priests seated themselves with
us upon the bench before the clock as the hand approached the hour. They
wore the long black robes and odd little skull-caps, that fit so like a
plaster, and which are, I am sure, kept in place by some law of
attraction unknown to us. One, of a different order, or higher grade, in
a shorter robe and with very thin legs, encased in black stockings that
added to their shadowy appearance, shuffled up to his place just in time
to throw back his head and open his mouth as the clock struck, and the
last judgment began. The cock upon the front gave a preliminary and weak
flap of his wings, and emitted three feeble, squeaky crows, that must, I
am sure, have convulsed the very puppets. Certainly they all disappeared
from the windows, and something jumped into their places intended to
represent flames, but which looked so much like reversed tin petticoats,
that we supposed for a moment they were all standing on their heads. All
the figures upon the peaks turned their backs upon us. The image of
Christ began to wave its hands. The kneeling women swayed back and
forth, clasping their own. Two angels raised to their lips long, gilt
trumpets, as if to blow a blast; then dropped them; then raised them a
second time, and even made a third abortive attempt. From one of the
open doors Virtue was jerked out to be judged, Virtue in a red gown. The
scales began to dance up and down. An angel appeared playing a guitar,
and Virtue went triumphantly off to the right, to slow and appropriate
music, an invisible organ playing meanwhile. Then Vice appeared. I
confess he excited my instant and profound pity. Such a poor, naked,
wretched-looking object as he was! with his hands to his face, as though
he were heartily ashamed to come out in such a plight. I venture to say,
if he had been decked out like Virtue, he might have stolen off to the
right, and nobody been the wiser. Good clothes do a great deal in Paris.
As it was, the scales danced up and down a moment, and then the devil
appeared with a sharp stick, and drove him around the corner to the
left, with very distant and feeble thunder for an accompaniment. That
ended the show. All the little puppets jumped back into all the little
windows, and we came away.

Speaking of picture galleries, we spent a pleasant hour in the gallery
of the Luxembourg--a collection of paintings made up from the works of
living artists, and of those who have been less than a year deceas