true penitence and religious devotion.


Hotel de Louvre, January 8th.--It was so fearfully cold this morning that
I really felt little or no curiosity to see the city. . . . . Until after
one o'clock, therefore, I knew nothing of Paris except the lights which I
had seen beneath our window the evening before, far, far downward, in the
narrow Rue St. Honore, and the rumble of the wheels, which continued
later than I was awake to hear it, and began again before dawn. I could
see, too, tall houses, that seemed to be occupied in every story, and
that had windows on the steep roofs. One of these houses is six stories
high. This Rue St. Honore is one of the old streets in Paris, and is
that in which Henry IV. was assassinated; but it has not, in this part of
it, the aspect of antiquity.

After one o'clock we all went out and walked along the Rue de
Rivoli. . . . . We are here, right in the midst of Paris, and close to
whatever is best known to those who hear or read about it,--the Louvre
being across the street, the Palais Royal but a little way off, the
Tuileries joining to the Louvre, the Place de la Concorde just beyond,
verging on which is the Champs Elysees. We looked about us for a
suitable place to dine, and soon found the Restaurant des Echelles, where
we entered at a venture, and were courteously received. It has a
handsomely furnished saloon, much set off with gilding and mirrors; and
appears to be frequented by English and Americans; its carte, a bound
volume, being printed in English as well as French. . . . .

It was now nearly four o'clock, and too late to visit the galleries of
the Louvre, or to do anything else but walk a little way along the
street. The splendor of Paris, so far as I have seen, takes me