LETTERS FROM THE OLD WORLD.

NUMBER LXV.

RUE BALZAC, PARIS, March 29, 1859.

MY DEAR FRIEND:—Once again I find myself in the gay and brilliant metropolis of "la Belle France;" no longer breathing fog and smoke, and looking on cold, grey skies, but in haling a pure, clear atmosphere, basking in bright sunshine, and feeling (as I have invariably done when I have crossed the channel, and quitted, for a brief season, our dear little, misty, cloudy island for the continent) as if Mount Atlas had been removed from my shoulders. Some one has, some where, said, that an Englishman, when , is always grumbling about his climate, and, when abroad, at everything else. This is a libel; yet, perchance, a slight vein of truth runs through the first part of the assertion, for with the comfort of some of us, has a good deal to do; and I am prepared to maintain that it's a difficult matter for any Englishman, (or English woman,) who has been victimized by influenza through an English winter, for weeks together, upon leaden skies, a murky atmosphere, and miry streets, commiserating the sun for his unsuccessful attempts to shine, as much as he commiserates himself for being confined a prisoner in doors, by the weather, to keep up his thoroughly nationality, or to repeat, (when February has come,) , Cowper's well know lines, commencing, "England! with all thy faults, I love thee!" Be this as it may, it is very pleasant to look on "les Champs Elysees," and to see the beautiful foliage of early spring, opening out beneath agure skies, and in the light of unclouded sunshine. There is an indescribably and irresistible fascination in Paris, to be found, I am incline to believe, in few other cities. Munich (when I explored its rich art-treasures, some years since) seemed to be a city of the ; Nuremberg, with its tall green, quaint houses, with gable ends, and old fashioned roofs—its winding, grass-grown streets—its almost innumerable reminiscences of and —its mysterious cemetery, full of weird-looking, ancient, bronze monuments—carried to me so entirely back to past ages, that I found it difficult to realize that I looked on real, live men and women walking in the streets, and not on the ghosts of those who live in other days! Nuremberg is a city of the . Paris is both of the past and the present. It has it own peculiar charm.

Now we stand on the , look down into the , and back into its past, thinking of some of the terrible scenes of other days, witnessed by this rapidly flowing river. On, on, it gushes, unchanged by the agonizing death and troubled life so often found by its side. It heard the fatal signal given from the belfry of , on the Eve of St. Bartholomew, and received into its rushing waters many poor victims of that dread massacre; it has probably witnessed more terrible revolutions than any river in Europe—more anarchy, cruelty and bloodshed! Yet on it flows, all unheeding, its banks adorned with wide and beautiful , and stately edifices raise their heads on either side—lovely gardens stretch themselves out in all directions—rich treasures of architecture and art every where visible—sparkling fountains glimmer in the sunshine—merry, light-hearted people are chatting and gesticulating in all directions—t has faded from before our eyes— its claim—and soon we find ourselves all in vain attempting to on the , the bright sunshine, the blue skies, the buoyant atmosphere—these vivacious, garrulous French people all combine to forbid it—so we yield ourselves (perchance not altogether unwillingly)

to our circumstances, and are soon threading our way along the , (a favorite walk of the gay Parisians,) amusing ourselves with the fashion and elegance around us, and contrasting the light-hearted Frenchman with the reflective Englishman. To attempt to tell you, my dear friend, what we have seen, and where we have been since we reached Paris, in a single letter, would be an impossibility—so I will not try. Our stay here is brief and our engagements so numerous, that it is only at intervals I can snatch a few minutes for writing—so I must trust to concluding my budget after I have returned to old England, and to you and your readers accepting a confused mass of "jottings," in place of a letter.

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It is almost as impossible, as it seems to me to be supererogatory to describe the , with its almost countless attractions of splendor and of art. Yet, I have just returned form our second day there, and can write of nothing else at this time; indeed, I feel in such a dreamy, mesmeric state, as if I were turned into a spirit writer, and could write about its world-renowned Long Gallery with my eyes closed!—then its still more famous "," that is said to contain the of the choice treasures of which the is so justly celebrated—its gorgeous "," commenced under Charles IX, completed under the auspices of the present Emperor, and re-opened to the public. The magnificence and gorgeousness of this last named Galley can scarcely be exceeded; it is 184 feet in length and 28 in breadth. The walls and the vaulted ceiling are profusely gilt and elaborately painted. Here are allegorical figures, arabesques and escutcheons in any number and variety. On this side, we see Aurora mounted on her car, on that Amphitrite, or Triumph of the Waters, Here

is a compartment, representing —there another portraying —on this side is —on that, . here are stuccos of the Muses, the signs of the zodiac and flowers, beautifully executed, and all manner of emblems and medallions so thickly interspersed that the mind becomes confused, and you quit the spot with but little ability to analyze of the . It is just the reverse of this with a neighboring apartment, termed the . The recollection of some of the magnificent paintings that adorn the wall of this Salon will never be effaced from my memory. "" by , is one of the gems here. More than 120 figures are painted in this wonderful picture, which is colossal in its dimensions. "" of here, is one of the finest pictures of that first of painters. I could gaze at it for hours, unwearied, and still discover new beauties both in the design and execution. It is a sould subduing painting that it costs one a pang to leave. Had I my choice of one picture from the Louvre treasures, would unhesitatingly, be the one I should select. Some other fine Holy Families are here—one by , another by —a t, by [?] , some of the masterpieces of , and are in this ; and even for the Long Gallery of teh Louvre, you quit with regret these wondrous pictures, which stand out from the canvas, and look down upon you from the walls of this department.

I dare not trust myself to particularize any of the paintings of the Long Gallery. They are classical and arranged in accordance with their respective schools. The Italian, Flemish, Spanish and French schools are all extensively represented. is here seen in perfection. I am not an admirer of the French school of painting, yet has several excellent paintings,

and makes one forget that he belonged to the French school, and came from . I do not consider that is well represented at the Lourve. I would rather have his "Holy Family," in our National Gallery, or his "[Cornish] Boys," from the Dulwich Gallery, than any picture of his now in the Louvre, even though his "" and " are here. The riches of the Italian and Venetian schools are endless. Raphael, Correggio, Leonardo da Vinci, Guido, the Carracci, Andrea del Sarto, Michel Angelo, Caravaggio, Giorgione, Titian—mighty Titian!—with many lesser lights of Italy, are all fittingly represented here. Time fails you to look at all the wonders spread out before you, much less to tell of them. Then the Flemish school, with countless "," &c., contains some wonderous minutely painted pictures. interiors of churches, dark storm scenes, lights and shadows. s cattle, white horses, Denner's "Old Woman," are world renowned; and and , and last but not least, , and , what can we say of all these mighty masters, but that we needed a month, instead of two days, to make ourselves acquainted with their wondrous works, and that we grieved when the clock sounded the hour for bidding adieu to the Long Gallery of the Louvre. We only passed and repassed . Our own Museum is rich in Egyptian antiques, and we had no spare time—so, on went we to the Musee des Souverains, which is comprised of five rooms, that interested me exceedingly, as it contains memorials and paintings of some of the leading monarchs of France—not omitting Henry IV. and his queen, Marie de Medicis.—

Here is a full length silver statue of him, when as a child he bore the title of Henry of Navarre; here are suits of armor, worn by Francis I., Henry. and III., and Charles IX., and magnificent mantles also worn by them. I was interested especially to see a bible of Charlemagne, dated 789, a prayer book of Charles the Bald, the marriage sword of Henry IV., and a casket, presented to Anne of Austria by Richelieu. Perhaps the contents of the fifth room of this suite more especially rivetted my attention. The Salle de l' Empereur contains exclusively articles that once belonged to Napoleon the Great. Among them are full dress clothes worn by him on state occasions, his saddle, sword and gloves, his uniform coat worn at , the hat he wore through the campaign of 1814, the round hat he used at St. Helena, his camp bed, the pocket handkerchief found behind his pillow after his death, a locket, containing his hair and that of his son, and many other objects of special interest to hero worshipers.—But my paper is filling, and time failing; adieu for the present.

Alas! I have found it impossible, dear friend, to resume my scribble earlier. On re-reading what I wrote concerning the Louvre, I fin I have commenced without a beginning, and ended, without and end, having assumed that all my friends across the Atlantic know the history of this magnificent palace. The few who do not may be interested to know that many, centuries ago, a royal residence stood on the site of the Louvre; that of Philip Augustus, in the 12th century, used it as a state prison; and that Charles V. used it a a Royal Library.—Francis I. resolved to build a new and magnificent palace, and commenced the present palace in 1528. What this monarch commenced, his son, Henry II. continued and extended. Henry IV. and Louis XIV. decided upon completing the palace, but suddenly stopped the progress of the work, and built Versailles. Until 1802, the greater part of the Louvre remained .— Then Napoleon vigorously resumed the works,

and under him the Louvre was finished, and the adjacent places cleared. Charles X. and Louis Phillipe have made most of the internal arrangements. The eastern front of this vast and truly magnificent palace is deemed one of the finest pieces of architecture of any age. One of the greatest improvements made by the present Emperor, is the junction of the palaces of the Louvre and the Tuileries. All the dark narrow streets in the vicinity of these palaces have been swept away, the space between them being formed into two distance squares; one of these retains its old name of "" the other is called the "." The architecture is superb. Statues of the leading great men of France adorn the latter "Place," which is but recently completed. This effort of [Louis] Napoleon may be termed a grand success. It is rumored that he intends rebuilding a portion of the Tuileries. Should he reign a few years longer, he will, without doubt, continue to improve the aspect of his fine capital. We have visited the famous Manufacture, the China Manufacture at Sevres, St. Cloud, the Invalides, Tomb of Napoleon, the Pantheon, Luxembourg Palace, the Bourse, the beautiful Madeleine, and a number of other churches, Pero la Chaise, le Jardin des Plantes, &c., the wonderful Deaf and Dumb Institution, &c.; and had I more leisure, I would gladly say a few words about many of these interesting places, but just now it is impossible. Our introductions have brought us into very pleasant society, and we have attended several agreeable soirees, kindly arranged for

our pleasure. At one of these we heard the grand pianist, , who performed marvels on the instrument of which he is a complete master. He is deemed the greatest musical Professor in Paris. On Sunday morning I went to , a spacious church, ceded to the Protestants in 1802. The service was conducted in French, and a very eloquent sermon preached by "" from the text, "Il y-a-encore de la place." I was glad that I understood the preacher well enough to enjoy the discourse, and to feel what I had often done before, (viz:) that French is peculiarly adapted to religious services, and that there is great power in an eloquent French sermon.and are among the pastors who preach at . Dr. C. preached twice on Sunday at one of the English Chapels. If he were making a lengthy stay here, I am induced to believe that some of our zealous Protestant friends would keep him fully employed in preaching, and would find me some pleasant and profitable occupation also. I am delighted especially with the brothers , whom I had the pleasure of meeting several times, and with whom I have had a good deal of conversation on and . To-morrow evening we are invited to a soiree, at which we expect to meet some others of the French friends who are particularly interested in the poor American slave. I will tell you about it when I next write. I am uncertain when this will reach you, and fear a longer delay—so I shall dispatch it at once, unfinished as it is. Dr. C. joins me in best regards, and we send you our united assurance that amidst all the sight seeing and brilliance of this gay city, we have not forgotten to labor for the American slave. The amount of success I will tell you by and bye.

Farewell for the present, dear friend; believe me now and ever,

Your faithful friend,

JULIA G. CROFTS.