enough that I was a republican, from
America, and unlike some Americans, abated not a jot of my radicalism
when in foreign countries.

I looked around the room when the first words were spoken, and saw
everywhere files of newspapers, old copy and that which was about to be
given to the printers. It was very much like an editorial apartment in
an American printing office, though in some respects it was different.
It was a gloomy apartment, and it seemed to me that the writings of the
editor must partake somewhat of the character of the room.

We went into the printing-office, where a hundred hands were setting the
"thought-tracks." It seemed as if everyone in the building, from
editor-in-chief down to the devil, was solemn with the thought of his
high and noble avocation. There was a half sadness on every
countenance, for the future was full of gloom. I was struck with the
fact that the office did not seem to me to be a _French_ office. There
was a gravity, a solemnity, not often seen in Paris. The usual
politeness of a Parisian was there, but no gayety, no recklessness.
Anxiety trouble, or fixedness of purpose were written upon almost every
countenance. In one corner lay piled up to the ceilings copies of the
journal, and I half expected to see a band of the police walk in and
seize them. It seemed as if _they_ half expected some such thing, but
they worked on without saying a word. I became at that moment convinced
that a portion of the French people had been wronged by foreigners.
There is a large class who are not only intellectual, but they are
earnest and grave. They do not wish change for the sake of it. They love
liberty and would die for it. Many of this class were murdered in cold
blood by Louis Napoleon. Others were sent to Cayenne, to fall a prey to
a climate cruel as the guillotine, or were sent into strange lands to
beg their bread. These men were the real glory of France, and yet they
were forced to leave it.

CHAPTER III.

LAFAYETTE'S TOMB--THE RADICAL--A COUNTRY WALK.

LAFAYETTE'S TOMB.

I am fond of being at perfect liberty to ramble where my fancy may lead.
If the sun shine pleasantly this morning, and I would like to hear the
birds sing and smell the flowers, I go to some pleasant garden and
indulge my mood. Or, if I am sad, I go to the grave of genius, and lean
over the tomb of Abelard and Heloise.

When I lived in Paris, I had no regularity in my wanderings, no method
in my sight-se