went to the Oratoire, on one occasion, to hear the eloquent M. Coquerel. The house was full, and those who could judge said the preacher delivered a very able discourse, which was doubtless the case; but the whole appearance of the man was painfully theatrical. The gestures and bearing of the distinguished divine I could but contrast with the appearance of one of his colleagues, Adolph Monod, whom I was fortunate to see and hear on another occasion. The latter is not so great an orator, but a more devout man; has but little of the embellishments of imagination, but much of the power of the cross of Christ. The rich and the noble, the brilliant and the gay, fill the Oratoire when M. Coqueril discourses; the humble, the pious, and the good crowd the aisles when Monod holds up his crucified Master.

The English have a church in Paris; the Wesleyans one in Rue de la Concorde, where, one Sabbath, I preached to a little company of about two hundred, of mixed French, English, and Americans. Under the present government of France, the people are allowed full religious liberty. The Protestant and Catholic enjoy equal privileges, and the discussion of religious truth is open to all who choose to engage in it.

There are in Paris several interesting edifices, which, like the Pantheon, are not used for religious worship, but stand to commemorate some important events. One of these is the

CHAPELLE EXPIATOIRE.

On entering this chapel, all that is mournful in the history of a most unfortunate family is brought vividly to our recollection. When the French revolution had done its utmost, and the king and his noble queen,

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whose only crime seemed to be that she was of the house of Austria, were carried to the guillotine, and inhumanly murdered, they were put into coarse coffins, and buried in a little cemetery belonging to the church of La Madaleine. On the records of that church is now a charge like this: "For the coffin of the widow Capet, seven francs;" and this was the whole sum laid out for the interment of the gifted, beautiful, and highborn queen, whose word once made proud nobles tremble. With her husband, she was placed in an unhonored grave; and the ground was afterwards purchased by a stern royalist, who planted it as an orchard, that the traces of the graves might not lead to a discovery, fearing that, in some wild and terrible moment, the populace might dig up the bones, and insult even their decay. When monarchy was restored, the ground was purchased by government, and a neat chapel erected over the spot where the king and queen were interred. To this chapel thousands come to wonder at the violence which it commemorates. Up to the present year, there has been one visitor whose heart must have bled at the very sight of its beautiful walls, and in memory of the fate of those who were laid beneath it. I refer to the Duchess of Angouleme, who, during the present year, (1851,) has been called from earth. She was the daughter of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. the time of the murder, she was but a child, and, with her brother, the dauphin, then only seven years old, was shut up in a dark and gloomy dungeon. The boy was soon let out to a brutal keeper, who had orders not to kill him, but to get rid of him. Hence every indignity was heaped upon him. For a whole year, his clothes were not changed; and for six months, his bed was not made. Under such treatment, the young

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prince wasted away, and died in June, 1795. His sister survived, and was treated with brutal violence, until the Austrian government induced the French to give her up, in exchange for some prisoners of war; and she was taken to the court of Vienna, with a wasted frame and a broken heart. She has since passed through various changes, having been married, elevated, and a second time driven into banishment, until now she has found shelter in the grave. To her, this chapel, which marks the spot where her parents were buried, must have been an object of great interest; and, every year since, she has been furnished with a bouquet of flowers from the spot, over which she has wept and mused, until, entirely withered, she has cast them away. The

CHAPEL OF ST. FERDINAND

is also an object of much interest. It was erected to commemorate the death of the Duke of Orleans, who came to an untimely end in 1842. He was out, riding in his carriage, when the horses became unmanageable; and, in endeavoring to leap to the ground, his foot was entangled, and, being precipitated to the earth, his skull was fractured. He was taken and carried into a grocery on the spot where the chapel now stands. His father, Louis Philippe, and the other members of the royal family, were soon on the ground; but the unfortunate young man died in a few hours after. The old grocery was taken down, and a chapel, dedicated to St. Ferdinand, was erected on the spot. The chapel has seats for about fifty persons, and is fifty feet long, built in Gothic style. Opposite the doorway is the altar, and over it a statue of the Virgin and Child. On the left side of the chapel is another altar. On the right is a beautiful group of statuary, representing the prince on

his death bed, with an angel kneeling over him. This angel was the work of the Princess Marie, the deceased sister of the duke, who little dreamed that she was fashioning the marble for the monumental tomb of her brother. Behind the altar is the little room in which the prince died, remaining nearly as at that time. A few rough chairs, a confessional and crucifix, constitute the only furniture. On one side is a mournful picture representing the death scene as it actually occurred. The duke is stretched upon a bed, pale and bleeding. The king holds his hands, with a countenance full of the deepest grief; the queen and many of the nobles are looking on or weeping in the most abject sorrow; while a robed priest, with a benign countenance, adds to the effect of the scene.

The Duke of Orleans was very popular with the people, and had he been alive his father would hardly have been driven from his throne in the late revolution; or if this had been the case, his son would have been allowed to assume the reins of government without resistance. The next son of the king was as unpopular as the Duke of Orleans was beloved; and when the tide of anarchy came surging against the throne of Louis Philippe, he had no one to roll it back again. The son of the Duke of Orleans, the Count of Paris, is still alive; and if ever the tide turns again in favor of monarchy, as it surely will, the count, who is now but a child, will be the most likely to ascend the throne. He is said to be a boy of good parts, an amiable disposition, but somewhat destitute of energy and decision. God grant that the time may not soon come when France, and gay, beautiful Paris shall be again deluged with blood.

XVII.

PARISIAN LIFE.

ONE cannot fail to observe that the Parisians are very much devoted to light amusements. The evidence of this fact meets you at every corner, and in every great gathering. These amusements are generally of the lightest and most trivial kinds; and however devoted an Englishman or an American might be to pleasure, he would soon tire and weary himself with the vain and foolish sports which engross so much of the time of the middle and lower classes of Paris. great pleasure grounds are the

CHAMPS ELYSEES,

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a fine promenade, striking west from Place de la Concorde one and a quarter miles, laid out with foot and carriage paths, and forming a beautiful resort for the gay and fashionable crowds, who sit and walk by hours, hearing sweet music, and witnessing gay scenes. Trees finely trimmed, and hedges carefully trained, give shelter from the sun, while thousands of chairs and benches furnish seats when the people are weary. These grounds are let for panorama and other exhibitions, from which an income is derived of about twenty thousand francs per annum. On the afternoon or evening of any pleasant day, thousands of persons are seen moving about under the trees, or resting themselves on the benches, or enjoying some of the sports of the place