douard, secretly cursing the punt and all rivers in his
heart, made light of the matter, however, protesting to the last that he
had only been enjoying himself.

We have had a fete too; for every village in the vicinity of Paris has
its fete. The square was filled with whirligigs and flying-horses, and
all the ingenious contrivances of the French to make and to spend a sou
pleasantly. There was service in the parish church, at which our
neighbours sang in a style fit for St. Peter's, and the villagers danced
quadrilles on the green with an air that would be thought fine in many a
country drawing-room.

I enjoy all this greatly; for, to own the truth, the crowds and mannered
sameness of Paris began to weary me. Our friends occasionally come from
town to see us, and we make good use of the cabriolet. As we are near
neighbours to St. Denis, we have paid several visits to the tombs of the
French kings, and returned each time less pleased with most of the
unmeaning obsequies that are observed in their vaults. There was a
ceremony, not long since, at which the royal family and many of the
great officers of the court assisted, and among others M. de Talleyrand.
The latter was in the body of the church, when a man rushed upon him and
actually struck him, or shoved him to the earth, using at the same time
language that left no doubt of the nature of the assault. There are
strange rumours connected with the affair. The assailant was a Marquis
de ----, and it is reported that his wrongs, real or imaginary, are
connected with a plot to rob one of the dethroned family of her jewels,
or of some crown jewels, I cannot say which, at the epoch of the
restoration. The journals said a good deal about it at the time, but
events occur so fast here that a quarrel of this sort produces little
sensation. I pretend to no knowledge of the merits of this affair, and
only give a general outline of what was current in the public prints at
the time.

We have also visited Enghien, and Montmorency. The latter, as you know
already, stands on the side of a low mountain, in plain view of Paris.
It is a town of some size, with very uneven streets, some of them being
actually sharp acclivities, and a Gothic church that is seen from afar
and that is well worth viewing near by. These quaint edifices afford us
deep delight, by their antiquity, architecture, size, and pious
histories. What matters it to us how much or how little superstition may
blend with