We are in Paris still, and do not depart till to-morrow, dedicating this day in company with the Murrays to St. Denis and Malmaison, and then I think we shall have seen everything worth seeing in or near this queer metropolis. One day last week we went to our old friend, L'abbé Sicard,[123] and attended a lecture in which about 20 of his young scholars exhibited their powers. The poor Abbé was, as usual, dreadfully prolix, and occupied an hour in words which might have been condensed within the compass of a Minute, and poor Massuer yawned and shut his eyes ever and anon. Clair was not there, and as we were under the necessity of going away before the Lecture was closed, we could not renew our acquaintance. Since last year he has taught his pupils to speak, and two dumb boys talked to each other with great success. I will show you the mode when we meet, but as you are not dumb it will be a mere gratification of Curiosity. Our Assignation which called us from the Lecture was to meet the Sothebys and Murrays and many others at the Buvin d'Enfer, near which is the descent to the Catacombs, where upwards of 3 million of Skulls are arranged in tasty grimaces thro' Streets of Bones, but my Sketch Book has long given an idea of these ossifatory Exhibitions. Only think, a cousin of Donald's and a very great friend of mine, a Capt. McDonald, whom you would all be in love with, he is so handsome and interesting, was shut up there a short time ago by accident, and if the Keeper had not luckily recollected the number of persons who descended and discovered one was missing, he would very soon have joined the bone party. There is another Cimetière called that of Père la Chaise, of a very different description, and infinitely more interesting. It is the grand burial-place of Paris; all who choose may purchase little plots of ground, from a square foot to an acre, for the deposition of themselves and their families. Its extent is about 84 French acres, and upon no spot in the world is the French character so perfectly portrayed. Each individual encloses his plot and ornaments it as he chooses, and the variety is quite astonishing. It appears like a large Shop full of toys, work-baskets, Columns, little Cottages, pyramids, mounts--in short, what is there in the form of a Monument which may not there be found? A pert little Column with a fanciful top, crowned by a smart wire basket filled with roses, marked the grave, I concluded, of some beautiful young girl of 15 or 16. Lo and behold! it was placed there to commemorate "un ancien Magistrat de France," aged 62. The most interesting are Ney's and Labédoyère's,[124] the former, a solid tomb of marble, simply tells that Marshal Ney, Prince of La Moskowa, is below. Both were rather profusely decorated with wreaths of flowers, it being the custom for the friends of the deceased to strew from time to time the graves with flowers, or decorate them with garlands.