three whole days. But it would take years of diligent study to
understand what is here to be seen.

If a person walks about Paris and inquires much as to the history of the
city and its improvements, as we Americans say, he will soon find that
Paris has been chiefly indebted for her grandeur to Henry IV., Louis
XIV., Napoleon, and Louis Philippe. Bridges, places, arches, and
fountains show how much Paris owes to these rulers. Of fountains there
are, I should think, nearly a hundred in the city, and some are
exceedingly fine. The Seine is not much of an affair. With us, it would
be only a muddy brook. Some of the bridges that span it are fine. I have
seen nothing in Paris more picturesque than the prospect from the Pont
Neuf. It is my favorite stand point. Off to the right are the towers of
Notre Dame, and the long line of old houses which tell of centuries upon
centuries since they were built; and on the left of the river are the
Hotel de Ville, St. Germain L'Auxerrois; and some of the most venerable
streets. From the bell tower of St. Germain the signal was rung for the
infamous massacre of the Protestants, on St. Bartholomew's eve, 23d of
August, 1572. In the Rue de l'Arbre sec, at No. 14, was Admiral Coligny
murdered on that occasion. It was formerly known as the Hotel Ponthieu,
but is to be demolished in a few weeks, to make way for improvements. We
felt a desire to see the spot where the Bastile formerly stood, and
which was destroyed by the mob in July, 1789, and the key of which is
now at Mount Vernon, having been sent as a present to Washington. This
was the theatre of the greatest resistance made by the insurgents in
June, 1848; and here, too, it was that the Archbishop of Paris met with
his death. On the site of the Bastile, Louis Philippe laid the
foundation of a column which commemorates the revolution of 1830. This
column is of bronze, and is one hundred and sixty-three feet high, in
addition to the pedestal of white marble, supported by immense granite
blocks. The diameter of the column is, I believe, twelve feet, and it
cost about twelve hundred thousand francs. There is no masonry in the
interior. The staircase is suspended, and the whole concern vibrates
with the passing breeze. I did not ascend, you may be sure. The
Corinthian capital, over which is a gallery with rails, is very
beautiful, and is the largest casting in bronze that is known--or,
rather, was, for I _think_ that the Amazon at the London E