The daily journals abounded, and their subscription lists were enormous.
Where there is freedom, men and women _will_ read--and where there is
unmitigated despotism, the people care little to read the sickly
journals which are permitted to drag out an existence.

There is one journal published in Paris in the English language,
"_Galignani's Messenger_." It is old, and in its way is very useful, but
it is principally made up of extracts from the English journals. It has
no editorial ability or originality, and of course never advances any
opinion upon a political question.

On my return home I passed through a street often mentioned by Eugene
Sue in his Mysteries of Paris--a street formerly noted for the vile
character of its inhabitants. It was formerly filled with robbers and
cut-throats, and even now I should not care to risk my life in this
street after midnight, with no policemen near. It is exceedingly narrow,
for I stood in the center and touched with the tips of my fingers the
walls of both sides of the street. It is very dark and gloomy, and
queer-looking passages run up on either side from the street. Some of
them were frightful enough in their appearance. To be lost in such a
place in the dead of night, even now, would be no pleasant fate, for
desperate characters still haunt the spot. Possibly the next morning, or
a few mornings after, the stranger's body might be seen at _La Morgue._
That is the place where all dead bodies found in the river or streets
are exhibited--suicides and murdered men and women.

Talking of this street and its reputation in Eugene Sue's novels,
reminds me of the man. When I first saw it he had just been elected to
the Chamber of Deputies by an overwhelming majority. It was not because
Sue was the favorite candidate of the republicans, but he stood in such