astical in its
style--having in four niches the statues of Bossuet, Massillon,
Flechier, and Fenelon.

In our walk we were all struck with an immense wooden pile, which we
found was the Bibliotheque St. Genevieve. The front is very chaste, and
has very many arched windows. The library is more than three hundred
feet in length, and is covered on the exterior with the names of all the
great authors of every age and nation. We saw the names of many of our
countrymen--Washington, Franklin, Rumford, Clinton, Cooper, Prescott,
Irving, &c. We were unable to enter, as repairs were in progress, but
were told that the library has two hundred thousand volumes, and
several thousand MSS.

We have all been much gratified with the Church of St. Etienne du Mont.
It boasts an antiquity that dates back to 1131, and its tower and turret
are known to be as early as 1222. The exterior is remarkable for a
strange mixture of architecture, and some of the details are very
beautiful. The interior cannot fail to interest a thoughtful person, I
think. The pictures are very fine indeed, and some of the marbles are of
the highest excellence. We went into the little Chapel of St. Genevieve,
the patron saint of Paris, where is the tomb of the saint. The tomb was
literally stuck over with small tallow candles, and looked like a piece
of meat larded. The room was filled with worshippers, all on their
knees; and two women had as much anguish in their faces as I ever saw.
All the people kneeling at this tomb seemed far more intent and in
earnest than the hundreds at grand mass in the church proper. Just as we
stepped outside this chapel, we found on the wall the monuments of
Racine and Pascal, who are both buried in this church. The church was
full of people, and in one little chapel the priest was baptizing an
infant. We went in and looked on. It was the first time I had ever
witnessed this monstrous mummery in the Catholic church; and I called in
the Dr. and Mr. S., who were looking at some statuary. The priest was
hardly decent at his work. He did it all in a hurry,--put oil and
something else on the child, fore and aft,--and how men and women could
stand and let the stupidity take place on their children, I cannot
understand. After seeing Pascal's grave, and thinking of his immortal
works, it was poor preparation for the mountebank exhibition, and
awkward work of making Christians, that we witnessed. You know, Charley,
that I am not a lover of Roma