windows of our railway carriage were already frosted with French breath
when we got into it, and the ice grew thicker and thicker continually. I
tried, at various times, to rub a peep-hole through, as before; but the
ice immediately shot its crystallized tracery over it again; and, indeed,
there was little or nothing to make it worth while to look out, so bleak
was the scene. Now and then a chateau, too far off for its
characteristics to be discerned; now and then a church, with a tall gray
tower, and a little peak atop; here and there a village or a town, which
we could not well see. At sunset there was just that clear, cold, wintry
sky which I remember so well in America, but have never seen in England.

At five we reached Paris, and were suffered to take a carriage to the
hotel de Louvre, without any examination of the little luggage we had
with us. Arriving, we took a suite of apartments, and the waiter
immediately lighted a wax candle in each separate room.

We might have dined at the table d'hote, but preferred the restaurant
connected with and within the hotel. All the dishes were very delicate,
and a vast change from the simple English system, with its joints,
shoulders, beefsteaks, and chops; but I doubt whether English cookery,
for the very reason that it is so simple, is not better for men's moral
and spiritual nature than French. In the former case, you know that you
are gratifying your animal needs and propensities, and are duly ashamed
of it; but, in dealing with these French delicacies, you delude yourself
into the idea that you are cultivating your taste while satisfying your
appetite. This last, however, it requires a good deal of perseverance to
accomplish.

In the cathedral at Amiens there were printed lists of acts of devotion
posted on the columns, such as prayers at the shrines of certain saints,