest building in Paris, if not in the world. It is an asylum for maimed and superannuated soldiers. The chapel connected with it, and especially the dome, is much admired, and is considered the finest thing of the kind in Paris. The old soldiers of Napoleon are here to be seen in their cocked hats and military dress; some with one arm, others minus a leg. They are all well taken care of, and have nothing to do. Near the Invalides, is the Ecole Militaire, and the Champs de Mars, where one hundred and fifty thousand men have been paraded. On the banks of the river, facing the Place de Concord, is the Palace of the Chamber of Deputies, or Palace Bourbon. The Hall of Sitting is in the form of an amphitheatre, the seats raised above each other. It is very elegant, and even gay, in its decorations. The front benches are inscribed Ministres. The session of the chamber does not commence till winter. We were also shown the other apartments of the palace. Next to this is the Palace of the Legion of Honor, and farther on is the Hotel des Monnaies, or Mint. afternoon, at five o'clock, stepped into an omnibus, in order to be at Père la Chaise at sunset. It is on an eminence near the barriers of the city. The street which leads to it was filled with women, who were making and selling those yellow wreaths, (of which I send you a specimen,) for the visitors to decorate the tombs of their friends, VOL. X. 32 This Great numbers of these were placed on the tombs, some fresh, and others faded and dried. The cemetery is on the same plan as that at Mount Auburn, or rather Mount Auburn is on the plan of this. There are no less than thirty thousand tombs here, displaying every variety of taste and whim in the style and pattern, and filling a space of some hundred acres, the walks through which form quite a labyrinth, insomuch that the guides charge three francs to go through it, which I did not choose to pay. I found the tombs of Abelard and Heloise, Molière and La Fontaine (which are side by side, and very simple, and covered with names of visiting scribblers,) Rousseau, La Bruyère, La Place, (the author of Mécanique Celeste,) Moreau, Volney, (a plain pyramid,) and several other distinguished names. Many of the monuments are very splendid, particularly that of General Foy, and others which I cannot recollect. The inscriptions are as various as the monuments. Some are very simple: à mon père;' à notre cher ami;' 'à notre petite Julie,' etc. Many of the monuments are little chapels, with altars, candles, chairs, etc., and some even with paintings; having an iron door, of open work, so that you can look in and see the taste and superstition of the founder. It requires a whole day, at least, to take even a passing view of all the monuments. The view from the highest ground in the cemetry is very fine. 12TH. I had sent a note to Prince Czartoryski, desiring to know if it was his pleasure that I should call on him. This morning I received a polite and elegantly-written note, in French, saying: 'Le Prince Czartoryski présente ses complimens à Mr., et s'empresse de le prévenir qu'il aura le plaisir de l'attendre chez soi, demain à 11 h. dans la matinée.' Ce 10 Aõut, 1836. Ce 10 Aöut, 1836. 25 Faubourg du Roule.' I did not receive it till the day after that designated, but still I went. There did not seem to be even a porter or a servant on the premises. An old man escorted me up stairs, and knocking, the door opened where a good looking gentleman was writing. I was at a loss to know whether he was the prince or not, but he seemed to expect me. Monsieur -?' 'Oui, Monsieur.' He escorted me to the next room, and took my card into another. In a few minutes, a noblelooking man, about fifty-five, came out, and taking my hand, was 'very glad to see Mr. ;' walk in;' and so I was seated on a plain gingham-covered sofa, with the Prince Czartoryski. The apartments, furniture, etc., are plain almost to meanness, and the prince's pantaloons themselves looked as if they had been washed five or six times; a fact which I consider highly creditable to him. He has decidedly one of the finest, noblest countenances I ever saw. It is expressive at once of dignity, energy, and benevolence. It indicates a contempt of every thing mean. I must confess I felt rather awkward in this my first tête-à-tête with a prince. It was so hard to have to say 'your highness' at every sentence, that I finally dropped it entirely, and answered yes, Sir, or no, Sir. He evidently expects this form, but does not insist upon it. He inquired about the condition of his countrymen in the United States; if they had obtained employment; if they conducted them selves well; what gentlemen had interested themselves for them. He had not heard of Mr. Wilder, and told his secretary to take down his name. He asked if any association for the Poles existed in New-York, and if one could not be formed; if the Americans were not rather partial to Russia, and thought she had done right. This I answered very warmly, and said that, on the contrary, our country had watched with astonishment the conduct of the other powers of Europe in not interfering in behalf of Poland. That the wrongs of Poland were a favorite theme for our school-boys and school-girls. After a conversation of half an hour or more, I took leave, the prince inviting me very cordially to call on him when I returned to Paris. The morning papers state that the government (of France) yesterday made an application to Prince Czartoryski for three hundred Poles to go to Spain' for which 'party,' I did not notice. The Theban lyre but to the sun Gave forth at morn its answering tone; So mine but echoed when the one, One sun-lit glance was o'er it thrown. The Memnon sounds no more! - my lyre, I may not wake the chords of fire- My hand the crowning buds will twine: Shall mingle with the rosy wine. III. No lay of love! - the lava stream Hath left its trace on heart and brain; IONE. A SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOHN THOMAS TUMBLER, JR. 'AND here let me charge you, my son, that you consider nothing which bears the image of God beneath your notice, or unsusceptible of valuable lessons. The beggar imploring alms at your hands, the unhappy victim of vice, or the prey of evil passions, may speak with a voice so loud, that during your whole life, the monitory tones shall not wholly die away in your ear.' MAGNUS GONSALVA THE primary study of all mankind ever has been, and ever will be, the end by which they may attain happiness. All our energy, all our reason, and all our ingenuity, are directed to the prosecution of this one common object; but with what success, we leave those to answer who have grown old in the game of human life. Our existence is commenced and continued in its pursuit. We toil in its chase, from birth until death, with the most assiduous and unceasing application. But do we obtain it, at last? Go ask the worn-out debauchee, or the chartered libertine. Go ask the rich man in his castle, or the poor man in his hut. Ask the faded beauty, or the blooming girl. Ask the monarch, the mendicant, the world, if they have yet enjoyed one hour of real happiness one hour, unalloyed by the remembrance of the past, or the fears of the future. It is, in truth, a shadow as intangible as our own; an ignis fatuus of our being. But ah! we cannot discover this until too late. When death is about to drop the curtain upon the closing scene of the drama of life, we may become sensible of our error; until that moment, we are in chase of a gilded phantom, that often drags us through paths of guilt and sin, and repaying us nothing in the end. Real happiness is far from being an attribute of existence. It is, in fact, a moral impossibility that they should coexist; and Reason never deceives herself so much, as when she deems it is within the pale of our enjoyment. Do we not know, by actual realization, that the jewel for which we have labored for years, loses its value with possession, and becomes scarce worth the purchasing? And though we may cast it aside, recognising in some other object the El Dorado of our hopes, does not that too, when obtained, like the fruit upon the shores of the Dead Sea, resolve to ashes in our grasp? We may be partially contented, but never perfectly happy; and oh if man but knew this, how much of sorrow and remorse would it not spare him, when the hand of Age is heavy upon him! How much alleviation would it not bring to the bed of sickness - how much of hope to the departing spirit! Yet, although it is written in the book of destiny, that the principal aim of our lives shall be for ever perverted, it is not to be supposed that this disappointment will render us miserable. The evils of existence act differently upon mankind; and where you will find one who is made unhappy by the operation of some untoward circumstance, you will find a second whose equanimity would scarcely be disturbed by a much more aggravated misfortune. Among those so happily constituted as to confront adversity with indifference, may be numbered the hero of this sketch; an indivi |