hole
now forms an immense quadrangle. The front is Corinthian, with pillars
and niches between the windows. A vast number of statues adorn the
front, and others are in preparation.

It was at the doorway in the centre that Lamartine, "the noblest Roman
of them all," so gloriously withstood the mob in February, 1848,
declaring that the red flag should not be the flag of France. I wish you
could see this palace, for such it is, though occupied by the city
authorities. London has nothing to approach it in splendor. The
staircases are gorgeous, and are so rich in sculpture that only a
sculptor could properly speak of them. We saw the room where Robespierre
held his council and attempted suicide, and also the window where our
Lafayette embraced Louis Philippe, and presented him to the mob in
1830. It is the same window where poor Louis XVI. addressed the savages,
when he wore the cap of liberty. By the way, I hate the sight of that
cap, which always reminds me of the lamp-post executions of the French
capital in 1792-3. Its prevalence in our happy country is owing to the
French mania which once possessed the people, and has very much died
out. The apartments are regal, and some of them, I think, quite superior
to those of Windsor Castle. In this building is a fine library, and here
are deposited the vast collection of American books obtained by
Vattemare, whom, you recollect, we saw at Washington.

I cannot tell you how sorely vexed we are to find the Louvre shut up for
repairs and decoration; every week they say it is to be reopened, but I
fear we shall leave Paris ere it happens.

How much we would all give to have you here; for, though we are glad to
tell you what we see, we feel there are scores of objects which interest
us that we have to pass over, but which would make your eyes glisten, if
you could gaze upon. Well, my dear fellow, stick to your business, make
your fortune, and then come and look at the beautiful and fair in the
old world; and who knows but perhaps we may yet chat cosily together in
Paris? O, I do love to wander through this city by moonlight, and gaze
upon the bright, lofty buildings as they loom up so gloriously in the
mild lustre of a silvery night. God bless you.

Yours affectionately,

JAMES.

Letter 26.

PARIS.

DEAR CHARLEY:--

We have been to dine at the Palais Royal, at the _Trois Freres
Provencaux_, of which I suppose the boys have told you; and I shall only
speak about