she knew that she had certain other impressions to unmake or overlay. And it was equally serious with Susini, who knew that Formes used to be funnier than he, disproportionately funny indeed. And it was serious with Brignoli, who had a cold and constantly expectorated, and was glum because the house was not full. Was it less serious with the gay groups in the boxes and gallery, or balcony, as they call it? The youth of the year eighteen hundred and sixty-two is not less young than that of a century ago, and it was just as fresh, and pleasant, and exciting to the new eyes as it used to be to the old ones. So it was only you that were musing and remembering; and that peculiar bloom of enjoyment which you can not help thinking is gone from all fruit because it is rubbed off your particular plum is just as soft and lovely and perfect as it ever was. "Boys having now become men," said the Afghan prince when he became two dozen years old, "it is ordered that all rocking-horses in the realm be destroyed." The only really fine singing was Brignoli's. He is not in the least magnetic. He is even more of a lay figure than tenors generally are. He has all the childish whims and absurdities of the tenor. But his voice is exquisite, and he sings much more easily than he walks. We have had no such voice except Mario's. Antognini I did not hear. Salvi had to pump up his voice, and it was a thin trickle when it came-thin, but very clear and sweet. Bettini's voice was inadequate for the house and his own size. But Brignoli's has the charm and quality which make a tenor voice the luxury of kings and the enthusiasm of fashion. A king gives enormous sums to tempt a tenor to his theatre, as the Emperor | of Russia tempted Rubini. But he does it as he would give a fortune for the rarest flower or the most brilliant gem. And Nature hides all these treasures in queer places. You shall find the flower in a lonely, noisome marsh, or the pearl in the oyster, or the voice in Alboni. It is well worth a fortune when you find it. tense, although a much more lasting and extended, impression upon the public mind than Fanny Ellsler. We had had Celeste and Augusta before, and Augusta in the Bayadere was beautiful; but Fanny Ellsler fascinated the town, and triumphed. Remembering this, recalling her in the cachucka, the Jaleo, and the Haute Arragonaise, there was a curious expectation in the mind of the Easy Chair when he saw the black-eyed Cubas in her gold skirt, dashed all over with huge flaunting black bows, standing at the side scene, and then clicking her castanets, with a few rapid bounds leaping to the front. The coal-black hair, eyes, and eyebrows, the glittering grin, and the powerful, rapid, darting, snake-like quality of her movement amazed rather than pleased the audience. Her partner But the dancing was wonderful. thumped and rang the tambourine, and she rattled her castanets, while she flew and bounded about him with marvelous muscular agility and a litheness like that of a blade of grass. She darted and fled, scouring the ground like Shakespeare's lapwing, then erect as a crested snake she glared and glittered at him till you looked to see the forked tongue. It was a fierce pantomime of passion, of jealousy, of scorn, of all the savagery that hides in coal-black coils of hair and the tawny skins that cover dusky natures. The audience was surprised, repelled, cold. They applauded, but not heartily. They even encored the second dance, but simply as a freak, and when she ran stooping to the front, instead of a louder burst of welcome, the applause died away. The most extraordinary and effective points passed unrecognized. She had none of that responsive fervor of applause which stimulates and intoxicates a dancer. The audience did not help, it hindered her. But she danced magnificently. Fanny Ellsler would have so modified the dances as to enchant the spectators; but she could not have shown so perfectly the dance of Spain exactly as it is danced, and with all the characteristic gipsy ferocity. The coffee of Mocha, But the interest of the evening was a Spanish when you drink it in Arabia, is thick and muddy, dancer, Cubas. A friend, who in a few months had and your little cup is half filled with slime when you been more entirely saturated with Spain than most have drunk the liquid; but it is sweet and delicious of us would be in many years, or in all our lives, beyond description. The same coffee in Paris is said that to see Cubas was to see very Spain-not strained to dusky transparency; but it is thin, and languor and sunshine only, or chiefly, but fire and metallic, and changed. Yet it is French coffee, which passion and the glittering snake that always coils in is thought to be perfect. Nobody shall quarrel with the South. The half-wild, barbaric, gipsy intensi- differing tastes; but the Mocha berry browned with ty and strangeness and fearfulness, all were to be care, immediately bruised in a coffee mortar, then felt in the dancing of Cubas. It was the most char-made almost a paste from which you drink the liquid, acteristic of all the dancing we had ever seen. It is as different from the beverage of the Boulevards was the language spoken by a native with all the as the dancing of Cubas from that of Ellsler. native asperity. It was not softened, and modified, and adapted, and flavored to different national tastes, as when Ellsler, or Cerito, or Lucille Grahn, or Taglioni danced a Spanish dance. It is Spanish, he said, as the Tarantella, danced by a Neapolitan girl upon the shore, is Italian. Basta cosi, amico mio, let us go and see Cubas. It was certainly all that he had said. Years ago, at the old Park Theatre, where we used to be boxed up in those frightful red boxes, and look with cramps and stitches in every limb, and envy in the heart at the free movement of actors or singers or dancers upon the stage-years ago, Fanny Ellsler came, danced, and conquered. She danced Spanish, and Polish, and Italian, and Hungarian dances, and all with such stately grace that the brains ran out of some people's heads, and they became asses and drew her in a carriage. Jenny Lind made no more in In these parlous times, if you wish to keep a cheerful mind, disbelieve the newspapers; and, in general, discredit all information which is especially authentic. The misrepresentations of print or report are often unintentional, but when they implicate persons they are very seriously annoying. Conductors of newspapers, anxious as we all are for sensations, make surprising personal statements, which might have been verified before they were printed. But it is so much easier to "compose" than to verify! Here was Mr. Charles Mackay, an English gentleman known to us all as a song-writer, and as a visitor some few years since, when he delivered lectures in many of our cities. It was his misfortune to be-if the expression may be allowed-engineered at that time by a person who has been amusing his leisure in London and elsewhere, during the winter, street paving-stones are mostly gone); but it will by declaring that the nation to which he belongs is have its influence upon the Imperial policy, and will not a nation, and the Government to which he is leave its mark upon the history of the time. The subject not a Government. It may be a very laud- phases of the new ferment have been peculiar. It able and pleasant pursuit for a person upon his trav- did not find its start-point in hunger, in poorly-paid els in a foreign country to decry his own, but it may labor, nor even in clamor against the limitations also be a performance in which nobody but himself of personal freedom. The nucleus of that agitaand his friends have any conceivable interest. Nor tion which now carries its waves of frothy talk into is it surprising that when a lecturer has been en- every café, and to the benches of the stately Luxgineered in a strange country, he should have a nat-embourg, has long been underlying the discussion of ural curiosity to hear the engineer when he lectures in his own. So Mr. Mackay went to hear an American tell Englishmen that the United States were death-smitten. Church matters. Around the Pope and Ultramontanism have been rallying, month by month, all reactionists, whether of the Orleans party or of the party of the elder Bourbons. And against the Pope, and against all diplomatic impedimenta in the way of a progressive and united Italy, as well as against the domination of priestcraft at home, have rallied as rapidly all the Republicans, the free-thinkers, and the agitators of France. The Empire and the Emperor stand between the two. Then Mr. Mackay came to this country; and a newspaper in Boston, whose word has weight, and justly, printed a communication saying that Doctor Mackay-it is a literary, not a medical doctorate, probably-had presided at a meeting of secessionists in London; had now come to help them in this country; was a correspondent of the London Illus- The decree which last year granted comparativetrated News; had said that he was dissatisfied to ly free discussion to the Legislative Assemblies only find Boston prosperous; had expected to find mobs served to restore to French talkers the old habit and general social chaos; openly advocated rebel- of tongue." This, the second year, has brought a lion; said that the South could never be subdued; fruitage of clamorous altercation and keen question-" that the Government had no right to try to save it-ings of every issue of the Imperial policy. It has self; that we were not a nation; and that we were no better than we should be. Mr. Mackay, or Doctor, belongs to the guild of letters, and we have a fellow-feeling for him-a desire that justice shall be done; and therefore the points of his reply shall be stated, that he may have the benefit of them, and that we may take another lesson in the necessary art of not believing every thing we see in print. brought the old talking, trenchant, eager France back to its century-long miracle of unrest. A new gift of the Emperor, in putting the pursestrings in keeping of the Legislative Assembly, has quickened the consciousness of their cumulating powers; while it has given the first occasion to stay and inhibit a wish of the Emperor. The papers will already have given to our readers the full details of the affair to which we allude; to wit, the proposed dotation in favor of the General Montauban, created Count of Talikao, who commanded the French expedition of two years gone to China. The gift of titles vests in the Emperor-whomever he names Count must bide a Count; but with the dotation of fifty thousand francs per annum attaching to the hereditary title the case was differ Dr. Mackay then says: that he went to his engineer's lecture in London from curiosity, was voted into the chair, but upon taking it disclaimed all responsibility and approval of the opinions of the lecturer; that he has not come to this country to help secession directly or indirectly; that he is not a correspondent of the London Illustrated News; that if he expressed surprise at the order and prosperity of Bos-ent, and with a spurt of their new financial indeton, it was an emotion of pleasure, not of regret; that he never said any thing so silly as that he expected to find social chaos; that he never advocated the cause of rebellion, but may have expressed doubts of its speedy suppression before he had heard of Donelson, etc.; that he has never spoken of our Government or people but with the highest respect; that he did say that the word "Columbia" was easier to sing than the words "United States," and that he thinks "United Kingdom" would be quite as difficult; and that he hopes his accuser will, when he again overhears the conversation of a stranger, be accurate if not charitable when he tries to repeat it. Unless Doctor Mackay has perjured himself—and no one hints such a thing-a verdict of not guilty must be immediately entered. And when we read in the newspapers that we are polygamists and pagans, let us hope that our friends will wait and hear from us before they condemn us utterly. Our Foreign Bureau. THE Parisian mind is fast approaching the crisis HE Parisian mind is fast approaching the crisis pendence the Assembly refused it. The nominal Be Montauban indeed begged his Imperial master to withdraw the project so soon as he had intimation of the antagonism it would provoke, and in a very creditable letter. The Emperor, however, in round terms reassured him of his admiration for his valor, and his determination to maintain the purpose of rewarding it. Affairs looked very much like some of those old State crises which have arrayed the sovereign in unyielding and fatal war with the wishes of his Parliament. But the time is not yet. The Emperor, if a warm friend, is still the admirably cool and adroit tactician. He writes a letter to M. the Count de Morny, President of the Legislative Assembly, lamenting that there should appear a want of harmony between the Chief of the State and that popular Assembly, without whose concurrence he can not effectively carry out measures for the welfare of France. Both Chief and Assembly are only agents of the people: there should be, therefore, there can be, justly no conflicts between them. He proposes therefore, in place of the project of special dotation, a scheme by which his intentions may be carried out, and which he believes to be more in accordance with the wishes of the Assembly. He proposes a special credit, from which, by Imperial decree, acts of special military valor and desert, whether of marshals or of private soldiers, may be honored with such rewards as France loves always to give to her heroes. We abridge and paraphrase the letter, but give its intent. There is delicate flattery of the Legislature, there is appeal to French generosity, there is apparent abeyance to the wishes of the Assembly, and there is adroit insistence upon his intentions. It called up a great shout of rivats, and it has won an Imperial victory. of a constituent Assembly which should hold national sovereignty. A famous plea of his in behalf of the insurrectionists "of April," before the Court of Peers, year 1835, commenced with the startling language (for such presence) "Je suis Republicain," and he has never belied the French construction of the title. In the time of the Provisional Government under Lamartine and Company, he held the position of Undersecretary in the Ministry of the Interior, and is supposed to have instigated that famous circular of Ledru Rollin's to the commissaries, which was attributed at one time to Madame Dudevant (Geo. Sand). He was certainly earnest, exaggerated in his Republican views, and uncompromising. For several years succeeding the coup d'état of December, 1851, he was, of course, politically silent; devoting himself in that time exclusively to his profession of advocate, in which he has now risen to be batonnier of the Order in Paris. In the year 1858 he was returned as one of the members for the capital, and has fairly entered upon the career which he has doubtless marked out for himself, of undermining the Empire, and restoring a popular Assembly which shall be sovereign. The world, and, we dare say, the Emperor, will watch that career with interest. The Senate too has not been free from a fever of language. But the violence and the altercation have been kept within the bounds of the interminable Papal question. The Prince Napoleon, recovering from his first display of passionate bitterness, has pronounced a well-considered and logical argument against the French occupation of Rome. The It is not, however, claimed as a victory; the victor is too prudent. It is doubtful even if the Assem-points of any such argument are too old for repetibly has not its own private exultation at having kept the Emperor at bay. But all this, whichever way the conquest may incline, has been thrown in the shade by the free speaking of such orators as M. Jules Favre, who denounce the quasi tyranny of the Government in as round and truculent phrase as did ever Odillon Barrot the Government of Louis Philippe. The police, the law of the press, the law of elections, the sham of universal suffrage, the ignoble occupation of Rome -thus keeping the great, free nation of Southern Europe out of its inherited capital-all these things come under the scathing rebuke of the distinguished republican advocate. He tells the president, De Morny, who writhes in his chair, that the Emperor is the virtual editor of every journal in France; that arrests are made daily without any sanction or color of law; that the abolishment of the passport system is only a farce; and that, contrary to the desire of two-thirds of France, French bayonets are to-day supporting at Rome the most odious tyranny of Europe, while across the ocean they are attempting to fasten a king of the worst family of old monarchies in the violated seat of a Republican chief magistrate. Such utterances are not made in the Chamber without their buzz in the street. Jules Favre, always a marked man by reason of his gaunt ugliness of feature, and his reputation as a skillful advocate, bids fair to achieve other renown in the crisis which seems opening. He is a man of fifty-three or thereabout, born at Lyons, of a commercial family, and had just finished his "Law" in the schools of Paris when the revolution broke out which dethroned the elder Bourbons and bore Louis Philippe to power. So early as that day he declared against kingship of whatever sort, and in a letter to the Nationale urged the reinstation tion; they are indicated and sustained at once by the instinct of every republican and liberal mind. The democratic affiliation of the Prince has long been known; but the question arises, if his present urgence of the views of Ricasoli and the liberal men of Italy, and his consequent opposition to the Imperial policy, is the result of conscientious sympathy with the cause of freedom in the Peninsula, or simply an adroit neutral attitude between the Emperor's designs, and the harsh ultramontanism of such men as La Rochejacquelin and the prelates of France. It is a question that time only can solve. Certainly the Prince is not a man whose character and luxurious habits of life can command the worship or even respect of such stern republicans as Raspail or Louis Blanc: his arguments may convince the Senate possibly, but something more than artful collation of historic facts would be needed for effective leadership of the men who inhabit the Faubourg St. Antoine. He is clearly covetous of the incense of popular applause, and ambitious of a large democratic championship. A prince can stoop to this when he has no executive power; yet the same prince might fail of lifting himself to such level if power were in his hand. We doubt if the Prince has either the intensity of purpose or the self-abnegation which are requisite in a great leader of the people. To those who have known him as the luxurious lounger in the Bois de Boulogne, or the assiduous visitant at the Théâtre Français in the days of the Queen of Tragedy, his speeches are a surprise. It seems almost incredible that a man who has slipped into the fauteuil of the Palais Royal so easily as he who makes a merit of his connoisseurship in the pretty paintings of Greuze and Boucher-whose figure might make a type for a new and polished Silenus-whose history might foretell an intellectual culture brimful of Catullus, but with no drop of Tacitus or Grotius-that such a man should parry history with a Rochejacquelin, and neology with a Cardinal, and state-craft with Billaut, seems, as we said, quite incredible. But it is true nevertheless; and his speeches have the point of good artifice, and the pungency of keen satire. We are by no means disposed to count him, as some do, the leader of the progressive and liberal party in France. He has as yet by far too keen a smack of the palace to enlist the confidence of those who are burrowing under all palaces. He stands related to the present earnest republicans of France very much as Philippe Egalité (the father of Louis Philippe) stood related to the Republicans of Mirabeau's time. And the rich Egalité had a bad end. WE pass from these men and symptoms of revolution to the quieter theme of birds, and an eccentric lover of birds. Observant readers will remember that this Bureau of ours has its nominal establishment upon the Quai Voltaire. With the exception of certain apocryphal journeys which have been duly indicated, it has not shifted position since the day it was instituted. At three of each afternoon, during the early summer of 1861, there was a chattering of daws upon a neighboring balcon, which presently came to engage the attention of the cab-drivers opposite, then of the street-folk, and, finally, of all passers-by. How came it that the jackdaws, which every Paris visitor will recall, wheeling about the high tower of the Jacquerie, gathered at this special balcony at three of the afternoon? What drew the daws, and whose was the balcon? It was noised at length among the neighbors that a quaint old Portuguese gentleman, connected in some way with the Portuguese embassy, held the apartment to which the balcony was attached, and provided food for the jackdaws from his table every day punctually at three. There they rustled and chattered and gorged the meats furnished them, then whirred away to their homes among the roofs of the Tuileries and the sculptures of the Jacquerie Tower. This friend of the birds was the Commander de Gama Machado, a zealous naturalist, and well known to the scientific coterie of the Jardin des Plantes. He died early in the summer of 1861, leaving a large fortune. His family on the Quai Voltaire consisted only of a Demoiselle Elizabeth Perret, sixty-six years of age, and a hundred or more of rare birds from the Himalaya, the Indies, Africa, and Peru. His love for birds was a passion. He imported necessary food for them from their native countries, devoted himself to a study of their habits, and has left a magnificently-illustrated work containing the result of his observations. There were individuals of this feathered family which had been his daily companions for thirty years. The age of each one was recorded, and several were left by will to distinguished naturalists. The Demoiselle Elizabeth Perret had been in his service for forty-six years, and had become friend and legatee to the amount of thirty thousand francs per annum. She had learned to love the birds like her patron, and it was her zealous care for them which had won his friendship and his generous bequest. By special testamentary order the jackdaws, which had been fed every day in his balcony for the six years last past, were left unfed on the day of his funeral, and the funeral he had himself appointed at three of the afternoon. Thus the poor gentleman had arranged his own dirge, and his body was followed along the quay by the incessant clamor of the ravens. AND now that we are in the way of Paris causerie, let us sketch another episode belonging also to our Quai Voltaire. We have spoken of the book-stalls which are along the river bank, within plain view of our window. The booksellers are in rusty, clumsy paletots; they smoke, on occasions, short pipes, drawing matches upon the asphalte of the pavement, or, if the weather be damp, upon the lining of their coats. Their wares are arranged in long wooden cases upon the stones of the river parapet, and are ticketed ten sous, twenty sous, sixty sous, or a hundred sous, as the case may be. Every bibliomaniac of Paris takes his weekly stroll along this quay, casting furtive glances over the musty boxes, and occasionally pouncing upon a treasure. have ourselves secured in this market dainty folios in vellum with dates of the fifteenth century, or rare bits of binding with royal initials interlaced upon the covers, which came doubtless from some old revolutionary theft-so old that the odor of the theft had softened down into the perfume of honest booktrade. Thus we have an Elzevir of the Poemata Septem, covered over with the cipher of a Bourbon; and a Michaud's Crusades, with the initials of Louis Philippe; and a Pastor Fido, with the imprint of the Italian house of Este; and a History of Gardening, with the Imperial stamp of the First Napoleon. We About these stalls, with such occasional prizes, we have seen an old gentleman respectably clad, though in a threadbare suit, passing from time to time in a furtive and mysterious way, giving his attention more to the bookseller, as it seemed, than to the books, and finally passing down the quay with the nervous, eager step of a culprit. These quay merchants come, after a while, to know the face of every serious buyer; but this old gentleman, who glanced here and there so rapidly, and who walked off in such nervous haste with his coat pocket suspiciously laden, soon challenged their attention. They compared notes together, and gave hint of their mistrust to the nearest sergent de ville, who accordingly placed himself on the watch. At his usual hour the old gentleman came up, glanced eagerly here and there, paced back and forth, sought his occasion, and with a quick gesture thrust a little duodecimo broché into his coat pocket. But the official with the dainty rapier was straightway at his side. "Monsieur, I arrest you." "Mon Dieu! arrest me?" "You have just now stolen a book from this stall." "It's "A yellow book," says the eager trader. not the first; you're an old hand at this; we have seen you before: we have you now." Two or three have gathered around, and say, "Pity! so old a man too!" "I a thief!" says the poor gentleman, with mingled shame and indignation. "But how can you dare deny it ?" says the official. "I have caught you in the very act." "A thief! I?" repeats the old gentleman, in a maze of apparent consternation. "Ah, Messieurs, if you knew-" "Oui, oui! the old story," say the by-standers, half sympathizing with him, "no bread, no employment, family suffering; for God's sake let him "Come," says the agent of police, taking him by the collar, tell your story to the commissary." The crowd has gathered meantime, and the look of agony and shame on the poor man's face has kindled a little pity even in the booksellers themselves. "Enfin," says one, "do you deny that nearly every day under pretense of looking over our cases you bear off a volume or two in your pocket?” "Helas, Messieurs, since you force me to say this, it is precisely the contrary that happens." 64 Comment, Monsieur, it is we who rob? Pardieu! voilà qui est trop fort!" "Oui, Messieurs: search me if you like; you will find three volumes-not stolen, mon Dieu, no; they have cost me dearly-all my savings for years have gone that way." "Let us look," says one of the by-standers. And the police agent finds in the pockets of the arrested man three copies of a book in yellow paper covers, entitled, "Dictionnaire des Idées." "Eh bien, Messieurs," says the accused, "look over your cases from the Pont Neuf up, and you will find just five copies of the same-an excellent work. But ask every holder-ask this man before me who would have me arrested as a miserable thief—if they or he ever bought such a volume." And the old gentleman at the same time pointed out a copy of the work in question, in the case before him, marked twenty sous. along the stalls farther down. It is painful to me to make such explanation in order to relieve myself from the charge of stealing, but it is every word true." "But why," says the stall-man, "did you not offer your book at a reduced price to us? I myself would take a half dozen at ten sous." "Ten sous! The Dictionnaire des Idées!' ten sous! Mon Dieu! Monsieur, I had rather run the hazard of such an arrest than to offer the cherished labor of my life at so vile a price. You do not understand an author's dignity." In short, the poor gentleman stood fairly acquitted of theft, and had the satisfaction of disposing of three copies of his book to as many compassionate bystanders, who limited their charity only by the price of publication. It is an over-true tale, and may be true of many in Paris whose story does not see the light. IF we step from the Quai Voltaire to the Chambers of the Institute a short way below, it is to listen to a new proposition for a great Artesian well, which shall dwarf all enterprises of the kind yet undertaken. We mentioned with some detail the engineering works at Passy, and the fortunate result of those works. M. Gaudin, an intrepid engineer, now proposes to sink a shaft to the great water-basin underlying Paris and its environs, of a diameter of no less than fifteen feet, and something like half a mile in depth. It seems stupendous; but the proponent urges the scheme with rare ability, and compares it with the horizontal shafts which the railway companies are driving every year further and further under the mountains, and always with success. Let us only make a miniature tunnel, he says, vertical instead of horizontal, and we give an abounding ele"Bibliophile Jacob!" exclaims the old gentleman ment of life to ten millions of inhabitants. The under arrest, "what honor!" The seller takes up the book, looks it over, finds no mark of his own, does not know it; but recalls that he had sold such an one a few days before to the bibliophile Jacob. scheme of M. Gaudin contemplates a grand Chateau "What then can all this mean?" says the officer, d'Eau in granite, rising at least one hundred and a little softened by the culprit's manner. viction upon the reproduction of tendons. The reproduction of bony matter in the human system is abundantly attested. We are not writing medical theses; but if bones and tendons find elements of reconstruction in the play of the vital economy, why not muscular tissue-some such muscular tissue as belongs to the heart itself? To what limit shall science go in hatching us into the integuments of weary life? One lung has been proved enough to aerate the blood; when will the play of one lung work reparation of the other? thirty feet above the level of the Paris plain, to "Mon Dieu, it is very simple," says the poor man. which height he is confident the immense column of "I am myself the author of the Dictionnaire des water will rise; and he estimates the total cost of Idées,' which after each word names the ideas which execution, chateau, shaft, machinery, and all applithat word naturally suggests-a precious book for ances, at the moderate sum of a million of francs. poets, a precious book too for prose writers. But The distinguished surgeon, M. Jobert de Lamballe, for all this I could find no publisher, and I have im-discurses at length and with the earnestness of conposed upon myself years of privation and economy, from a little salary which I gain as master of Latin in the Institution de, that I might give it to the world. I waited with interest for the sales, believing they would reward me; I sent it to the journals; to all the writers of the day. But the public is given over to vain romances. Only six copies in as many months did my publisher dispose of. Fifty more have been distributed gratis. As a speculation it has miserably failed me; the loss of the moneys spent I might forego, but to find my cherished work unknown and unregarded was too cruel a disappointment. I therefore bethought me of distributing it along the Quays, where I have seen the excellent Béranger, in other times, regard it; where I have seen even Guizot and Villemain give it a glance as they passed down to the Chambers of the Institute. Even the bibliophile Jacob has purchased one. I thus had the satisfaction of knowing that my work met the eyes of the learned, and that the name of the author could not be wholly obscure. "Eh bien, at the very moment you have arrested me I was on the point of slipping the copy of my book, which I had placed in this case a week since, again into my pocket, in order to give it a new trial If we go from the Institute to the Theatres we find, first of all, a wondrous scenic display at the Grand Opera, which revives Biblical traditions of the Temple of Solomon. The scene-painters have tasked themselves with a revival of the cedar beams of Lebanon, and the jasper set in the wall, and the golden decorations. But the music is not equal to the hangings, and the hangings do not call such plaudits as the ballet. A new piece at the Français finds its pivot in the strange topic of filial love. We can not stay to give the plot. Its burden rests upon the French custom of dot-ing a married child; and the virtue lies in repayment of the dot to a ruined |