it is not only in this instance as you very well know. The more I see here, the more I am convinced that home is the only place for a man of any sort of spirit to live in, without he should happen to step into the shoes of majesty, or gets a place pretty near to majesty among the nobility. Then, to be sure, it may be pleasant enough. But the farther he recedes from this, the lower he is supposed to descend in the scale of creation. The annoyances to a man of education and spirit in the middle stations of life, from the display of the upper class; their ridicule and utter banishment of the others, is so frequent, not to say universal, that I cannot conceive how it can be endured with any reasonable degree of philosophy. Indeed, in this country, the notice of the great is so rare, that I don't wonder the commonalty of rogues, feel so vain when the king, or one of the princes, nods his head or smiles at them. I will tell you as a secret, that I felt quite disrespectfully the other day, towards a rich banker, after having the society of our worthy relations of the court calender. But being resolutely determined not to cherish this new born aristocratic feeling, I took care not to display divers cards of earls, viscounts, &c. the evidences of their attention. Indeed, they were all exceedingly kind, particularly Lord A—. I thank you for the letter you inclosed me; I shall put off the delivery till my next visit to this country, on my return home. The books you mention, I have made an arrangement to have sent, and hope they will go safe. After the coronation fête, I start with a young Baltimorean by the name of It ought to turn out a pleasant tour; but I can't help wishing it over. We are looking for a Caleche-You know what it is, though I don't, for I recollect your mentioning travelling that way. I wish you would take the trouble of recollecting and mentioning to me some of the most remarkable things in our route. I hate a Cicerone always talking by rote, with no more feeling than an old sexton of a church, who has buried three generations. Yours affectionately.

PARIS, May 24, 1825. Just arrived at Paris, my dear S. I write to you, being free from more serious occupation, with nothing to prevent good spirits, if I had only tidings from home. You can well conceive, no doubt, how often my thoughts turn from the display of embroidered coats and waistcoats,steel swords and ornaments, to other objects, which, though they are less gay, are sure at intervals to occupy my thoughts. On my first arrival here, I had no idea of being able to see any part of the coronation, as I under

stood the Foreign Ministers had only each two tickets to give to their friends. But the other day, Mr. J– enclosed me one

in a note. I really feel grateful towards him for it, as I know how many he had to choose from, in giving it away. And yet I could almost find in my heart to wonder there should be so many wishing for them. You certainly bring yourself into terrible trouble and expense. The new carriage will cost D——, and myself, who are going together, eight hundred francs, for ten days only. When I find myself wasting money and time in this way, I assure you I get fits of remorse at the unprofitable life I am leading. The living on the road to Rheims will be enormous, and there is no certainty whether we shall not be obliged not only to sleep, but to dress in our carriage. To be frank, my greatest motive for going, is the idea that you, and those I care about, will be pleased to know I was there.

The costume, to one very fond of dress, might be a great inducement. A sort of claret coloured coat lined with white satina white embroidered silk waistcoat, both with steel buttonssmall clothes the same as the coat-white silk stockings, steel shoe and knee buckles, with a steel sword-a chapeau bras with a black plume. Fancy these, with white kid gloves and sleeve ruffles, and there is a gentleman ready for the "Grand Sacre"" en habit à la Française."

Heaven grant, my dear S, that you may read all these vain descriptions with some good spirits. If you have not them, my letters will afford any thing but amusement. Good byeI will write to you on my return to Rheims, where I go toEver your affectionate.

morrow.

PARIS, May 24, 1825.

I write to you, my dear B, from Paris, where I arrived a few days ago, to see some of the grand ceremonies, which are to excel all others that have gone before. Paris talks and thinks of nothing else, and I actually believe dreams of nothing else, but illuminations and displays. Their imagination runs on nothing but the gilded coaches, the embroidered liveries, the splendid trappings, and all the gay and glittering uniforms of men on foot and horseback, all which are to be seen in the grand procession on the king's return from Rheims. But those who are so blessed beyond all other blessed men, as to have tickets, think of nothing but dresses stiff with gold, velvet and cloth of a thousand hues, and every kind of rich embroidery-together with the pouring of the holy oil upon the holy head of king Charles-the same with which king Clovis was anointed, and

all the succeeding kings. You know it was brought down from heaven by a dove, and a proof of its divine origin is, that they have still about a pint left, and likely to be left-since it never diminishes in consequence of use-at least so every body makes a point of believing during the whole of the coronation. It would be considered exceedingly ill bred to doubt it. Besides the pouring of the oil, there are the gorgeous thrones-the jewelled crowns-the gilded altars-and the rich draperies, which actually convert one's imagination into a sort of Rag-Fair or Upholstery and which must be worth at least a thousand francs to behold, or else I have laid out my money upon a bad bargain.

It is a libel upon man's nature, to see how mad the most sensible philosophical people are on this melancholy occasion. Even the devotees have forgot their prayers; the old chevaliers of the Croix St. Louis, are so valiant on the occasion, that they threaten to exterminate the whole upstart Legion of Honour with a discharge from their snuff boxes-and such is the universal agitation, that there is not a barber in Paris, that can shave the smoothest face, without drawing blood. Even I, republican as I am-even I-with shame do I confess it, am bitten-infected-ever since I was lucky, or unlucky, enough— which thou wilt-to get a ticket. Ever since, I have been plunging into trouble and expense to prepare for this honour, which I intend shall last me all my life. If the good people of Paris are not loyal, after all the pains and expense incurred to treat them to a fine show, and give them a subject of conversation, they deserve never to have another king as long as they live.

I set out to-morrow for Rheims, which is one hundred and twenty miles. A pretty good distance to go and see a rareeshow. But I will be revenged when I come home among you, by giving you such lofty descriptions of the duke of Northumberland's coat, and prince Esterhazy's breeches, as shall render all the coats and breeches of the new world, little better than nought. This privilege of astonishing people, after all, I believe is one of the greatest pleasures arising from travelling. But for all this, I sometimes catch myself thinking I should be doing better at home. Your affectionate, &c.

PARIS, June 10, 1825.

As it is a satisfaction to know that one's letters have got to hand, I follow your good example, and mention the receipt of your letter, dated the 9th of April. Here is the 10th of June, and hearing one of the Havre packets of the 1st of May is in,

I every day, when I come home to my lodgings, look on my table for a budget of letters. You can conceive, at this moment particularly, how much my thoughts turn to the contents of those now expected, and how many conjectures I make of good and evil, according to the state of mind I happen to be in.

I am afraid you have relied too much on the calculation of my movements. I recollect mentioning I was to leave England for the coronation, and concluded you would direct to Paris from the first of May. My letters may have gone by the way of England, which will detain them a good deal.

I got back from the great coronation, about a week ago. The king went through the ceremony with much apparent content and devotion. While he was kneeling at the feet of the archbishop of Rheims, dressed in his splendid canonicals, I could not help thinking the latter looked and acted like the greatest man of the two. There was something in the spiritual pride that glanced through his apparent humility, that reminded me of the day when kings played the groom, and held the pope's stirrups. They might be worse employed. The king came near losing his life, by his horses running away with the gilt coach, with which the sagacious and loyal animals were, I suppose, so delighted, that they forgot what they were about. All Paris was in horrible consternation at the danger of the king. They would never have forgiven him, had he broke his neck and defrauded them of the coronation. There was little else worthy of note at the ceremony of crowning the king, except the dresses. The dutchess of Northumberland was so loaded with diamonds and finery, that she could not walk-she hobbled along, and that was all. His grace of Northumberland took the field against prince Esterhazy the German envoy, whose diamond coat is still remembered in England. They put me in mind, of the Fairy Tales, where you know the heroes and princesses have so many jewels and fine clothes, that the little children who read about them are quite delighted.

It is affirmed that this show will cost his grace a hundred thousand guineas. The worst of it is, that after going to all this expense, and making a speech half French, and half English, etiquette would not permit of his dining even in the same room with the king. I'm sure he paid dear enough, for such a whistle as that. Rumour says, his grace was something wroth, and talked of riding a foray against "Le Bien-Aimé," to the tune of Chevy Chase. The whole affair was a mere ceremony, without the accompaniment of that sentiment, which in the ages of ignorance and superstition, gave to it a degree of dignity and sublimity. It is impossible, I should think, that any pre

judices of habit or education, can work upon enlightened and reflecting minds, to view with any feeling but that of ridicule, ceremonies that have lost their authority and influence even over the most ignorant, and which are now but the vulgar means and instruments of dazzling and amusing the people, much like the spectacles at the theatres.

The papers are full of accounts of the loving reception his majesty met with in his route. But things did not appear exactly in that light to eye witnesses. In general, when he passed through the crowds, you could hear a few solitary cries of "vive le roi," which by the tones seemed to come from the throats of noisy boys. So striking was this neglect, that when I looked at him with his good natured face, nodding, and bowing, and smiling,— and heard and saw no mark of kindness in return, I got some notion of his thoughts and feelings, and actually pitied him. For a moment I felt as if I could almost have struck a blow for monarchy myself. But perhaps, as is often the case, my compassion was misplaced. I dare say he has one of those happy minds, on good terms with itself, and free from all suspicionsall the wretched imaginations of insult, neglect, and contempt,indulging fondly in the thought that he is, as they all tell him, the idol of his people.

At the commencement of his reign, or, in otl:er words, when the people knew nothing about him, his intentions or his measures, the French, with their quick crazy heads, as they are apt to do, concluded that they had got just such a king as they wanted. They concluded he would do little or nothing-and in the eyes of all reasonable men, King Log is not the worst sample of a king by any means. They accordingly went to work and made a deity of him; christened him "Le Bien Aimé," and by way of a greater compliment than all these, compared him with Henri Quatre," the only king of the family that even the most loyal Frenchman thinks it worth while to say much about at present. If he bowed his head, it was like the great Henry-if he laughed, it was like the great Henry-and if he fell asleep in the middle of a memorial, it was so like the great Henry.

His first act, the pretended restoration of the liberty of the press, was very popular. But the indemnity business has changed things terribly. They say he has robbed the nation of its money, and bestowed upon it in return the liberty of complaining. The way they got this bill through the Chamber of Deputies, was by exerting all possible influence in procuring a majority of emigrants to be chosen at the last election. They succeeded, and the vote for indemnification was carried