work upon nothing but sirloins, joints, joints, steaks, steaks, steaks,
chops, chops, chops, chops! We had a soup to-day, in which twenty kinds
of vegetables were represented, and manifested each its own aroma; a
fillet of stewed beef, and a fowl, in some sort of delicate fricassee.
We had a bottle of Chablis, and renewed ourselves, at the close of the
banquet, with a plate of Chateaubriand ice. It was all very good, and we
respected ourselves far more than if we had eaten a quantity of red roast
beef; but I am not quite sure that we were right. . . . .

Among the relics of kings and princes, I do not know that there was
anything more interesting than a little brass cannon, two or three inches
long, which had been a toy of the unfortunate Dauphin, son of Louis XVI.
There was a map,--a hemisphere of the world,--which his father had drawn
for this poor boy; very neatly done, too. The sword of Louis XVI., a
magnificent rapier, with a beautifully damasked blade, and a jewelled
scabbard, but without a hilt, is likewise preserved, as is the hilt of
Henry IV.'s sword. But it is useless to begin a catalogue of these
things. What a collection it is, including Charlemagne's sword and
sceptre, and the last Dauphin's little toy cannon, and so much between
the two!


Hotel de Louvre, January 11th.--This was another chill, raw day,
characterized by a spitefulness of atmosphere which I do not remember
ever to have experienced in my own dear country. We meant to have
visited the Hotel des Invalides, but J----- and I walked to the Tivoli,
the Place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees, and to the Place de
Beaujou, and to the residence of the American minister, where I wished to
arrange about my passport. After speaking with the Secretary of
Legation, we were ushered into the minister's private room, where he