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EUGENE Guinot, whom we have spoken of cured, but in vain. Poor Tiberius was before in our Chronicle, as the witty corres- killed to the great grief of owners and pondent of the French journal of New York, backers, and to the great content of all who is lighting up his summer journalism with held wagers against his success. rich stores of anecdote. He reports that Lord M., though minus some £5000 by Paris is full, to running-over, of English and the mishap, gave a great féte at the close Americans; and that unless the Londoners of the races. His meats were specially adfurnish them with a supply of the viands mired :-above all a choice dish of game, which were laid in store for the great Fair, served up with all the spicy disguises of there will be danger of a scarcity in the French cookery. French metropolis.
At the close, the host rose; “My lords,” He indulges in most patriotic regrets over said he, “I propose a toast to the memory the lack of Parisian stars upon the stage ;- of Tiberius !" which fact, perhaps, will account for Mr. It was received with enthusiasm, and the GREELEY's cool notice of the French opera. guests rose at the instant, with glasses filled The races have just now been drawing the to the brim. attention of the sporting world of Paris ; and Lord M. continued—“We drink to the GUINOT, in his notice of the attendant festivi. | fastest, the most elegant, the most renowned ties, takes occasion to spice his record with courser that has ever tramped the British an old story of a famous English sporting | turf!" character.
Here the enthusiasm has increased to a Lord M- , it appears, was the owner of clamor, and the glasses were drained. But a famous horse yclept Tiberius. He had the host had not done. He motioned to fill won laurels for himself, and money for his again. The guests were all attention. “You owner, so that Tiberius was, as it were the know, my lords," said he,“ the great deeds lion of the course. But on one unfortunate of Tiberius; his renown belongs to history; occasion, poor Tiberius being crowded by an but it is for us to honor his mortal remains. awkward jockey, fell and dislocated bis I have wished to give him a tomb worthy of shoulder. The best surgical advice was pro- | his reputation; and for this reason, my lords,
I bave had him this day served up for your the waters, or to die easily in the quiet of repast! Yes, my lords, you have eaten the country. Baden, Ems, and Homburg Tiberius, and your noble stomachs have are, however, exceptions to this rule; made for him a tomb that is worthy of his and if the papers are to be credited, these fame !"
are even now crowded by English and Cuixot says the noble diners-out bore it French visitors. kindly ;-which, however, we may set down As a pleasant little story of French craft, as a Gallic perversion of English delicacy. we shall take the trouble to translate here
The same piquant journalist gives a sum- | a late episode from the Paris chronicles of ming up, in one of his later letters, of the the day. It is headed “ An Italian Count." qualities and attractions of the various M. P— , rich, and retired from business, watering places of Europe. He particularly had a pretty hotel not far out of the city, eulogizes the scenery and the redeeming which he inhabited, with his wife and daughqualities of the springs of the Pyrenees; ter. Finding they bad more room than they more especially he commends that mountain could well employ, they advertised a song ai: to the poor ladies, whose nerves are worn pavilion at the end of the garden to rent
ut with the shock of the winter's encoun: Three days after, a young man of foreign ter. The nervous system-continues he, in aspect, calling himself Leonard, examined true French style—is the great system of one of the apartments, and attended only by women. In old times, the world called a a single servant, took possession. He was derangement of this complicated system, a quiet person, and could be seen every day the vapors ; but the term has gone out of from the hotel writing at his window, fashion, and all vaporing ladies are now said The lady-wife and daughter of M. Pto be suffering with neuralgia, nor is there were naturally excessively curious. There a woman in the world so much to be pitied, seemed no means, however, of gratifying and so much to be dreaded, as such a sufferer. their curiosity, and they watched their mys
As for the sweet springs in the South, the terious lodger in wonder and torment. road that leads to them, he says, was only. After some days, however, the quick eyes a little while ago so dangerous, that a good of the daughter caught sight of a letter share of the invalids break their necks on which the stranger had dropped in his rak the way. Whoever has travelled over the through the garden. This was a prize not by-roads upon the French mountains may to be overlooked, and though excessively serwell believe the story. Now, however, in-sible and worthy people, they ventured to valids arrive in safety, and make up such a open and read the letter. They learned mournful and solemn company, as to give from it that their lodger was a young Italian an autumnal cast to the gayest foliage of of rank, just escaped from political martyr. summer. Lodgings, says the journalist, are dom, and now negotiating with powerful rare, and the hotel-keepers are so demure friends, to secure the release of his aged and sleepy, that they make no effort to father extend their accommodations. Indeed, there Both mother and daughter were in rapare chances that the visitor will sleep the tures; they returned the letter with an first night in his own carriage-with a unsuspecting air,—when, to their increasing promise of a vacant bed next day. The rapture, the fair Leonard voluntarily made curious traveller once possessed of the bed them his confidants—“not presuming to coninquires after his predecessor.
ceal from their generosity a secret which “ His name is D , monsieur."
fate had thrown in their way.” “ Ah, and he left after dinner, yesterday ?” Henceforth Leonard was a guest at bis “ Yes, monsieur."
host's table, and a quiet, unassuming, honest " Cured ?”
lover of his bost's daughter. “No, dead."
He met casually at his host's table with This will seem strange to those who fre a rich banker, an old friend of M. P , and quent watering places for dancing and in virtue of that friendship, admitted bin, riding; but the truth is, most of the medi- too, to a knowledge of his secret. Never cipal springs in Europe are attended by was sympathy more cordial, or secresy better those really anxious to gain advantage from preserved.
At length, on a bright day, Leonard came it kept on the stage? Admit that it is not running to his friend to announce the release
lascivious; who will pretend that it is essenof his father. The family were in ecstasies.
tially graceful? I was glad to see that the
most extravagant distortions were not speHe must come to the pavilion at the foot of cially popular with the audience - that the garden, and share apartments with his nearly all the applause bestowed upon those son. And the marriage so long deferred | ballet-feats which seemed devised only to must signalize his return. Nothing could favor a liberal display of the person, came
from the little knot of hired claquers' in be more reasonable.
the centre of the pit. If there were many Leonard went, under the advice of the who loved to witness, there were few go banker, to buy marriage presents. He purchased largely, and in company with such a If the Opera is ever to become an elefriend, - with undisputed credit.
ment of social life and enjoyment in New
| York, I do trust that it may be such a one Two days after the senior count was to
| as thoughtful men may take their daughters arrive; Leonard was to meet him in the to witness without apprehension or remorse. city ;-he even took back the diamond neck. I do not know whether the Opera we now lace which he bad purchased two days be have is or is not such a one: I know this is fore, to exchange for one still more magnifi
more maoniti. I not. Its entire, palpable, urgent tendency
: cent;-he borrowed twenty louis from the
| is ' earthly, sensual, devilish.'” proud father-in-law, to meet his parent's It is amusing, moreover, to read the comimmediate necessities, and drove out of the ments of such a thorough utilitarian upon court-yard.
some of the sights of Paris. The night came on with no Leonard—no
" The first object of interest I saw in count. The beau Italian had gone with a Paris was the Column of Napoleon in the diamond necklace, with twenty louis in Place Vendome, as I rattled by it in the gold, with the heart of the daughter; and gray dawn of the morning of my arrival. had left in place of them an old portman
This gigantic columın, as is well known, was
formed of cannon taken by the Great Capteau, a broken file of the Presse, and a senti. tain in the
- tain in the several victories which irradiated mental verse or two upon the window pane. his earlier career, and was constructed while
In contrast with this French piquancy of he was emperor of France and virtually of dressing we shall now entertain the reader the Continent. His statue crowns the pyra. with Mr. Greeley's plain, matter-of-fact no
mid; it was pulled down while the allied tions about the ballet at the French Opera.
armies occupied Paris, and a resolute at
tempt was made to prostrate the column The singing does not appear to have en- also, but it was too firmly rooted. The gaged that staid gentleman's attention one statue was not replaced till after the revohalf as much as the dancing girls.
lution of 1830. "The Place Vendome is
small, surrounded by high houses, and the “I am, though no practitioner, a lover of stately column seeins dwarfed by them. But the dance. Restricted to proper hours and for its historic interest, and especially that fit associates, I wish it were far more general of the material employed in its constructhan it is. Health, grace, muscular energy, tion, I should not regard it very highly. even beauty, might be promoted by it. Why “Far better placed, as well as more mathe dancing of the theatre should be ren jestic and every way interesting, is the dered disgusting I cannot yet comprehend. Obelisk of Luxor, which for thousands of The' poetry of motion,' of harmonious evolu- years had overshadowed the banks of the tions, and the graceful movement of twink- Nile until presented to France by the late ling feet,' I think I appreciate. All these Pacha of Egypt, and transported thence to are natural expressions of innocent gayety the Place de la Concorde, near the Garden and youthful elasticity of spirits, whereof of the Tuileries. I have seen nothing in this world sees far too little. I wish there Europe which impressed me like this magwere more of them.
nificent shaft, covered as it is with myste. “But what grace, what sense, what witch- rious inscriptions which have braved the ery, there can be, for instance, in a young winds and rains of four thousand years, yet girl's standing on one great toe and raising seems as fresh and clear as though chiselled the other foot to the altitude of her head, I but yesterday. The removal of this bulk cannot imagine. As an exhibition of mus. of many thousand tons from Egypt to Paris cular power, it is disagreeable to me, be entire is one of the most marvellous achievecause I know that the capacity for it was ments of human genius, and Paris has for acquired by severe and protracted efforts, me no single attraction to match the Obelisk and at the cost of much suffering. Why is | of Luxor.
The Tuileries strikes me as an irregular! We have taken our readers, this week, to mass of buildings with little pretensions to the other side of the water, and have enarchitectural beauty or effect. It has great
grossed our columos so much with French capacity and nothing more. The Louvre is much finer, yet still not remarkable, but its |
topic, that we have no room for mention of wealth of Paintings by the Great Masters
what is stirring at home. We regret this of all time surprised as well as delighted | the less, however, for the reason that there me. I never saw any thing at all compara- | is nothing of interest here to be noted ; and ble to it."
our readers will surely agree with us, that It seems rather odd to find the practical nothing can so relieve the heat of this July philosopher going into raptures over the season, as a stroll anong the haunts which severe column of Luxor, and reckoning its are made grateful by French gayety and transportation one of the “greatest triumpbs French gossip. of human genius;" what will the old gentleman say, when he gets to Rome, finds a
THE BOOK WORLD. huger one by half, standing upon bronze Of Books we have scarce any thing to tripods, and yet seeming a pigmy milestone record. The monthlies of HARPER and before the awful size of St. Peter's dome? STRINGER & TOWNSEND, have made their However, there is no accounting for tastes; l appearance, and are made attractive by and ten to one, the object which will seem very many articles, in the publication of most adınirable to Mr. GREELEY at Rome, which our journal had the good fortune to will be the Cloaca Maxima—the greatest anticipate them weeks ago. and stoutest and oldest sewer in the The booksellers of the town are sigbing, world.
one and all, over deserted shops; and all It will be a rich gratification to English | the book-readers have given over their occuadmirers of the Royal Academy, and to / pation for the summer. American admirers of Calvary church, to! We are happy to see that the Courhear the inner court of the Palace of the rier des Etats Unis, of which journal we Louvre set down as “nothing remarkable." have often spoken in terms of commenda
Of French character and disposition, how. tion, has become a daily issue. The same ever, Mr. GREELEY seems to have a very paper advertises a detailed account of the fair conception, as this bit of a late letter remarkable trial of the Count de Bocarmé. will show :
-- Mr. Barnes, the enterprising pub “ The Frenchman's pleasures are all social: | lisher of John-street, has just issued ney to eat, drink or spend the evening alone
nk or spend the evening alone editions of Walter Colton's “ Ship and would be a weariness to him: be reads his Shore, and “ Athens and Constantinople,* newspaper in the thoroughfare or the public (or, as it is now named) “ Land and Lee." gardens: he talks more in one day than an
They are both of them charming records of Englishman in three: the theatres, balls, concerts, &c., which to the islander afford travel, and we
travel, and with their salt air odorous about occasional recreation are to him a nightly them, will prove most delightful coolers for necessity: he would be lonely and misera a summer in the country. ble without them. Nowhere is amuse- Mr. Colton was a graphic narrator, and ment more systematically, sedulously sought
joined to his moral teaching an occasional than in Paris; nowhere is it more abundant or accessible. For boys just escaped from
spice of wi
spice of wit, which is the very thing to put school or paternal restraint, intent on enjoy- piquancy into a book for good people. ment and untroubled by conscience of fore. " Lady Willoughby's Diary" of the cast, this must be a rare city. Its people, old time is just issued by the same house. as a community, have signal good qualities | Its quaintness, good sense, and antique and grave defects: they are intelligent, vivacious, courteous, obliging, generous, and bu- para
and his phraseology will actually occupy the attenmane; eager to enjoy, but willing that all tion of all ladies who wish to eompare the the world should enjoy with them ; while at mother of the seventeenth century with the the saine time they are impulsive, fickle, mother of to-day. Mr. PICKERING's issue of sensual, and irreverent Paris is the Para- the same hook added quaintness of tyne to dise of the Senses; a focus of enjoyment, not of happiness. Nowhere are youth and
hand I quaintness of matter ; but the edition of Mr.
9 its capacities more prodigally lavished; no- BARNEs is neat, readable, and equal to any where is old age less happy or less respected." | of the reprints of the day,